I forgot to tell you much about the place I actually live.
Valparaíso and Viña del Mar are beautiful cities located right on the coast of the long skinny country. While, they are close in proximity to one another, Valparaíso and Viña del Mar are practically two different worlds. Viña del Mar, where I live, is known to be the more touristy city complete with umbrella beaches, gardens and I think I-accidentally-stepped-into-America-malls. Valparaíso, or Valpo on the other hand is a city bursting with culture and life. A few decades ago it was declared a world heritage site because of it's urban scape and unique architecture. A lot of afternoons or evenings after finishing classes I go exploring the Valpo cerros with friends. It's best just to let yourself get lost because you are bound to stumble on something new. Honestly I have never seen a place like Valparaíso. It's a city completely sprawled throughout the coastal hills. Unlike in the US wealthiest class lives at the base of the hills. The higher you go up, then, the poorer the neighborhoods become. Brightly painted houses are connected to one another, stacked on top of one another. Roads have no logical order. Some houses can only be accessed by the porches of their neighbors. Random staircases are everywhere. And colors. So many colors.
Easily the most impressive part of Valpo is the graffiti. Everyone knows that. It's EVERYWHERE. Half city. Half Graffiti. Family homes. Walls. Fire hydrants. Cracks in the sidewalks. Graffiti in Chile isn't seen as trashy or a symbol of rebellion. It is made to be beautiful. It is made to tell stories. It is made to send a political message. It is made to preserve a culture.
As it turns out, I've done a pretty lousy job of recording my life here. What's new?
I guess you could say I've been fighting a hard case of apathy. It's a big, fat combination of things. I have to believe that somehow I will come out in the end as a stronger, deeper, more deliberate person.
Chile is changing me. I just don't know it yet.
To start, classes are a drag. "Soul draining" might be a better way to describe them, yep. I struggle to drag myself out of bed each morning to sit through them. Teachers seem to care less. I don't really either. I wish I did. I was robbed on the street and failed two assignments on the same day. I've found myself in the midst of a hot mess of a housing situation, to put it lightly. My roommate and I will both be moving with just weeks left in the program. (We will be the last students our family can host) I'm sick of feeling stagnant, wandering lifelessly, lacking joy and inspiration. Dry.
Maybe it's the smog smothered city life that I was never born for. It feels dead. I hate feeling dead. People all around me seem to be attached to fickle, temporary things. Party party parties. Computers. Parties. Not bad things. Not at all. Just.....fillers. It's not to say that I haven't met great people or valued every minute of being here. In fact, I still wish I could stay longer. And none of this, to be sure, is a reflection on Chile or Chileans, but
rather the sphere of influence I have found myself.
To give you some context, I'm submerged in an artificial world of weekly maid visits and fancy couches no one ever sits on in a house located one block away from the President's summer home. Yet, all around me are glimmers of the real Chile. I'm constantly constantly confronted with distinct, divided and sometimes warring social classes and political ideals.
Just this week I went to watch the Desfile del 21 de Mayo (A parade honoring the Combat of Iquique and welcoming the president) in Valparaíso. We never actually made it to the parade because we got sidetracked by the protests happening near the plaza.
The funny thing was that once the protesting died down, all it was was fighting: hundreds of people running up and down the streets with gas masks, churches covered in tacky pink paint splatters, broken glass throwing rocks and paint at buildings and government officials, carabineros (police) swarming and arresting anyone who put up a fight. I could sense the hostility. Just fighting. At this point not fighting for anything in particular. Just built up anger. It breaks my heart.
It's not just that though. I think this apathy comes from a deeper place. I've been educating myself about the US intervention-more-like-extortion in Chile during the 60s and 70s. A couple of weeks ago I went with ISA to Villa Grimaldi in Santiago, one of the primary torture and detention centers in Chile during the military coup of 1973. We walked through some of the torture cells where men and women were crammed into small spaces, fed electric currents, run over by trucks and drowned in swimming pools. Railroad tracks have been found just off the coast in Valparaíso that were used to tie people down and throw them into the ocean to hide the bodies. Even now little is known about the thousands of men and women who died, or "disappeared." It's all so very fresh. Killed by a US supported dictatorship.
