But then... why? This is a funny story and material for a good rant. So there:
Recetly, R and I went to a wedding. A wedding “en el campo”.
Which proved a number a things:
a. I can be in friendly engagement with a horse (!)
and I can prove it (fine it's not the same horse. But it's a horse!)
b. Rustic is overrated. Read story below. Still, the pictures came out nice:
c. It takes half an hour for the remainders of a 70+ wedding congregation to get together to take the one picture where everybody’s on it (why you might ask? Because there is always two or three who walk past the waiting crowd in posture, in order to reshuffle some things on the table, or to do private washing… the more amazing thing is: nobody says anything. Everybody waits patiently. If patience is a cardinal virtue, heaven is full of Chileans)
Okay, there could be more sarcastic-bloggy listings, but here’s the story. R’s friend Cesar wanted to get married to his long-term girlfriend (a friendly gal who called everybody, me included, “my daughter (son)” or “my love” which I have so far only experienced from older shopkeepers). Cesar tells R the date. Everybody’s happy. A couple of weeks later he says, oh and it’s in “el campo”, which I naively associated with cows and pasture. And then some days later he said apparently, we have to sleep in tents (I think R did not tell me that straight away). Then, before we went to his parents' home, I asked R whether he was absolutely sure that the tent was there. Yes, totally, and I should stop nagging. We got there: no tent. Big fuss. Lots of agitation. Lots of repeated disbelief from R, lots of following-through-the-rooms and strange advice from his mother. It felt sort of Italian. In the end we went with the grand family tent (gained with heavy second-son-bargaining from reluctant parents), which fits six people and R did not know how to build it. We managed just fine in the end (I wasn’t too worried, it’s the same basic construction with every tent, but I was worried about daylight, since it took us ages to get to the places over cobblier and cobblier roads.) Good thing too, because – as was mentioned in the Cesar’s last and unfairly timed informational call – it was going to rain. Which it did. Which let another girl’s tent shipwreck, so she and her daughter slept in our tent.
A bit of rain you say? Well, this was “pre-Cordillera.” Translated: friggin cold. We were 20 kilometres away from civilization, and civilization meant a nest that I usually wouldn't call a town. Also, to get to the actual place, some family heirloom, you had to descend. Descend along serpentine mud roads into the forest. And then there was sort of pasture for the tents. Then descend some more into the forest until there is the house and a bit of space around, but not much, and a river.
Sounds charming? Claustrophobic is more like it. The only open space was the sky. Also, guess what happens to the mud road after the rain, which started more punctual than the ceremony, at five o'clock on wedding day and continued during the whole night? Yes, right. So the next day, the big guys spent 6 HOURS to push up 6 cars. Among those guys was a friend of R who had offered to take us home in his VW bus (VERY nostalgic feelings at this point). No communication about this point: I was basically waiting and repeatedly asking people What is happening, and Where is Christian and Shouldn't we go help? Around five or six in the evening, the others' apathy slowly started to wear off (daylight), but not to real arousal. I think it took another three hours to take off: Just to get everyone to pack and leave (it's not like we've been waiting for this THE WHOLE DAY!), and then how to get all the people and all the stuff in the bus, and somebody wants a banana, and wow, we need water? Why did nobody tell me that? and WhoofWhoof! (at least that's how it started to feel to me, I had a very passive-aggressive internal breakdown) We were 12 people in that bus, among them a constantly talking woman, 7 months pregnant with twins and throwing up, and a mother with her 4-year old. So I was definitely not the one worst off.
This is the 4 year old: He named us (the duly waiting females) his horse, waggon, and in my case, first Bambi (!) and then some fabled animal, like a unicorn if I got that. Not too bad right?
still. I had wanted to leave asap. Apart from the claustrophic feeling, the uncomfortable atmosphere stemmed from the fact that the bride and groom's family were treating every friend-guest like an intruder on the scrounge, regardless of the fact that it took us two days and quite some money to get there, and that I helped the whole day peeling and cutting and cleaning, mostly for food which I would not see at all, while R was making a video for the happy couple, and other guests brought a whole band equipment with them!
You got there from your tent and there's nothing. If you go in the house (where the family slept, admittedly including some elders and kids), there was an immediate "Que necessitas?", translated: Get out! (I know "Qué necessitas" only from the most unfriendly shop vendors). You take a bit of bread under stern looks and shuffle out. Or you get in line for the (one) bathroom. The food was dreadful, I had no more cigarettes, and the friendliest conversation was with a sixteen-year old - he was genuinely interested in German-Chilean differences. The others got drunk and told me a) I should smile more, relax, dance, drink, do stupid things, etc (which annoyed me immensely because I saw a couple of guys never cracking a single smile and no-one told them to be more accomodating) and/or b) clarified cultural differences for me. Which goes like this: Me not saying or asking anything to the topic; They tell me that "Europeans" are cold and work all day, whereas here, people were friendly warm, and fun-loving. At this point I had finished drinking (so as to not be rude) and could excuse myself to get more booze. Which was easier said than done, because apart from the disgusting mix drinks (terremoto: cheap white wine with pineapple ice cream) and "country wine" which in this case was pure acid, there was little to be had.
Yeah yeah, good intentions. I can't stand any more Chilean unwantedly telling me about "Europeans" without ever having set foot in a single European country, without having me said ANYTHING AT ALL about their country or any other Latin American country either, and then they tell me CRAP! There was a guy on the streets of Valparaíso who robbed a woman's purse. She cried for help, and people swarmed in from everywhere to BEAT the guy - just leave your business, get in a couple of swings at the head, and go back to business. Warm, friendly, welcoming? You're kidding. What is this, self-hypnosis: You are no longer a cat, you are a doughnut! Against Europe, this is Rio during Carnival, these guys seem to think. (and don't care for any of what I say either)
Of course, there were good things, too. It was amazing to see how all the friends and family worked together to pull through what was simply an organizational nightmare. There were two toilets for the 70+ people (about 100 were invited, I'm thankful to those who did not come), and one shower, which was not working, and when it did, about one hour before the ceremony, there was of course a preferential treatment for family - including 20 minute non-use of the shower while one of those went to collect his things in all tranquility (Once again:It's not like we've been waiting for this since 10am...).
So, no shower, no cigarettes, and food reduced to bread and lamb. Not nice lamb, fatty dry pungent-tasting lamb. Every day. And me, being expected to be excited about everything of course, so as not to wound the national soul. Which did not stop some random guy who I hadn't even talked to, say "Chao, gringa" in the end, which is pretty insulting. An adventure, yes. Does it look more glamorous now, and on the pictures? definitely. to be repeated? No way!
end of rant. I promise something lighter as the next post...
(ps: sorry... earthquake got in the way of upbeat post)
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