Ice Cream

Ice Cream is my comfort food (that and pizza with ranch dressing…). But it seems as if it is also the national dessert of Chile.

I really like ice cream (helado in Spanish). Everyone knows that when they hang out with my family (the birth one), we’re probably going to eat ice cream. And it’s a big deal for us to eat ice cream. Even if we eat it a lot…I still get excited each time I eat it. It’s that good.

…Which is why I’ve dedicated an entire blog to this topic alone.

I expected to eat ice cream while in Chile, but I didn’t expect to be surrounded by the like-minded so frequently. The ice cream here is good, really good and it’s cheap, which means I get to eat it more often…that equals a happy kid. And everyone eats it. I’m not sure if it is just because it’s so hot all the time…or if it’s a cultural thing. They sell ice cream on the bus. After school, it seems as if everyone is walking home with an ice cream in their hand. One time I got on the bus with my host parents, and everyone was eating ice cream (no joke).

The ice cream here is much lighter---it’s not gelato, but it looks like it. I like when I get to eat ice cream by the scoop. But the ice cream in the individual packages aren’t bad either. I really like this raspberry mix with vanilla ice cream covered in chocolate.

When my host mom found out that I had an obsession with ice cream and learned that I had ice cream (by the scoop) at one of her favorite places—our relationship was solidified. I had to do an interview for one of my classes and we made a “deal” that I could interview her if I bought her ice cream…I liked the deal because I got ice cream too.

A week ago I told Ale that I was going to buy some ice cream for us to eat after dinner. Our relationship and routine is more natural and we’re understanding each other more—so this conversation wasn’t difficult to have. She told me what flavor she likes.

So after I went to an internet cafe, I went to the store to pick up ice cream. There were so many choices—but I picked up the one with fruit, because Ale had explained how she has had bad experiences with non-fruit flavors. I checked out, paid the cashier, and walked home ice cream in hand.

When I walked in, I immediately showed Ale the ice cream I had bought—she didn’t seem as enthusiastic as I did---and I was a bit confused. A family friend’s daughter was over for dinner. We had dinner and then I got the ice cream out.

Brought the bowls, spoons, and container of ice cream to the table. As I dished the ice cream out I began to understand why Ale’s reaction wasn’t exactly enthusiastic. As they tasted the ice cream, Ale and her family friend waited for me to try it…YUCK! It was horrible. I said it tasted like water with artificial fruit flavor..it was a weird texture of ice. Basically, I had bought the cheapest and worst brand of ice cream. (She might look happy here eating it…but she most definitely was not.)

The ice cream might have been bad…but we all laughed so much. And it’s definitely the common story for Ale share with others.

Oh well…at least I’ve found the good places to buy ice cream and now I know what not to buy at the grocery story.

Bread and Roses

(This blog finishes up the blog entry “Give us a sample…”")

Our last stop for the day was Parque por la Paz—Villa Grimaldi (Park for Peace—Villa Grimaldi).

It’s also the Auschwitz of Chile.

It was one of the main torture centers and headquarters for the DINA (Secret Police) during the Pinochet era.

Before this, it belonged to a wealthy liberal family. It had a restaurant. A pool. A beautiful rose garden. It became a place where liberals would meet to talk about making Chile a more just country.

The wealthy family’s daughter was captured by the DINA. In return for their daughter, the family handed over the property to Pinochet.

It was in use from 1974-1978. Almost 4,000 people were brought through here. Almost 300 people were killed here or “disappeared.”

At this point in the day, I’m not really talking much. I just don’t know what to say at this point. 

We start the tour. To be honest, I’m not really sure how much of the tour I heard. The guide spoke fast and there were a lot of words in Spanish that I did not know. I was able to ask some of the SIT staff some questions to clarify things.

First we saw a model of the place. DINA bulldozed much of the land after they closed the place down in 1978 to destroy their evidence.

Next to some of the model homes…there were sketches of what the “inside” of this particular building looked like. I couldn’t help but be reminded of the pictures of the Holocaust, where bodies are huddling close together.

Then we went to the gate that remains lock. Symbolically showing “nunca más” (never again).

Out from the gate is a beautiful mosaic image (sort of looks like the roots of a tree).

Some of the tiles are from the original buildings where the individuals were kept during their time a Villa Grimaldi. The blue and green tiles on the edge mirror the shape of tears.

And we kept going…

There are plaques to show where the male and female holding cells where. The guide talked about the importance of solidarity…the importance of singing, story telling, togetherness during these moments. How these “prisoners" would maintain that—even with the screams of those being tortured coming from the room next door. 

They had a replica of one of the rooms to give a sense of the size. Rossana, a SIT staff member, said, 4 people stayed in here and each person would take turns sleeping on the ground for a bit at a time.