What am I supposed to do with that? I feel mortified. I feel ashamed. Moreover, what do I represent here as a US citizen (not an American; Chileans are Americans too). As a white female? As a Peace Studies major? As a follower of Chirst? As someone just struggling to even learn the language? How can I justify my name-brand education when people here work their asses off to get by? As someone who believes in the power of love, grace, justice, equality, who "seeks peace and pursues it." Who am I to even have a say?
I have been forced to question everything that I believe about the world when it is so contrary to what I experience. I still have to believe that love is stronger than any language barrier. I believe that any any circumstance we can be content and that hope can never be overcome. Chile is growing me in ways I didn't expect it to. Probably in ways I didn't want it to. I don't just want to believe that. I want to really live it. I want to seek peace and pursue it, to care for the least of these, make disciples of all nations fully and live with purpose and hope.
I'm having one of those moments.
162 pages to be read in Spanish before I take off for the weekend.
"Reforms to the Capitalist World in Latin America after the Neoliberal Fundamentalism"
What does that even mean in English?
I'm pretty sure the longest academic text I've ever read in Spanish was around 8 pages.
It took me 3 1/2 hours.
Living in Chile is no doubt the biggest molehill I've had to conquer.
And when I'm here I get to play lots of fun games with myself. Oh I don't know like:
breaking down in the cell phone store because people there are people yelling at you and you have no idea what they are saying.
OR getting stuck in a collectivo at midnight because you can't pronounce the cross street and the driver won't leave you alone in a dark alley at night.
OR how about if your host dad is talking to you about Phil Collins for ten minutes and the whole time you think he is talking about beans?
Yeppers, all these things have happened to me. And millions more.
I think the thing I most am looking forward to when I go back home is being an intelligent human again.
Not to mention, when I cannot really communicate fully both because of language and cultural cues, so much of me is lost. It's more difficult to relate to those around me. What does it even mean to have a Spanish personality?
It's like I have to recreate this new pseudo version of Sara.
The thing about putting yourself outside of your comfort zone is that while the daily lows may be lower, the highs are also higher indeed.
There's something exhilarating about a challenge.
Life here is so indescribably abundant.
New experiences. New concepts. New perspectives.
That is precisely the part that I really could not explain to friends and family at home. As much as they are invested in my being here, there comes a point where I simply can no longer relay my experiences in a way that is tangible or comprehensive. It's hard to express how much that conversation meant to me or how I felt in that moment or how beautiful that was.
As much as I want them to they couldn't really care that funny thing that happened at the micro station at 4AM. Or the precious little gems at the orphanage. Or the protests that happen here almost every week. Or the haunting remnants of the Pinochet dictatorship that inhabit the ground we walk. Or the vibrant street art of Valparaíso powerful enough to communicate profound messages to the world.
I have fallen in love with Chile: its history, its people, its culture. Now that I am here I want nothing more than to be a part of it all as far as that can possibly be extended
-- even if that means learning Spanish. Chilean style.
My only complaint is that I do not have more time.
{Isla Negra and Sara}
That's all I have to say for now. I'm really swamped with obligations and all.
Going to Argentina tomorrow or something.
"And at once I realized I was not magnificent." - Bon Iver
This is the abridged story of my Patagonian adventure as I remember it. It wouldn't be right to say that these pictures or descriptions would ever ever do it justice. In our 12 days of travel the five of us spent 10 days, 9 nights and over 95 miles on the Torres del Paine Circuit carrying all of the food and gear. I can assure you that it's one adventure I shall never ever forget.
The real journey began at the end of a long dusty road in Puerta Natales, Chile....give or take a couple days of frantically navigating the chilean transportation, spending the night dirt cheap hostels, and meeting these gems in the Santiago airport.
How did the paparazzi sneak that one in? They were the best. Eat it Folgers.
Anyway, after getting off the bus at a place called Laguna Amarga we started off towards Campamento Serón with our four new Israeli friends that we had met on the last bus ride.
A nice six hour stroll later, the nine of us arrived at our first Campamento. The way it was set up it felt a little like we were camping someone's backyard. We spent the evening eating dinner with our new friends, watching the sunset and meeting some of the other travelers--many of whom we ended up seeing many more nights along the Circuit.
