Life in Santiago explained - Lunch with a local student for questions, answers and some delicious choclo.
The statue of the Madonna atop the giant city hill of Cerro San Cristobal, named after St Christopher, the patron saint of travellers. It's a fitting name for the view that the hill offers voyagers from afar. It was here that the Pope blessed the city in 1984.
I was charmed by Chile in our two short weeks in Santiago. We settled in so nicely. The walks to school were idyllic if you could ignore the collectivos rumbling by. I just don´t think we could have lucked out with our apartment and a more friendly lifestyle.
On our last day, I was especially looking forward to going to lunch with Gabriel for three reasons. I was eager to learn from him about the Chilean lifestyle (while getting to the bottom of some curious cultural habits...). Second, he requested help with his (nearly perfect) English and I was to prep him for postgraduate life in suburban Minnesota. Finally it was borderline criminal to go two weeks without trying a pastel de choclo. Luckily Gabriel had offered to help with all of these over lunch in Bellavista at El Caramano, which is renouned for traditional food.
Before the bread and pebre came over, I admitted how accomidating city life had been for us. How Santiago had grown on me. What I love here is the paradox between fast and slow, refined and scruffy. People speak fast and walk slow. The cosmoplitan culture is refined but the buildings that overshadow the streetscapes have a polluted crust to their edges. It’s a paradox a little familiar in Spain or Italy.
However there´s a colonial pride, elegence and swagger that is all too Chilean. Our first impression was that English speakers are rare, unlike almost all four corners of Europe these days. Instead Chileans help you with patience. Real patience - one that is almost unheard of in busy cities. We frequently had shopkeepers walk us outside, or even down the street, to point us in the right direction. It was remarkable.
Polution and noise aside, I think he was chuffed that I felt so at home in Santiago. He laughed when I told him that my first sounds in the city were dogs howling in the ally downstairs at night - a common occurance. I learned that the street dogs are indeed a problem in Santiago. Technically they are to be exterminated. However Chileans love dogs too much. They believe in a way that the strays watch over their neighborhoods. Commuters often leave a piece of bread next to the same sleeping dog they see each day on the way to work.
To me, this is not a point of embarassment the city should be concerned with. I then asked Gabriel about the canoodeling teenage couples that are making out on almost every patch of grass in city parks. He admitted that a trip to the park yes, will guarantee that you won’t be able to count the amount of PDAing. I was surprised Gabriel knew what PDAing was, and even more the expression 'get a room'. Apparently an article in the New Yorker had also made this recent observation of a teenage phenomena that is only a recent trend.
Another curiosity worth explaining was the need in Chile to give your passport number for everything you could possibly do. From paying at the supermarket, to entering museums, to the little man that requires that you sign in at his table before entering the public park. Gabriel supposed it was a tradition that has carried on from past governments. I found this big brother "tradition" extremely odd. It certainly wouldn't fly in the states.
Gabriel had already brought up politics asking me what I knew about the president, Sebastien Piniera. I told him that I knew he liked flying his friends around in his helicopter to tennis matches. And that he has changed the Carabineros' motercycles in his motorcarde to Harley-Davidsons. Piniera was a bit of a hotshot businessman, and Gabriel noted that he already been frustrated when trying to run a government like a business.
By now the two men in the table opposite were enjoying the end of their long friday lunch with a pisco sour. Politics are one thing. Catholocism is another thing in South America. But I was about to ask my new friend the mother of all questions. Where did the pisco sour come from Gabriel raised his voice slightly and told me that he will happily talk about anything else, but the dispute with Peru over Pisco was off limits. He did not want to talk about it.
Lunch was a great success. Gabriel later joined our gang from school for a final terromoto at the Piojera. It was filled to the roof with students that evening from the two main santiago universities. I couldn't believe how readily we were adopted by the largest group in the bar, only after blushing to chants of 'gringo' from what seemed like one hundred people.
Santiago was indeed a great city to us. I certainly wouldn't mind a return trip to Chile soon...