We went to the wall where the names of those who died here are listed. There are black spaces under each year Grimaldi was open for any more bodies they still find or for those bodies they are not able to put a name to. When this was designed they wanted to make it more accessible. Unlike the other Memorial, individuals are touch this wall. Take the steps down and feel each name on the wall.

Then we entered the Rose Garden. During the years of operation, “prisoners” would imagine the smell of roses that used to exist when the family owned the property. The gargen is a memorial to the 30+ women who were killed here. Each bed of flowers has the name of one of the women who died here. There are four unnamed beds where the names of the four other women who died is unknown.

 

Then we moved to the once water tower. During the take-over it was the torture chamber—the one where someone would enter and not leave. There are only a few who survived this—the shocking, the water dunking. Most of the people tortured excessively in this building and then thrown into the ocean.

And then there was a pool.

It served many purposes. When the Red Cross came, DINA had the detainees hide in here so the Red Cross could inspect. Some guards used the pool for recreational activities. And a few times it was used for the children of the DINA members. They played in the pool while individuals were screaming as they were tortured. Those being tortured can remember hearing the voices of those playing in the pool.

The center of the park where a majority of the torturing happened is turned into a mosaic design.

The tour ended soon after. We saw the DINA “headquarters” which was turned into a museum to showcase a few individuals who died here. A number of memorials to the political organizations that were sought out during the dictatorship. 

And then it ended.

I’m surprised I didn’t leave feeling discouraged. I left in awe of the people who work to create a better world. Of the people who know, in their gut of guts, that what they are writing or singing or performing or sharing or saying is what needs to be done. I’m in awe of the people who continue to do that—knowing that this is possible. That torture and death and leaving it all is possible. But these people keep going.

Just as those in Grimaldi would close their eyes and imagine the smell of roses, these people, too, are fighting for the bread and roses for all people. The right to put food and roses on the table. And working so that never again…is never again…in Rwanda, Chile, in Iraq, in U.S. Prisons, in the Middle East, in Darfur…never again.

And may I continue to build a world where when I travel…I am not visiting memorial after memorial dedicated to governments that tortured their people with the help of my government, where I am not witness U.S. capitalism infiltrate their economy.

Instead I witness their culture. I speak to their people who speak their language. I eat their food from their country. And I learn their history. Not my history in their country. I learn their history.

Give us a sample of blood, and we’ll find your loved one

On Thursday afternoon and during the day on Friday we had one of our “educational excursions.” It was one of the most powerful “educational” experiences of my life. It wasn’t a typical field trip where a class visits a museum, fills out a worksheet about the items at the museum, eats their lunch at a designated “group” area, and then takes the bus back to school continue with another class, maybe math or something.

This experience asked me to think deeply, feel strongly, and develop questions.

It started will a discussion with Julia Urquieta one of the few human rights lawyers in Chile. I had assumed we would be meeting with a young, 20-something women who was passionate about creating a more just Chile. Instead, a older, shorter, stout women stood up and began by asking us what we think of as “human rights.” She told us the history of human rights in Chile by telling us the history of Allende, the 1973 coup, Pinochet, post-dictatorship, the disappeared, the tortured, the ways in which families worked to holding Pinochet accountable…

The history was told in a matter-of-fact kind of way. I had read this history a number of times and was surprised to hear a Chilean speak of their own history in such a practical manner. That’s not to say that she’s not incredible at the work she does—because she is. She continues to fight for the families who lost members to Pinochet’s dictatorship, including working on a campaign (see photo below) that sorts threw the hundreds of bodies that have been found since the end of dictatorship and matches their bodies with DNA from a family member’s blood.

(Title: You live in us) Note: The people on the post are all individuals who had a “disappeared” during Pinochet’s regime.

And then Friday came.

I’d had been looking forward to this day since I saw this event on our itinerary. As someone who loves reading history and seeing history, this day would put the books, stories, and articles into a physical context.

First, we went to The Memorial for those who were arrested and disappeared and the executed political activists (the translation doesn’t really work that well…you get the idea though). We had taken a long bus ride ride to one of the largest cemeteries in Santiago where the memorial is. I didn’t know what to expect. I knew, from the reading we had, that the names would be listed. I assumed it would be something like the Vietnam Memorial.

The bus parked and we all go out. We were all chatting, but more quietly now. And we began walking in the direction of the memorial. And then I was there.

And I began crying. I’m not a crier. I have nothing against people who cry…I’m all supportive of displaying emotions, talking about emotions. But I usually don’t cry. I get angry, but not teary. And I cried. Not just tears in the eyes that I could wipe away, droplets and droplets fell from my eyes.

In front of me was a large concrete slab with names. Names. Mothers. Fathers. Sisters. Brothers. Babies. People my age. Grandparents. Neighbors.

