Becoming Mostly Sunny After Morning clouds. Mid 60s. Southwest Wind Around 10 MPH.

It's autumn here. The leaves are changing colors. It is colder outside every day. It hasn't started raining yet, but it will soon. I traded my spring of uneventful weather reports for another fall.

(Radio DJ: It's 7:50 AM; that's 10 minutes till the top of the hour here in the Bay Area. We've got traffic and weather for you every morning on the 10's, so here's Chip, our drive-time commute expert. What's going on, Chip? Chip: Slow and go on the 101, Paul. We've got a mattress in lanes near Foster City. Watch out for brake lights. Announcer: Thanks Chip. Now to Nancy, our weather forecaster. Nancy: Thanks Paul. It looks like another day of clear, sunny skies with temperatures hovering around 80 degrees. We expect the same tomorrow, the next day, the day after that, and pretty much every day from then on until October 1^st. Back to you, Paul.)

I really don't mind the fall, though. It reminds me of home. I must stay, I really miss weather. At Stanford, it's either raining or it's clear and cold in the winter. I miss the dense fog, downpours, drizzles, frost, and the cold, clear days of the Washington invierno. That's real weather.

Normally, the Santiago acts like somebody getting up in the morning to go to a job that they're not wild about. Santiago hears the alarm clock go off in the morning, decides to hit the snooze button for another 10 minutes of dozing instead of taking a shower, and then rolls out of bed at the last possible moment. It throws on some generically bad-looking clothing and checks to make sure that its hair doesn't say too strongly "I'd rather be sleeping." It grabs a portable yogurt and then hurries out the door only to sit in traffic and stress about whether or not it's going to make it to work on time. Upon arriving at work, it sees the line of customers going out the door and thinks, "Great, another day of this." This is the side of the city I often see. It's smoggy, stray dogs run around everywhere, and I always have to worry about people stealing items from my backpack on crowded buses.

Tonight, however, I saw a different side. Santiago was dressed up classily for a nice dinner. It was clear, slightly chilly, the leaves were of all different colors, and there was a pink sunset painted on the bottom of the clouds above the high-rises. It was gorgeous. I am actually excited for the rain, when it comes. I think it will be very comforting.

I feel as if the mild persistent congestion that I have is a result of the pollution; when I traveled to Pucón, I found that I could breathe freely. In a slightly exaggerated course of action, this morning a student emailed the group here saying that he had purchased 3 air masks (the kind you see on the news whenever infectious diseases like SARS break out around the globe) and only needed one, so could offer two to the first people who wanted them. It actually is fairly stark sometimes:

I've actually been somewhat lacking in my sight-seeing within Santiago. I've traveled to various places within the country, but I have not yet visited the head governmental building (La Moneda), the primary cathedral (La Catedral), or the central square (La Plaza de Armas). I did go and visit the Cerro San Cristobal on Saturday, however. The Cerro is one of two or three hills in the middle of the city. Of all strange places to put a zoo, this smoggy hillside does not seem like it would be at the top of the list; the guidebook here said it was quite poor, however, so I avoided it and continued walking. The climb itself was a gradual walk up the road to the top. At the apex was a statute of the Virgin Mary decorated in the traditional Catholic manner: with radio towers surrounding it. In a pragmatic sense, I understand the decision to put the towers there, but in a symbolic sense, what is this saying? 'Citizens of Santiago, the Virgin Mary is watching you through the trials and tribulations of your day and is never far; neither is the crystal-clear service of Entel, Claro, and Movistar. Contracts start at 15000 pesos per month.'

The hill actually did give a new perspective on the city. One could see the nice areas, the slums, and halfway perceive office buildings through the smog. It offered a nice sunset:

A friend of mine here grew up near Long Beach, CA. Upon climbing the hill, she remarked, "Wow, look at all the fog over the city." After a second, it dawned on her: she had been under the mistaken impression for the previous 20 years of her life that the grey haze that settles over parts of Los Angeles was composed of simple water droplets. She realized that the phenomenon occurring in both Santiago and Los Angeles was not fog but rather smog and then had a laugh at herself. Not being from LA but being cognizant of the air-quality issues there, I thought it was funny that she had been so oblivious.

