home pictures

at home: here is being cooked for me, with drama and song (the food: scrambled eggs, if I remember correctly...)

this is A Room of My Own

our lovely, perfect living room table

me with The Clinic and diverse other stuff

picture time!

some late afternoon pictures of "my" Cerro Alegre, looking out at the harbor

jajaja... like they say here (somebody told me it's the German influence but I would have to verify that)... this is campaign posters plastering everything.... you can't blame the guys who chop up the faces...

that was Valpo during the garbage collector's strike

A moral question…

Roommate Rose made a terrific thanksgiving dinner and invited all the friends she has made so far – which are considerably more than I made, but I don’t mind coattailing. The group consisted of good-humored, friendly, and likeable people, and I enjoyed myself.

There was one snippet of conversation that bothered me and I would love to hear your opinion on it. Some of the Chileans present were working in tourism (hostel, tours etc), and at one point there was a short collective bashing of Israeli tourists as “the worst”, dirty, loud, cheap; one of them said that when an Israeli comes asking they would say they are closed and send them away.

As always, when I feel surprised by sudden spite, my reactions are incredibly slow. I asked why they thought this way, they told me few personal experiences, but much seemed some sort of collective sediment.

I managed to bring in a somewhat lame defense that their personal experiences might be due to the fact that – as far as I know – Israelis travel after three years of military service, and are thus somewhat hungry for life but equally desensitized, that they travel on a very restricted budget, always trying to save money to make time last.

My defense did not have any impact at akk. I was confused what to say as well, or if I should say something at all (seeing that obviously it would not change their opinion), it was a party after all and I disliked being the “serious” wait-a-moment person. But then, that’s quite cowardly and subjective.

Once, just back in Chile, R and I had met a crazy gringo. He blabbered and blabbered about this and that, and I was listening politely, and at one point he said Does he (headjerk to R) speak English? (I, naively, respond in the negative) I’m gonna tell you this in English then. Have your fun but don't trust too much; A good many of them are just after your pretty little passport. There was more but I don’t remember, and that was the punchline. R did understand enough English to know he was being insulted and we had a big fight afterwards because I had just stood there, feeling slapped in the face, without a clue of how to respond.

While that guy had obviously been crazy, there were a lot sane people with weird opinions around – the Australian conservatists: They (the Aborigines) are a lovely people I tell you (threatening deeply sarcastic tone of voice), the Israeli hardliner girls, the American and his sexual jokes about taking “two Thais, they’re tiny”.

I must admit that I am mostly curious about those people. I want to dissect them. I want to understand how they think. While this might help me for a story, it does not show exactly moral courage. I feel curious only as long as I am safe, for I am not among the offended (with the exception of Thai girl-joker). Am I not complicit, just asking and listening?

On that, I’d love to hear your opinion: Should you be firm and point out that people-stereotyping is offensive and stupid? Seeing that we all stereotype based on a couple of experiences, should you shut up, listen humbly and tolerantly, ask for the subjective proof? Seeing that it does not change anything, is it worth it, is it important, to register protest, even feeble one? Joking in response might be best (but I suck at that, especially spontaneous)

Other, hopefully more interesting takes on the matter?

culture, baby!

Now! Is happening what everyone was raving about (well... sort of), is being explained why Valparaíso has that glamourous touch to its name ... No, it is not the number of dogs and the equivalent amount of their shit, and no, neither is it the longish pavo (strike) of more or less everyone, but most specifically, the garbage people... lots of dogs and the garbage of a couple of days piling up... imagine the scenery.. the merciless slaughering of helpless plastic bags, the cold-blooded fights, and the voracious feasting...

well. now stop imagining that.

What is happening is : Sun! You CAN go to the beach! Festivals!

to be precise, there is the Festival de Teatro Container (I have no idea... they do use containers though... it's not for the claustrophobic)

Initially, my attempts at enjoying a movie at the famous Viña Festival Internacional de Cine(at least I was told it is famous in Latinamerica) were constantly thwarted.

The first movie was screened at an incredibly impressive movie theatre at one of the richer universities here in Valparaiso (there are about... 4? 6?). Unfortunately, the projection was so bad that La Nana was almost unintellegible and several times sound and/or image broke off altogether. (Nevertheless, I think it was the most brilliant and impressive film of the lot, see what this blogg had found out about it (in German))

At night of the same day, I tried to watch an Iranian movie with my roommate, about girls who are trying to smuggle themselves into a stadium to support their team. In Iran. Disguised as men. Sport as subversion and kumbayah, the usual, you know, at least I think that was the message because 15 minutes into the movie, the DVD got stuck and that was that.