Names of people who were tortured to death by military personal who used torture techniques they had learned at the School of Americans in Atlanta, Georgia. Names of people who were killed because Pinochet rose to power will the financial help of the U.S. government. Name of people who were working for a more just world who were murdered because my government, my tax dollars, wanted to spread capitalism and wanted a country to friendly-relationship with.

They were angry tears. frustrated tears. disappointed tears. sad tears. confused tears. overwhelmed tears.

And they we got back in the car to drive to another part of the cemetery. In the car we had a short conversation…I said, “The thing that makes me the most upset is knowing that these aren’t the only people have lost their lives at the hands of the U.S. government…it’s happening right now in Iraqi and Afghanistan. We’re still doing it…”

The cemetery is so large that there are street names to navigate your way around the place. Each street is named Patio-- (followed by a number). Patio 29 is one of the places where Pinochet and his army threw bodies of the people he murder. Right now the government is turning Patio 29 into a more appropriate memorial.

A few steps down from Patio 29 is the original place where Victor Jara (the Pete Seeger or Woody Guthrie for the U.S.) was buried. He was picked up by the military on Sept. 11, 1973 and tortured in the National Stadium. He was murdered on Sept. 16, 1973 a few days before his 41st birthday.

A few years ago, people gather to hold a funeral for Jara. Hundreds of people gather to celebrate his life and a more appropriate site was found for his body.

At this point, the tears were coming less frequently but I still had no control of when they’d fall.

Then we got back on our bus and moved to the other part of the cemetery. The place where the “founders” of the country are buried, the people who have the busiest intersections named after them, rulers of the country…

We passed the plot where Gladys Marín, leader of the Community Party in Chile. In 1998, she was one of the first people in Chile to charge Pinochet and members of his junta with murder, torture, and abuses of human rights.

Then we got to Allende’s memorial. A modern memorial surrounded by more antique looking plots. I wonder if that’s because he didn’t exactly “fit” in with some of the other presidents of Chile…

We were carrying carnations with us to all of the respective place. I had placed one on the Memorial, we had first gone to. I place a red carnation here as well.

I asked Roberto if there was a specific reason why he was also on Patio 29. He said it was just a counsidence. I’d like to think it was more than that.

The rest of the day will be on a different blog.

Cultural Norms? The Three T's of Chile

I'm very confused by the idea that there are certain things "Chilean" and certain things "American" (well, The United State-n). Now that I write that, I KNOW that there are definitely some traits that are rightfully so attributed to the U.S. But I feel more comfortable writing what those cultural traits are (i.e. individualism, consumerism, etc.) for the U.S. than I do for Chile.

It's easy to get into the "wow-that's so Chilean" phase. But since, based on my various conversations with the other U.S. students here who are having a more "traditional home-stay experience," I don't know what's "normal" for Chile!

All that to say--the follow are some observations I've made since I've been in Santiago.

1. Trash. My host mom considers herself a ecologista (ecologist, environmentalist). She's big on the no plastic bags usage, but I was surprised to see her using paper towels and napkins. I understand people have contradictions (yada-yada-yada)...either way I would have assumed differently given the adamant personality she has about the state of the world. I've heard my fellow SIT-students say, "Where are all the garbage bins around here? There don't seem to be enough."

One day when I was leaving for school, it happened to be trash day and I saw the three massive bins on the edge of the sidewalk. There were three large bins (picture the ones are about my height, on wheels)...for the entire 4 building apartment (over 50 some people)! And this was the first trash day since the earthquake, so I'd assume people would have more trash (broken items, etc.). It was an "ah-ha" moment for me. They just don't produce a lot of waste here...it's not about using or not using paper napkins, or even using cloth bags over plastic...being an environmentalist, for my host mom, and for her apartment neighbors (whether they call themselves an environmentalist or not) means not producing that much waste...what a concept!

2. Touching. Our SIT orientation handbook says, "As the majority of teens and adults live under their parents' roof, even after college, they often have no other alternative than to have time alone with their partner in the streets...these public displays of affection are a product of a society who fosters open displays of affection even among family members and friends." So yep people are making out all the time...subways, buses, park bunches, streets, right behind me (you get the picture...). These aren't simple kisses...it's the whole deal. And it's not just between a women and a man in their 20-somethings...they are between two people of the same gender, older couples, younger couples, love is inclusive here.

And whenever you meet someone, you always kiss them on the check---man to man, man to women, etc. It's a beautiful gesture and I'd like to think this would help break down a machista culture and foster a culture of appreciation and acceptance of a queer culture. The reality is it doesn't really do that as much as it could

3. influence of The U.S. In a book I read about Pinochet's dictatorship and legacy during some of the down time I had the first few days here, had a section that particularly stood out. The author stressed how the U.S. has used Chile as its own little "experiment"---first with the Chicago Boys and US aid during Pinochet era to open the markets which led to huge disparities between the rich and poor (Chile now has the 8th largest income gap in the world), helping to introduce credit cars and instill a culture of consumerism. And I've begun to look at Santiago that way (as the U.S.'s "experiment"). I sometimes have to remind myself that I am actually in South America, that I am not in a part of the U.S. that just speaks Spanish really fast.

