Earthquake update

Information comes in dribbles, and information policy is a puzzle, to put it friendly.

Information from R: Cúrico is now with water, still without electricity. Central Cúrico looks like a war zone, many collapsed buildings. Cúrico is in the Maule region, close to Talca (40 minutes) which was hit really badly. The villages around are most affected, and people are without water; hospitals are affected. The family went somewhere to help out with a 50-200 litre (maternal and paternal reports differed) water tank (something everyone should have handy).

The Santiago Times said the aftershocks, which continued night and day, went something as high up as 6 points. More than 200 prisoners escape a prison in nearby Chillan. Kleist's "Earthquake in Chili" anyone?

Cúrico Radio reports people selling bread for $2000 (instead of the usual $750-$1000). Nothing like an earthquake to make some extra cash it seems. Also long lines in front of gas stations. Cúrico Radioalso denied the existence of a tsunami (you know, the one which hit Juan Fernandez and Hawai).

Today there has been a fake tsunami alarm for Valparaíso.

I freaked a bit today because it was raining (well, drizzling), for about the first time in three months (which is totally normal for the region). So I'm standing there, having dared to go outside, thinking: What, rain? Here? Now? Why? What does this Mean??

I guess I wasn't alone; maybe that's why the fake tsunami alarm worked so well.

Supermarkets opened today and people were buying like crazy: back home, I would say "for the next world war," here it's probably rather "for the next military coup." the guy in front of me bought 6 bottles of regular cooking oil. But they might be right in hoarding sugar, flour and other stuff that is produced far away. Parts of the roads are damaged, and most things are transported in trucks (which also makes the truck union extremely powerful, but that's for another post).

Earthquake!

okay, it's 3.36 in the morning and I'm waking up to a shaking house. It does not stop shaking for what seems like five minutes, or five hours (official numbers: about a minute and a half)

maybe given to the fact that I had been sleeping, my thoughts were very coherent and they went like this: NOOOO! MAKE IT STOP! STOP! NOOOO! I felt like 6-year-old, I swear.

And then at one point my adult self joined the party in my head and threw up previously collected information so I went to stand under the frame of the door. Safest place, I have been told.

And then it stopped. There is a sound to an earthquake; I didn't know before. The sound is something like the roaring of a dragon or hell's ovens exploding. And afterwards there was silence. and then more quakes, more or less little. Sirens. the sound of a group of people in the streets, of crashing glass and general mayhem. Electricity died, internet connection died. I was alone - R was in Cúrico with his family, my new roommate Montserrat at her boyfriend's place.

(aside: yes that is a name, not just a monk place in Spain, and the appropriate affectionate nickname is "Montse". Which to me sounds like Beyoncé in Berlinerisch, with the final "se" like the ending of a certain F-ord. Or was it a V-word?)

There are more little shakes. the feeling is somewhat like this: throwing up seasick in a tempest. At the same time I have never experienced an earthquake so my brain is searching frantically to classify it, and mostly seems to return messages to me like: this is not happening. you are dreaming. you are imagining this. We don't know this, therefore it isn't.

The whole morning was eerily silent. I went out for 15 minutes in the morning, against Rs admonishions. I did not go very far; I feel really safe in this house. Things - like strutting parts of houses or convoluted electricity lines - have crashed here before, all without quaking, I don't need to try my luck. In the small radius I saw, there were a lot of looted shops, broken glass, broken facades. Almost all shops closed of course, and very empty. But mostly the flat downtown area seemed okay. In the hills, I've heard and read, it's worse. From my tour guide walks I remember many houses perched precariously on hillsides, made of flimsy material. the damage there must be bad.

by now the phone and, thankfully! the internet connection is working. R calls me hourly to check and report from Cúrico. The 7th region, where he is stuck (tunnels and bridges have to be checked before half of vacationing Chile can safely be sent home; some collapsed), appears much worse off: no electricity, no water, lots of after-quakes, and heavy damage zone.

thanks to the internet I know now it was a 8.8 earthquake, epicentre further south, close to Concepción, Chile's second largest city, from which there do not seem to come many consistent news. It must have been less strong here then. Outside is nobody. It just feels a bit strange to be alone in this.