On our last day, I was especially looking forward to going to lunch with Gabriel for three reasons. I was eager to learn from him about the Chilean lifestyle (while getting to the bottom of some curious cultural habits...). Second, he requested help with his (nearly perfect) English and I was to prep him for postgraduate life in suburban Minnesota. Finally it was borderline criminal to go two weeks without trying a pastel de choclo. Luckily Gabriel had offered to help with all of these over lunch in Bellavista at El Caramano, which is renouned for traditional food.
Before the bread and pebre came over, I admitted how accomidating city life had been for us. How Santiago had grown on me. What I love here is the paradox between fast and slow, refined and scruffy. People speak fast and walk slow. The cosmoplitan culture is refined but the buildings that overshadow the streetscapes have a polluted crust to their edges. It’s a paradox a little familiar in Spain or Italy.
However there´s a colonial pride, elegence and swagger that is all too Chilean. Our first impression was that English speakers are rare, unlike almost all four corners of Europe these days. Instead Chileans help you with patience. Real patience - one that is almost unheard of in busy cities. We frequently had shopkeepers walk us outside, or even down the street, to point us in the right direction. It was remarkable.
Gabriel then explained that Chileans aren´t as hot blooded as their Argentine neighbors. They are more reserved, even shy sometimes. Chileans are hogareňos (homebodies). It was great to talk to someone so candidly about our observations.
Polution and noise aside, I think he was chuffed that I felt so at home in Santiago. He laughed when I told him that my first sounds in the city were dogs howling in the ally downstairs at night - a common occurance. I learned that the street dogs are indeed a problem in Santiago. Technically they are to be exterminated. However Chileans love dogs too much. They believe in a way that the strays watch over their neighborhoods. Commuters often leave a piece of bread next to the same sleeping dog they see each day on the way to work.
To me, this is not a point of embarassment the city should be concerned with. I then asked Gabriel about the canoodeling teenage couples that are making out on almost every patch of grass in city parks. He admitted that a trip to the park yes, will guarantee that you won’t be able to count the amount of PDAing. I was surprised Gabriel knew what PDAing was, and even more the expression 'get a room'. Apparently an article in the New Yorker had also made this recent observation of a teenage phenomena that is only a recent trend.
Latin blood - Like in all Mediterranean countries, women can expect to receive cat calls. I read about a Belgian woman who recently repatriated to Europe. She missed her tailor in Santiago, an old man who would call her Miss Beautiful because he didn't know her name. She found that there was a void back in cold Europe when she would walk by a construction site unnoticed, or at least unannounced.
Another curiosity worth explaining was the need in Chile to give your passport number for everything you could possibly do. From paying at the supermarket, to entering museums, to the little man that requires that you sign in at his table before entering the public park. Gabriel supposed it was a tradition that has carried on from past governments. I found this big brother "tradition" extremely odd. It certainly wouldn't fly in the states.
Gabriel had already brought up politics asking me what I knew about the president, Sebastien Piniera. I told him that I knew he liked flying his friends around in his helicopter to tennis matches. And that he has changed the Carabineros' motercycles in his motorcarde to Harley-Davidsons. Piniera was a bit of a hotshot businessman, and Gabriel noted that he already been frustrated when trying to run a government like a business.
By now the two men in the table opposite were enjoying the end of their long friday lunch with a pisco sour. Politics are one thing. Catholocism is another thing in South America. But I was about to ask my new friend the mother of all questions. Where did the pisco sour come from Gabriel raised his voice slightly and told me that he will happily talk about anything else, but the dispute with Peru over Pisco was off limits. He did not want to talk about it.
Lunch was a great success. Gabriel later joined our gang from school for a final terromoto at the Piojera. It was filled to the roof with students that evening from the two main santiago universities. I couldn't believe how readily we were adopted by the largest group in the bar, only after blushing to chants of 'gringo' from what seemed like one hundred people.
Santiago was indeed a great city to us. I certainly wouldn't mind a return trip to Chile soon...
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