There are influences of the U.S. everywhere. Some I expected...certain logos and brands, a few English expressions, the small tiendas that sell souvenirs made in China...some I didn't.

When I talk to people about Pinochet's legacy, often people talk about the increasing emphasis on individualism.

There has been a huge push to standardized testing and accountability in schools which began in 2000 (NCLB was in 2001).

There are versions of Wal-Marts everywhere (they are actually called "Jumbos" with a huge elephant as the mascot for the store--at least here they can recognize that it's all enormous).

In a country with sidewalk farmers markets everywhere (it's not just a once/week thing here!), the grocery stores are full of produce from a huge multinational corporation, Dole.

There are more...they just aren't coming to me right now.

I am not sure what exactly Chile's culture is. Maybe it's because I'm from the U.S. that I can't point out the U.S.'s influence. Or maybe it's because the U.S. really is experimenting with Chile. I'll keep observing. Not hoping to find something specifically "Chilean" but hoping to find something that doesn't have "U.S. domination" written all over it.

Some of it is already here...less trash, more affection. There's got to be more...

Photos

The following are a bunch of photos to give you a visual of something of the things I've talked about...enjoy!

Here I am with Pablo in the living room of the apartment. We have our head lamps on because we didn't have power for a number of days after the Earthquake.

The next three photos are from Pablo Neruda's house in Casa de Isla Negra..


And finally this was the view we had the first few days during orientation in Algarrobo (not bad!).

The day I came out to my (host) parents.

I don’t know what spiritual force I believe in, if any…what I do believe is that, that if you give the earth enough patience things fall into place (or at least a few).

Leaving Mount Holyoke, a community where being gay is so normalized---I think it’s almost a place where being gay is the “cool” identity to have, knowing I was going to be traveling on my own…in a country where the guide book says it’s not “gay-friendly,” was probably the most unsettling/difficult part of going-abroad. Yea, speaking a different language—hard, frustrating. Meeting people, traveling in a major city—could be challenging. But being asked to hide a part of who I am, something I had already done during high school, not fun. I’ve done it before. I’ve played that game—pretending she is just my friend, pretending I think that guy is cute. But I decided I’d see how my host family was before I made any official decisions about whether I’d come out in Chile (and coming-out here meant telling them that I was in a relationship with a woman).

After the first few hours, I knew they were liberal. But that really means nothing when it comes to “gay-acceptance.” Lots of people are liberal, and aren’t too keen when one of their kids tells them that they are gay.

After the first few days, I knew they were more “comfortable” with the idea. They had talked about their friends who identified as gay/lesbian/etc. Told me about the gay bars they go to. They asked me if I had a novia o novio (girlfriend or boyfriend). I remember thinking, “How awesome that they don’t make assumptions about me!?!” Somehow I managed to brush the question aside; you get used to doing things like that, when you don’t exactly want to pretend 100% of the time. Eventually they asked me again…I told them her name. Luckily for me, her name is gender neutral, so I was able to talk more abstractly about our relationship.

After the first weekend, I knew they were safe. We still didn’t have power from the effects of the earthquake, so there was lots of laughter from not having certain conveniences and were all beginning to understand each other for each other, Emma was becoming Emma…not the person who was speaking extremely slowly or thinking twice before she says a single phrase…

Ale (I know her well enough to use her nickname!)—Alejandra—was in the kitchen and I decided to bring out the picture of my girlfriend. I said, in Spanish (although it might not have come out like this—she still understood me), “At first, I wasn’t sure if I could tell you this. I have a girlfriend and I have some pictures to show you.” Ale stopped what she was doing, stepped out of the kitchen, sat down next to me in the living room. She sat close to me. And let me go page by page, explaining who this person is to me. She used a gentle voice, when I couldn’t say what I wanted to say, to help me with my Spanish. She asked questions. After, when I thanked her for being the person I could share this with, she thanked me. Then Pablo came in. After I told him about my novia, I told him I had pictures and he excitedly looked at them. He, too, went page by page looking closely at each photo. I thanked him. Pablo said, “Thank you for having the confidence to share this with us.”

And the rest of the night went on. They ask me about her—when she’ll be back from India, when I’ll get to talk to her.

A few days since, they’ve become more comfortable with me. Ale’s told me about the lesbian relationship she had. How she believes sexuality is fluid. She wants to know about my “coming-out” (in the U.S., I’m assuming).

Creating a safe space means taking risks. And when the risk-taking is rewarded in some version, it makes it easier to take more.