Then, all three of us wanted to watch a movie, but due to “?” the schedule changed and that thing that was screened was so terribly bad that we had to leave the movie theatre. I don't remember ever doing that except once, watching “The Lamey” with a group of friends - and in retrospect, I think we were wrong and that TL was probably a brilliant movie! Anyway, but THIS was the worst movie ever! There was just nothing to be said for it, it sucked from bad actors, bad aesthetics, bad lighting, TERRIBLE sound to annoying and boring script - a lamely paced, aimlessly tinkering lost-son-comes-home, then turning unannouncedly into an incest story, but loosing the potential momentum immediately. I know it sounds kind of interesting when you see it in writing, but believe me, no! Ed Wood could do way better.

After the rocky beginning of these experiences, things changed for the better and for screenings and movies movie unhampered by unjumped technical hurdles. The Argentinian movie No mires para abajo : a gorgeous girl teaches gorgeous guy how to be the world's best lover. The guy starts out somnabulic and mourning his dead father but that somehow gets lost in the act... . Lots of nakedness and every single picture and set and color is beautiful, bursting of aesthetic will, some funny dialogue.

The wildly praised "El secreto de sus ojos" was good, but as mentioned, wildly praised, and my high expectations, combined with struggling to understand Argentinian lingo ruined it a bit for me. Nevertheless: funny, beautiful images (almost too lascivious) and a taxing script.

Before that, a subtle sweet little Chilean film "La Navidad", which I liked until they had to insert a threesome - of course in the "bad" way (bad for me) - but at least it had a narrative purpose: 18-year-old girl and guy, not together but in sexual relations, spend Christmas together in a godforsaken house in the country. They encounter a 15-year-old runaway looking for her father, take care of her, she for them, alcohol and a stranded puppy are thrown in, at one point there is the threesome, and then the girl leaves to find and acknowledge her Argentinian lesbian adventure.

(Uhm. No one was planning on watching this movie, I hope...?)

anyway, cinema is good! culture is good! Did I mention the sun! Did I mention my excitement over recently discovered fruit cycles? - after strawberries, it seems we are nearing peaches, cherries and corn... yummy...

ps:

Is anyone doing this one-entry-a-day-thing? (see how quickly I catch up with things...)

pps: I get back to the blog-linking thing once I figured out how to actually do it...

life and Shamballah

A couple of days ago, R and I (R and me?) were taking one of our lively discussions outside the hills of Valparaíso, where we stumbled upon a Escula Holística de Arte y Creatividad, which looks and sounds like its name… We stumbled in and entered a weirdly vibed discussion with a wide-eyed and willowy lady who gives classes on laughing yoga or yoga laugh or whatever. It does sound interesting. If it were a little chepaer I'd definitely go for it. Well, I'll see...

Anyway, she appeared to have a scary amount of intuition. I for one felt completely x-rayed by her intensity and silent fixed gaze.Perhaps that is why we went to the Shamballah talk, to which she had been inviting us.

Yes, Shamballah.

Now picture a bunch of elderly Chileans, and the instructor: hair-whipping, wide-eyed Shamballah instructor in see-through clothing, whipping her hair in an annoyingly girlish fashion, talking about her life and her ascent in shamanism (modesty is obviously not a requirement) and occasionally demonstrating in performance how not to be sexual and how to be (correctly, i.e. tantric) sensual.

That is because after this (free and concerning Shamballah, quite uninstructive talk), there was to be a (paid) instruction in tantric sexo, which we skipped (put all the elderly Chileans in a perspective in my dirty mind, though). See-through had elected R as her tantric partner in one of her examples, and I think he was scared. At least he did not want to give her the hug that she intended to bestow upon all of us.

I did. I was hoping for some deeper, personalized insight. When she hugged me she said “Was I talking too fast?”

It´s official

I can´t talk to people anymore. I am drawing a total blank on the "how to behave in a social context" rulebook.

Inadvertedly offended this Rumanian/Bulgarian girl (did not quite catch which ) my roommate had met in her language class. They were passing me on the street, which did not seem the perfect moment for a chat, but I tried anyway. My only hope is that the Spanish was incomprehensible.

In an attempt to put myself down (and thus appear nicer...? WHY am I doing this..?) I commented on my own nationality as "boring" in comparison to her "exotic" one - exotic? yuk! I realized my idiocy upon expressing it, tried to turn it around, failed, and continued drooling in increasingly lower volume... not unlike the babyblue sweater guy from before yesterday. It´s almost certainly karma.