Update: still afterquakes, some quite long too. I went outside another time and realized how shaky my legs are. the quake here was "only" 6+ strong.

it's so strange to not be able to do anything. everybody seems dazed, and all you can do is wait.

The Wedding Rant

I’ve been holding back since so many people are getting married now, and also to calm my rant.

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)

numbers

A couple of weeks ago, R and I went to see the recently inaugurated "Museo de la Memoria y los Derechos Humanos", the Museum of Memory and Human Rights. This is what it looks like

from outside

inside

This is a wall full of pictures of disappeared and openly executed people, 3185 in total.

In September 1973 alone, there were 600 deaths, 270 “disappeared persons” and 12,800 kidnapped and tortured.

Altogether, almost 28,5000 Chileans were victims of torture and imprisonment by the military regime. Of these, 3600 were women. According to one of the Truth Commissions, 150 persons younger than 18 were executed, 39 disappeared, 1244 children were kept in prison and tortured.

Another topic is the Remembering in itself. When, where, who, and how?

Inside the museum, there is an exhibition of a guy: An artist, who was taken and tortured for decades by the regime (no political affiliation whatsoever), among other things he was locked up in isolation, in a tiny dark cell, for years. Not surprisingly, his exhibition focusses on cages. He explicitly tells you to "put on" one cage, which is dangling from the ceiling. When we did this - here's proof:

- a lady scoffed at us, saying How Dare We, and when R tried to tell her that it is the artist who wants you to "try the perspective of a bird" (true citation) she snapped Don't Talk To Me (you scum, editorial edit)

I hate shouting laughing tourists around the holocaust museum as well. Unfortunately, it's an invitation to hypocrisy. All very Feel-Deep-Now and Show-Stricken-Face, and Busy-Thyself-With-Thy-Neighbors.

The stories you can read are heartbreaking, the numbers jarring. Now they have a museum, apart from the many smaller, more or less incomprehensible/ random /pompous memorials around town (mostly Santiago).

In my totally unscientific and supremely subjective point of view, the country is still very much in the Get-over-it, Let's-not-talk-too-much-lest-we-step-on-somebody's-toes, Still-afraid-of-everything, and mostly in a Get-well-soon - phase ("well" in the sense of developed, rich, economically healthy). Or to put it another way: In German terms, it is 1965, and things should flare up soon. Maybe electing Piñera helps for that. Call me Cassandra, Moby.

social ineptitude

Today was roommate Rose's despedida, goodbye party, occasion for good food, too much wine, the uncountable "occasional" cigarettes and opportunity for me to retrospectively admire the current heights of my social ineptitude. I am trying to cling to the idea that it is not me, it is cultural. My conviction, shaky to begin with, reached the flimsy stages of a fatamorgana about ten minutes into the evening.

My sins read more or less like this:

- I start overly aggressively communicative, trying to make up for the times when I refused the whole cumba-party atmosphere, coming home from a failed tango lesson and a fresh fight with R, only to go straight to my room, defensively thinking: This is freedom too ...

Anyway, I am thinking of that, they are thinking (I guess): Is she high? Or newly deafmute?

- I try to make jokes. That's my worst sin I think. Half-way through the joke I realize it does not sound funny in Spanish (that could be my Spanish) and therefore no-one understands, therefore I try to change the joke or the general drift of what I am saying, making it now completely unintellegible. Nobody laughs, but everybody looks at me very patiently and between pity and boredom. I swear I can hear R's brain sometimes.

- After the inappropriate jokes that noone understands as a joke - mostly it's a problem of irony - and now that they already think I am an idiot, to top it off I start political topics that only interest me.

When people respond to the topic, I am so enthusiastic (and intellectually starved I might add) that I drown them in my questions : Instead of encouraging to elaborate I kill the moment. (is there a "moment" for political conversations? I feel sometimes there is, some people have to get drunk, some have to trust you, some have to suddenly discover a momentary interest in the subject or in uttering an opinion...)