Patagonia has this thing where the skies are enormous and pink every morning and night.
Sometimes I accidentally buy chunky tomato paste instead of pasta sauce for dinner.
Look at that champ taking one for the team. What doesn't kill you makes you awesome.
Day 2:
The next morning we awoke to another day of perfect weather. Drew made breakfast, we packed up camp like it was our job and I taught Jaclyn how to spit toothpaste the environmentally friendly way. Ask her about it if you want. Or don't.
The choice is yours.
The beauty of the trail grew 5 times and so did the difficulty. We got our first views of the glaciers and towering mountains that make you want to cry or faint or pee your pants.
Some moments along the trail we'd just be silent for an hour or so. There's something to be said about solo time in a place this incredible. It gives you time to really process everything. Moreover, it gives you time to marvel in the face of raw beauty. I deliberately left every inclination to think about schoolwork, job applications and home behind. Ultimate freedom.
I remember thinking God, thank you for letting me be alive right now!
I will NEVER forget the first we had of Lake Dickson coming into our first refugio. I could not have dreamt up a place like this if I tried. We had an ariel view of turquoise lagoon nestled next to a glacier, big open field and towering snow capped mountains at it's heel.
That evening we cooked dinner by the lake and hung out by the shore until the sun went down.
Beautiful friendship. Beautiful Lake Dickson.
That night the guys that worked at the refugio invited us back to their cabaña and boy was it a night to remember.
Chilean life lesson #26: As it turns out it's pretty easy to get free wine with blonde hair and gringa accents.
Chilean Life Lesson #27: As it turns out it's also pretty easy to get away with basically anything with blonde hair and gringa accents.
Day 3:
I woke up to this staring me in the face. Try and have a bad day after that.
We started the morning hiking with our new friend Ivan, a 19 year old from Alaska who had been travelling the world for the last year and was attempting to do the entire Circuit in 5 days. Needless to say he ditched out on us after about an hour.
We had a pleasant day on our own despite the drizzle.
and ate second lunch next to this glacier. yum. yummo. delicious.
We had only a 6-mile day that day-- by far the shortest of the trip. Chump Change. Lot's of panoramas, river valleys and waterfalls of the bright turquoise variety.There's also no need to buy another postcard or set a desktop background because at this point I've already lived inside them all.
Our home that night, Campamento Perros was a pretty hip place nestled along a river in thick Aspen-like trees.
There was also a slack line set up, which led to many funny moments like this one:
Let me emphasize one more time how much we love these guys.
Day 4:
The next morning I awoke cuddled up to Drew in the tent. I was trying really hard to look really pitiful and cold.
Okay, okay I didn't have to try, I just was.
It was pouring rain. Just in time too because this was supposed to be our most difficult day. For the sake of my camera and my life I didn't take many pictures but Day 4 part 1 was definitely the most beautiful yet.
The next three hour window of my life that followed was truly unforgettable. Sixty mile and hour winds and pouring rain meant that we had to crouch down and hold onto branches more than one time to keep from toppling over. The best part was the self inflating trash bags covering mine and Jaclyn's packs that liked to hit us in the face and act as parachutes in the wind.
We barely noticed how steep it was because of how fast we were booking it to get over the pass. I don't think I've ever felt so in the zone. Unfortunately, when we got to the top we could barely see our own bodies, much less the view.
Lots of lots of downhill sliding down muddy switchbacks on the seats of our pants (into the same German tourist three times in my case) later we arrived at a not so quaint little camp sight they like to call Paso.
Thank you God for keeping us safe.
Wet clothes. Wet food. Smells like eggs. No problem. It was good to see some friendly familiar faces and that's all that seemed to really matter.
It's amazing what a belly full of burrito will do for a soul.
{Lauren, Kobi, Sara}
Day 5:
The morning was good to us when the sun came out to say hey. We decided to hike with our friends and it was probably one of my favorite trekking days. Have I said that before?
We had our first real views of Glacier Grey and it looked nothing like real life.
ahhhhh. I wish you could know.