The next day, Sunday, was Mother's Day. It was sad to be out of the country on Mother's Day, but I did call my mom and chat with her for a bit. There was a small lunch in my host family here, which I attended. The first hour and a half was fun, but the last hour and a half of not really understanding all that well what was being discussed and trying to plan out materials for my apartment in Zurich became tiresome.

Movies here actually maintain the same schedule as the US. A week and a half ago, I saw Spiderman 3 subtitled in Spanish. For those expecting an action movie involving a comic book character fighting bad guys, also expect a song and dance number in the style of jazz courtesy of Toby Maguire. After discussing the movie with friends, the scene was unanimously the most strange that we had see in quite some time. I am extremely excited to see Pirates of the Caribbean 3 next week.



The next day was a friend's birthday, so 12 or so students went out to a restaurant and then to a club. We dined at the Mexican restaurant Como Agua Para Chocolate (Like Water for Chocolate) in honor of the day, Cinco de Mayo. The food was amazing – lamb shanks served with a sugar and cilantro sauce. More distinct than the specific flavors of the food was the fact the food had flavor at all. Some people do not like curry in their food, finding it too spicy. Some people do not care for sushi, finding it too strange a texture. I'm not big on cauliflower, personally. Chileans, well, Chileans aren't big on flavor in their food (yes, this is the third time I have mentioned the poor quality of the fare here). Most dishes consist of some blandly cooked meat with some sort of bland vegetable. Empandas, a Chilean favorite, exemplify this. Empanadas are a cross between a taco and a potsticker. Think food inside of a rich, oily bread. The famous empanda de pino is this bread filled with beef, onion, hardboiled egg, and an olive. Barring the olive, it all just tastes like 'food.' There's no bell pepper, no herbs, no marinade, no sauce. Just 'food.' My friend Nikk was once discussing Russian food with me and mentioned that all Russian dishes contain beef, potato, or vodka. It is similar here – they all consist of beef, chicken, or potato.

And palta. Oh, palta. Palta is the word here for avocado. I used to love avocado. Avocado is great in my mom's salads. Guacamole with tortilla chips is quite delicious. Once in a while, I will even eat a bit raw. But here, everything is stuffed with avocado, then smeared with it, then served with avocado on the side, just for good measure. Palta smothers the sandwiches. It falls out of the sides of the terrible burgers. I went to a Japanese restaurant to get away from the bland food and inundation of palta only to find my sushi rolls covered in the green fruit. The Chileans have gone way, way overboard with the avocado.

This made the Mexican food at Como Agua Para Chocolate all the more delectable. In my lamb, there was simultaneously flavor and no palta. After the restaurant, all the students went to a bar to drink cheap beer before going to the expensive club. We were not particularly rowdy. Perhaps at times we were a little loud. After consuming the cheap cerveza, we decided to move on to the club, El Subterráneo. Coincidentally, as we left, the people in the bar decided to announce their pleasure with the service of the establishment by applauding. Strangely, the people in the street continued this show of appreciation of the waiters as we walked down the street. Yes, the students and I were actually applauded out of a bar. In our defense, we really weren't that loud. The people on the street could not have heard us. They were just giving some gringos a hard time.

Being gringos here is a big deal. At 5' 11", I am taller and bigger than many of the people in Santiago. I also have lighter skin than many of the people and just generally stand out. Most of the students in the program have the same issue. Some do the utmost to try and avoid it, to act and speak in a certain manner and avoid certain situations. I think this is wise to a certain extent. But no matter how much I change my behavior or the size of the group I'm in or any of the other factors, I'm still a gringo. I still stand out. To some extent one has to own one's gringo-ness.

Speaking of the local appearance, I guess hygiene is not en vogue amongst the youth. The popular style seems to be to dip one's hair in lard and then let it sit for a few days. All the male youth sport greasy mullets. The women also sport similar styles, although they wash their hair more frequently. I saw someone yesterday who looked as if the deceased guinea pig Teddy of my friend Marc Rollins had nested on this person's head and was taking a nap. I don't get it.