- Being the positive and life-loving person that I am as you all know so well, I think: Well, that could have been worse! and in an attempt to seize the moment I ask for some girl's phone number because "we" won't be here for her birthday but at some dude's wedding in el campo (I will report).

I fully intended to flatter her and make her feel important, but somehow the question must have come out rather rude and demanding. Yet I was not sure whether it's worth getting into a rectifying "no-I-really-meant"- discussion or to shut up, not talk so much, so loud, so OFF in general and just hope (and pray) she sees through my social handicaps some better person that should be somewhere inside me.

Really.

I was never queen of sociality but I was doing ok at one point, can you forget how to do that?

I got mail!

haha el correo de chile is slow but sure - everything comes home to me in the end...

this way I had the pleasure of Christmas in a half-sunny, half-windy end of January: something new. Now something blue please; oh wow, the choclo is making me high... and the presents of course...

pour some sugar on me...

Sorry, I sort of lost track of my "going-housewively-homely" subject in the last post.

Yet I believe it is thanks to this tendency that my repertoire of Chilean recipes is up by over 100 % - to 5 (five!) recipes! (yes, I completely made up that "process". I just suck at introductory paragraphs. Anyway, I want to write about my feats.)

So far I was able to make ensalada chilena - which is (give and take and ignore R's strange pride in the dish) basically tomato-onion salad, albeit a good one - as well as Pebre, a spicy coriander-tomato-onion-chili-dip (works as purée as well. I like playing with the mixer).

My two new accomplishments are called porotos granados, meaning beans "so far untranslatable to me." Rose said they are called cranberry beans in English, which I find equally intriguing. The beans do look sort of purple-spotted. green-purple. I don't know much about beans, my way of distinguishing until now went: They are green, red or white. Green with some red is confusing.

But I also had generally little clue as to a bean's original state (with shells/pods and all). Anyway, the dish is great. I'm a big fan of the current choclo season, young choclo, big choclo, as well as the ubiquitous pumpkin. And porotos granados contains the beans, the pumpkin, corn, and a number of other ingredients I don't remember right now.

My next dishes were pastel de choclo and humitas, and that now is really as Chilean as it gets. I mentioned the slightly disappointing (in terms of novelty) tomato salad, then there are of course empanadas (like in every country on this continent), Pisco was Peruvian first, and the porotos are an stew, when it comes down to it ...

But! Pastel de choclo - and also it's relative humitas are fairly "exotic", at least for me, and even though humitas are basically the same thing as the Mexican Tamale (different name same species, as ALF would say... ).

It is quite an elaborate preparation to get the corn paste you need for both dishes. Here's your recipe:

Buy ten or so of the big choclos.

Rip off the leaves (it's harder than it sounds).

Get rid of the "hair" of the corn (it has hair. did you know that?).

Cut off the grains with a knife (spray yourself and everything around you with juice while you're at it), grind the corns (since you don't have a grinder, be in perpetual fear that your improvised mix-thingy will explode from heat exhaustion).

for humitas

Add to that paste slowly-sautéed onions and aji and lots of Basil. (which they call albahaca, but because Chileans notoriously drop or swallow sounds and sillables, it sounds like albaca. So it makes me think of lamas and I get all confused).

Fill them in the "best leaves" of the corn, which you selected earlier (sorry.. forgot that..). I have no clue how to select them, and R kept being contradictory in the selection process.

Put 2 leaves that "go well together" (same irreproducible process as for the selection) one over the other, put paste on it, wrap together quickly.

This you must do rapidly (even though you don't know how)

Now bind it together with a string (what? I needed string??)

If you are making pastel, it's comparatively easy.

Put paste of choclo (without basil, but if you want with an egg or milk.. there are different recipes) layered with the onion-chicken paste. Like a lasagne.

Put sugar on top.

Oh, this is really important, and I was at first adversed to the idea but it is absolutely necessary to eat both dishes WITH SUGAR! only then are they really good...

here's proof I really did this:

the paste

the finished humitas

me putting them into water

(oh yes, you have to cook the humitas and put the pastel in the oven. didn't I mention? Well you go and find out where to buy that choclo - I'll post a picture of that soon - and then you call me and I promise I'll give better instructions..)