{Drew, Kobi, Dan, Jaclyn, Lauren, Tzachi}
{5th consecutive day of rainbow}
We arrived that night at Refugio Grey, which was kind of like camping for posers. Then when I realized there was hot water, a fancy lobby and couches for snoozing and I was okay with being a poser.
It also marked the official beginning of the 'W' section of the circuit, which meant going from 3 or 4 groups of travelers to 15 or 20. As overwhelming as it was, it was truly special to meet people from literally all over the world. We have plans to meet up with many of them again in Chile.
Here's most group squatting at the Refugio until they kicked us out.
Day 6:
We started hiking early that day in the rain through the burned section of the park. The day only got drearier when we had to split the group up due to injury. Lauren and Jaclyn stayed behind at Refugio Paine Grande to take the ferry to a Hostelería and we made plans to meet up again in 2 days to climb the Torres. Our new friend Iris, who caught up to us with her group 45 minutes also decided to accompany them last minute leaving Drew, Bailey and I with the three boys. It was a bitter feeling to say goodbye to part of the team knowing that we would not be able to finish all together. Nonetheless, we pushed through the second half of the day and saw this:
The entrance to Campamento Italiano was a swinging bridge seated next to a towering glacier topped mountain.
Here is what I would look like if I hiked all day then stood on a bridge trying not to get knocked into a river by the wind.
Campamento Italiano was the most crowded of all the places we had stayed as it was one of the main stopping points for the French Valley and crossway into the 'W.' It was pouring rain that night and people were crowded into the small shelter cooking their dinners. I was so thankful that there hadn't been this many people the whole trip as wonderful as it was for that night. I got to know some interesting people from around the world: Finland, Australia, India, Argentina, Canada to name a few of my new buddies. I had know idea how many people dedicate months, years, maybe more of their lives just travelling the world. I was captivated.
The best part was that had no other focus or distractions outside of the pursuit of this adventure and the community of travelers. We all came from different places but shared this love for adventure and beauty-- I couldn't think of anything more unifying.
So many people were interested to hear an American's perspective on Obama, economics, Chilean politics, peanut butter. The usual.
The saddest part bar none was saying goodbye to our Kobi, Dan and Tzachi who would be continuing on to Campamento Torres the next day. They sent us off with big hugs and pearls of wisdom. I sat by the river next to where we were camping that night for a couple hours that night reflecting on the pure beauty of this journey hence far.
Day 7:
It felt a little strange and empty to get up that morning and pack up camp, our group having shrunk from 9 to 3 in less than 24 hours. The day hike into the French Valley meant we got to leave our packs for the day. They were not missed.
God is pretty good at doing his thing.
Day 8:
We packed up camp that morning in a downpour about to embark on our longest day of hiking (about 15 miles we later estimated). Thank God the sun came out after about an hour and low and behold another beautiful day in the Patagonia. It was getting pretty ridiculous at this point how unreal everything is.
{Drew and Bailey at Campamento Cuernos}
The best part of the day was reuniting with Jaclyn and Lauren Chariots of Fire style.
That's right we got the gang back.
Summoning every ounce of inner strength we had, the five of began the steep three hour ascent into the Valley of the Towers holding and making it to camp just before it got dark. Unbelievable.
We talked about hiking the last 45 minutes up to the towers from camp for sunset that night but decided to pass out in a pile o' sleeping bags instead.
Good joke though.
Instead we enjoyed our cups of dry pasta and soy-meatish thing and made plans to get up at 5 AM the next morning to watch the sunrise over the towers. I will never forget that dinner we had with one of the Chileans working at Campamento Torres.
my personal favorite:
Fernando: (to the Japanese man sitting next to us) Do you eat rice, like, every night?
And then you have to know, nothing is worse for your Spanish than sleep deprivation and hiking 10 hours:
Fernando: So, how long have you guys been here?
Lauren: About a week
Bailey: About a month
Sara: In July
Jaclyn: No, my gloves are still wet.
Drew: Up in the hills.
You get the idea.
Day 9:
The next morning against all notions of good and decency 5 o'clock rolled around and our big open blue skies turned into yep. a blizzard. I desperately wanted to stay and wait it out but we decided it would be most beneficial for the group to hike out that morning right away. We packed up camp like no one's business and got to lower ground fast.
Heartbroken.