In order to try and do some authentic things in the city, many of the students went to see a soccer game. The best team here is Colo-Colo and we saw them play Mexico. The game itself was not too crazy, as Mexico did not have to win but rather just not lose by an enormous margin to advance in the tournament. It was definitely a good time, though. On the way back, the rowdy fans that I had heard about appeared. I was on the metro home when ten boys who were approximately fourteen boarded the subway car. They proceeded to jump up and down while singing loudly and punctuating their words with blows to the walls of the car in efforts to drum. This is where I worry about my future abilities as a parent. I had no sympathies when the police started threatening these punk-ass kids with their sticks as they impeded the safety and progress of the metro. When two of them were taken away, I was pleased. The whole thing was ridiculous and showcased unacceptable behavior. Hopefully my kids will not board subways after the games of their favorite sports team and disturb the peace.

The game itself was last Tuesday, right in the middle of midterms. For many of us, the tests were a rude reminder that we're technically here to study, not just to enjoy ourselves and speak Spanish. I thankfully only had one midterm. Perhaps not coincidentally, a wave of disease has swept the students this week.

Unfortunately, reliable internet can be hard to come by here. Thus, when there is work to be done, the students often go to the easiest place that is open late with internet. This happens to be good old Starbucks (their internet is free). The top floor of the Starbucks here is flush with gringos, primarily Americans, who all buy their lattes and cakes and chat with each other in English. It's our own little embassy, a place for foreign affairs, a common ground. Our center closes at 7:30 PM on weekdays, meaning many students walk to Starbucks in order to get another two hours of computer and internet time. Unfortunately, the internet cuts out inexplicably at times, which results in many prematurely terminated Skype phone calls. On the weekends, it is really the best place to study. So as much as I wish I could say that I spend my time in cultural Chilean cafes where I can interact with Chileans, I can't; I spend my evenings at the Bux with the gringos.

As one spends time at Starbucks, the baristas there begin to recognize the client. Several baristas now know 'Max.' A few even attempt to guess my drink. One knows me as the guy who asks the baristas to fix the internet because it is not working. One in particular has begun speaking with me. I've been through this in the States and so was not surprised. I was surprised when he asked me to a club with a friend of his. I ended up going to his apartment with two friends of mine and then to a small club where a friend of his was playing a DJ set. Afterwards, I chatted with Ricardo and the DJ until 5 in the morning and then headed home. The next day, he asked if I wanted to join him at his parents place in the countryside Saturday night. At that point, it started to get strange. I didn't get the impression that he was hitting on me, so I was perplexed as to his motives. Are people here just friendlier? I still don't have a great answer to this. I think he maybe wants to help out a gringo and also is a bit lonely, as many of his friends have passed away or left the country. More unusual still is that I did not learn his name (Ricardo) until the following Monday. We'll see if Ricardo wants to hang out more in the future.

After staying up until 5 AM, I had to be at the Stanford center at 10:15 AM to go wine tasting. We were all treated to a short trip to a winery name Cosiño Macul in the south part of the city. It was quite beautiful. I thought their merlot was especially good. We received a tour and souvenir wine glass, as well. The tour painted an interesting picture of both wine production in Chile and the evolution of the business over the years. The tour guide had jokes, too. She had us try their gris, which does not appear to be related to the pinot gris. Essentially, the winery takes some type of red grape and presses and ferments it to some extent in the style of a white, giving the wine an amber color. It was interesting. In the middle of her schpiel on the wine, she commented that they refer to it as their "Michael Jackson" varietal due to its composition of different types of grapes/methods. This received a mixture of laughs and groans.

Strangely, MJ has been popping up in my travels here. In the middle of a bus ride in northern Chile, the tour guide put a video on of Michael Jackson in concert for our viewing pleasure. All the students sang along to "Billie Jean" and "Beat It" but then promptly fell asleep. There was then the Jacko reference at the winery. Today, a barista referred to a mocha made with both regular and white chocolate (a drink I have heard called a 'Zebra') as a 'Michael Jackson.' I have no idea if he is still quite popular here or is simply an object of ridicule.