They then commented on the fact that I had "so many" groceries (veggies and fruits, I might add) and how everything is sort of too much and too heavy here. Here I drew the blank they drew upon my drooling. What is the problem with 2 kg of strawberries for about 70cts? If 1kg costs 60cts? What´s the point? First step to gluttony?

To top it off, I wanted to ask the girl her name again, actually as a show of interest and because I had forgotten it instantly - Valerie or Ivonne or something like that - but instead of saying, Tell me your name again, I said, I did not quite catch your name. I-v-anna. complicated name. Meet German idiot, un gusto.

Then I hurried away, so did they, and now I´m hiding in my room.

time for a rant

yes, even in godforsaken Valparaíso (where the Deutscher Verein is proud of his decade-old history but without any sort of purpose, mission, or activity stated either on its online platform or its real life version, a beautiful neoclassist building in complete disarray), yes even here (and I´m proud of this convoluted Germanic sentence) there was a little something-something in praise of el caída del muro.
So I went. This was great because I had spent the last days captive, nurturing my foot, which was sprained in pursuit of the F***head who stole my bag – ripped it off my body to be precise – but as this is the second time that happened to me, I did not have too much in it.. hah! Anyway, my foot hurt and was half-green, now less pain and less color, I went to the thing.
The introduction was given by a scarily inept boyish-looking guy: He hunched over the microphone and read with an intonation as if he had been Honecker´s personal disciple. In Spanish of course. The German accent in its purest form does amazing things to a language. I later saw him up close and was shocked to see that the 20something-from-afar up close looked like 40-something with a plastic face – an accident? Aesthetic surgery gone awry? And also, would Carrie not help but wonder about this, too?

But StrangeBabyFace also promised “Cocktails” after the films – and after the discussion … a “discussion”!! All of you went to university, right…? Anybody empathize with my immediate post-trauma reaction induced by the word “discussion”??? And what is there to “discuss”, exactly?! I feared the worst…

The films were the the usual fare, except an animation thing by Deutsche Welle that showed exactly how the walls functioned and how many lethal mechanism of “protection” were involved. All of it gave me goosebumps nevertheless, might be the distance from home. So I felt happy, actually.

The promise of the cocktail kept me until after the films, and I was hoping that everybody would be too shy to say anything, seeing that this guy was definitely unable to spark anything even if they gave him a flamethrower.

Unfortunately, I was wrong. Lots of people had the urge to talk. There were a couple of Chileans whose recollection for the most part went like this: “I went to Berlin/Germany/obscure other city, for the first time in…. and then again in … we really liked it and my husband said… that was so entertaining!“

Then there was a German guy, one of those cringe-inducing prototypes: long blond ponytail embracing the bald “spot”/greater part of the head, eye-wateringly babyblue sweater (I think the correct color is acquamarin… like the Skype logo or how do you call that button?), deathly thin, weathered face, talked as if he just smoked at least 3 giant spliffs. Even though at one (late) point he was lucid enough to realize (and express) that he was rambling, this did not stop him from continuing to do so.

Despite all this, the promise of “cocktails” kept me in buena honda though until this 24-year old blonde baby started speaking. She was obviously having the time of her life (and yes, I felt a touch of jealousy), judging from the hair-throwing and wrist-waving and general coquettishness, and she claimed that differences between East and West were still enormous.
Case in point: The different ways to tell the time (an example that another speaker had already used). “Every day” she was having great problems at understanding “the other half” (this is not a quote but my scorn). Allegedly the girl was from East Berlin, where people are more “egalitarian-oriented” and not “arrogant” as those nasty nasty Wessies.

Now. Have you ever heard of an East German not understanding the way in which a West German is telling the time?! The idiots in this time-trouble are those from the West, as far as my experience goes. And even if she grew up under a rock – and she was already four after all when the wall came down –, how hard can it be to figure out that unintellegible thing that the other person wants to say when she does not say “viertel”...
yes yes I know you are telling me I should say this to her… but I was so angry and I could not come up with anything that would make me look not arrogant to her.
And then, to top it off, there was one of those unsupportable “Gutmenschen” who wanted to finish the discussion on a happy, harmonic note and twittered that we should not judge (as if anybody had), there were good and bad things everywhere etc. Babyface accepted this as the last comment, he was obviously happy to have the thing over and done with.
By the way, the cocktails turned out to be terrible, headache-inducing red wine (I hate it when things are not properly denominated) and baby empanadas. Those were actually quite good.