For five years I had dreamt of seeing the real Torres del Paine. And here I was living in Chile thousands of miles from home on this great journey of triumph and personal growth craving to stand bewildered and humbled at the face of one of what may be the most beautiful spots on earth. I wasn`t till we were on the bus back to Natales and my friend from Campamento Italiano showed me his pictures from the night before that it really registered.
My heart sank five feet into my chest.
It made me think of something that our Israeli friend, Tzachi had said a couple nights before. No matter how many times you lose something: whether it be a wallet, a romantic relationship or even a friend who dies it will never prepare you for the next thing you have to lose. There is no way to equip or prepare yourself for loss. Okay I can't help but laugh at myself and this weird crush I have on the mountains. A little obsessed perhaps? Probably. I believe being in the wilderness is one of the most authentic things we can experience as humans. In all honesty, in that moment, missing out on the Torres felt like such a loss. It was then I realized what it means to let go of something. I thought about my own life-- about saying goodbye to the river at the end of a Kidder Creek summer, seeing best friends go time after time, boldly passing into a new phase of life. It's easy to look back with regret and longing. In regards to this fixated expectation, just like so many other things, I had to learn to let go. I have to believe that there are greater things ahead than any left behind. With every new experience I learn to detach myself from the worldly treasures, or at the very least give them to God. With every new phase of life I recognize that everything real on this earth--every ounce of glory, every beautiful moment, relationship and towering mountain top is a reflection of a deeper beauty that I do not own.
I grew so much more as a person in those 12 days than I ever could have in the week and a half of school that I missed.
I'll never forget sharing my life story with a group of had-been strangers a few short days ago, watching the sun rise over Lake Dickson or that first view of Glacier Grey, staying up late laughing and talking about the rest of our lives, learning the passions, dreams, hopes and struggles of people from around the globe. I may not have gotten to see the towers but my days in Patagonia were richer and more abundant than anything I could have conceived in my own anticipation.If there is one thing that Chile has taught me it is how BLESSED I am for opportunities as these.
"The very basic core of a man's living spirit is his passion for adventure. The joy of life comes from our encounters with new experiences, and hence there is no greater joy than to have an endlessly changing horizon, for each day to have a new and different sun."
Chilean life lesson #37: Never show up to South America without your best good hiking boots and your sporkife.
Well, I should probably catch you up on the latest of my traverses through South America. This weekend we hit up a quaint little town in the South of Chile they like to call Pucón.
I grew really fond of all the time spent on buses. They treat you like royalty. First comes the prepackaged manjar cookie. They draw your curtains for you at naptime. Then play Latin American pop music really loud. Sometimes they wake you up so that they can tuck you into bed. Then you get to watch movies that you would never, ever have the opportunity to watch otherwise.
The first day we hit up some of the special little treasures around Púcon, swam in a lake, explored some lagunas. I lost track of all the waterfalls. It was the good soul melting kind of beautiful. We finished the day lounging around some natural hotsprings.
I woke up the next morning at the crack of something to hike the smokin' volcano nestled up next to the town, but the guide told us that it was too foggy to summit that day and to try again next time.
Instead a couple of friends and I decided to spend the day and possibly camp Parque Nacional. Of course rather than taking the bus like normal human beings we decided that it would be just the right amount of ambitious to bike the 38 kilometers up the rocky mountain. Well, we gave it the ol' college try and hitchiked the rest of the way with a new Chilean pal that worked with "cars and cows." Thanks Luís!
Okay, and I can just say mmmhmm? Our journey took us through some rural back roads where we saw lots of the indigenous campesinos and Mapuche villages were. The inhabitants live and work completely off the land. We ate wild blackberries off the road and pet some mountain goats and watched the cow carts stroll by. It all felt so harmonious.
I tried to rewrangle our group for hiking the next morning, but come 8:30 AM the next morning only two of us braved the lack of sleep we all got the night before to catch the bus to Caburga.
My friend Drew and I spent the day hiking Huerquehue National Park. Again it was unreal how beautiful everything is.
Here is Drew with our adopto-puppy that followed us all 10 miles up and down the mountain. You sly dog.
Here I am sitting pensively by a river.
How many perfect days does a person get in a lifetime?
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