Finally, I will commence to travel again on Thursday. Many students are heading to Buenos Aires for the weekend. I saw on the news today that there was a massive riot outside the major subway station in the city and that the building was set on fire. I guess this is their version of applause. I need to get in the habit of buying airline tickets without the assistance of my mother, however. I am so used to listing myself on flights through her employee passes. Unfortunately, these will expire when I am 23, meaning I will be thrust back in to the real world. I had to buy real tickets to Buenos Aires, but put if off for some time, thinking that I would just get to it later. I broke the two week barrier, however, and saw my potential fares shoot up. I then decided to risk it and hit up the few-days-before prices of Expedia.com. Thankfully, I netted a fare of $200 round trip, which is good but not great for this region. It was a learning experience for when I travel to Machu Picchu.

Mother’s Day

Happy Mother's Day to all the moms reading this blog. You do so much for your sons and daughters. I want to give special thanks to my mother, an amazing woman who made it part of her life's work to raise me as a good person, teach me about life, and shower me with love. I am searching for words to fully express my appreciation for everything that you have done for me, mom. I am not sure that they exist, but I will keep looking. You are an incredible mother and I love you so much.

Size Comparison

Chile is a really long country. It's the longest north-south country in the world. Below is a comparison with California to visually relate the nation's dimensions. Also, on the right side of the screen I have put a map of places that I have visited within Chile.

Dreaming of Lions

I just finished Ernest Hemmingway's The Old Man and the Sea on the bus ride home this evening. It wasn't until the end of the book that I realized that the name of the main character, the old man of the title, is Santiago. It was a nice coincidence. Perhaps it is representative of the city, a city that has hooked modernization and is following it far out to sea despite the trials that doing so brings.


The novella (only 127 pages) itself is a wonderful work. It won the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1954. I recommend it to everyone, especially those who love to be out on the water or who love to fish. It is the story of an old fisherman in Havana who, after 85 days without catching a fish, hooks an enormous marlin and fights with every ounce of his being to catch it. It is the story of a man and the boy who loves him, a story of persistence, a story of courage in the face of loss. At one level, it is simply the romantic tale of a man and his duel with the fish. But it has so many other levels. I would love to look at the role of suffering in the work.

The old man suffers so greatly in his trials. His hands are cut badly by rope; he does not sleep for three days; he suffers from dehydration and malnutrition; his back bears the pain and the pull of the fish for the entire journey.

He was stiff and sore now and his wounds and all of the strained parts of his body hurt with the cold of the night.

He earns his fish. At the end, when the man returns to Havana, the boy who loves him (Manolin) finds him asleep.

The boy saw that the old man was breathing and then he saw the old man's hands and he started to cry. He went out very quickly to go to bring some coffee and all the way down the road he was crying.

Hemmingway even seems to compare his battle to crucifixion, casting him in a Christ-like light.

"Ay," he said aloud. There is no translation for this word and perhaps it is just a noise such as a man might make, involuntarily, feeling the nail go through his hands and into the wood.

It reminds of the I Have a Dream speech of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. In the expository writing class of my sophomore year, the class read this speech. The instructor, Dr. Joyce Moser, mentioned that King is just now being looked at as a theologian. There are ideas in his writings that are easy to pass by in lieu of the stronger messages of racial equality.

I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. Some of you have come from areas where your quest for freedom left you battered by storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive.

"Unearned suffering is redemptive." What an interesting idea. Was Santiago's suffering unearned? In some ways, no, it was not. To say it was unearned would be to diminish his accomplishment. He gave everything of himself towards the goal of catching this fish, and consciously so. But does a poor, old fisherman such as Santiago deserve such suffering? No, he does not.

Sometimes I wish I was an English major. I would love to analyze the role of suffering in the novella more deeply.

In unrelated thoughts, the burgers here are terrible. Terrible. Even McDonald's, the global standard of fast food, seems lacking from its usual reliability. Burger King is my relief; their Whoppers are delicious and taste like a real hamburger with better ingredients.

I've also heard that the Ruby Tuesday's here puts on a good show. I am excited to find out.