Soccer Cops

The governments of Chile and Peru are in the ring fighting over ocean territory. Peru wants to redefine the border, while Chile's saying forget it. Word is that Peru will take it to the international court in the Hague if need be.

But why take it all the way to the Hague? Why not settle it over a soccer match instead? Soccer and politics are equally popular here; and curiously, both cultural obsessions tend to fail the people more than serve them.

Chile's no match for Brazil or Argentina in soccer, but the people go crazy over a win nonetheless.

So it was tonight. Chile beat Peru 3-1 in 90 minutes. I went to my friend Felipe's to watch it. We muted the TV and listened to radio commentary instead. There's more bias towards Chile. News specials after the game showed scores of fanatics dancing and singing in Plaza Italia, the city's center, ten minutes walk from my house.

We quickly flagged down a bus and drove to the madness. What a sight. Hundreds of Chileans jumping up and down in a massive circle, drinking beer and smoking cigarettes. I didn't know the words to the songs they were singing and felt rather out of place. One highly inebriated man climbed ten feet to the top of the Metro sign and waved his shirt around his head like a helicopter as the crowd went wild for him. He was greeted by the riot police-- a blur of green uniforms-- upon descent. The police are intense looking, but not that intimidating. Most of them are scarcely over five feet tall. Napoleon complexes, I suppose. Tonight they were dressed like football players, there to stifle the fans of soccer players. They wear helmets with plastic masks, bullet proof vests and elbow, arm, knee and shin pads. One expected them to start rollerblading in synchrony around the mob.

After the Metro Man was detained, his behavior clearly out of accordance with Chilean ethic, the mob switched from celebratory to combative. For two or three minutes it rained beer bottles on the police. But the police didn't retaliate, even though under attack. It was exciting to witness, adrenaline pumping through me all the while.

The party lasted about 45 minutes before the cops broke it up. To untie the knot, a high-pressured water tank rolls slowly towards the crowd, ready to spray at the defiant. Tonight, when the tank neared, everyone took off at a jog--(not running, as that suggests fear of the police, but not walking either, as that means getting pelted with a jet of water).

Felipe and I managed to stay dry, though others got the drink. Now, we wonder, will Chile stay dry, or will Peru get the drink?

Second Thoughts on Classes

This is a picture of the communal garden just outside my apartment. My window looks down on it. Every morning there's a man outside sweeping the leaves off the grass (yes, sweeping). It's very well kept, as each tenant pays a fee each month to keep the property clean.

Having settled into my classes a bit, I've found that some of them are not what they seemed. The narration class, so far at least, is nothing of journalism. We've been studying short stories, the way their composed, the various ways to tell a story, etc. We're studying the foundations of narration, dating all the way back to the the Hebrew Bible--the first best selling story. But

of course the Western Canon is extensive (and subject to personal interpretation as to what exactly constitutes "canon") and the course provokes an overwhelming urgency to get-out-and read, which isn't always easy to find the time for. We had to write a page and half about our first day at the University--how we felt, what happened, etc. My story is pretty funny:

It took me three sets of directions from three different people just to get to the Communications building. The campus is tiny, too, so when I arrived, 20 minutes or so later, not only was I sweaty and tired, but thoroughly convinced that I would never succeed in Chile.

The classroom is on the thrid floor, so I decided to take the elevator that day (tired and all from walking). I got into the elevator, quickly pressed the button that closes the doors, and waited. No movement. I pressed the button to the third floor six or seven times in a row hyperactively, and still the elevator wouldn't budge. The button that opens the door wouldn't work either. The only other button after that was the emergency button, which I refused to press, as I imagined all too vividly the fire department of Santiago coming to campus, their sirens blaring, to rescue the North American who just HAD to take the elevator. All the while I'm sweating my ass off because it's 90 degrees outside and 105 in the elevator. Finally, out of desperation, I wedged my fingers into the crack where the door closes and pried the thing open with the tips of my fingers. I was able to make a crack just wide enough to squeeze out of.

Of course the first person I saw once out was the building guard, who kindly explained to me that the elevator is not for students, and that you need a key to access it. So I took the stairs up to classroom only to find it empty. The class was on wednesdays, not tuesdays.

We've barely talked about photography in my photography class. So far we've been reading philosophy as part of the theoretical aspect of the course. Philosophy is hard enough in English. In Spanish, it's killer, but i'm grinding through it. Today my professor asked me if I was having trouble reading the philosophy is Spanish. I said yes, very much so. The he said, "Why don't you read them in English?" I was shocked. Why hadn't I thought of this before? But as nice as the idea sounds, I won't be able to find the texts in English here. We're almost done with the philosophy anyway.

The other classes are just as expected. So far the work is minimum, the readings optional and attendance optional. I don't expect that it will stay this way for the next 3 months, but who knows.

Tomorrow I have a date to play basketbal with a Chilean friend named Felipe after class. He tells me that I may have the height, but that he'll "shoot the Three over my head all day long."

The cranes, drills and hammers play a familiar tune outside my window: Development. It's the most popular song in Santiago right now; you can hear it playing almost everywhere you go. I wake up to the beat of it, go to sleep to it, and have gotten quite good at tapping my foot to it. If I could ascribe lyrics, the tune would go something like this: "There are more apartments than people, but we're not going to stop building, so get your ass down to Santiago and move in!"

No class on Friday. It's a delightful feeling. My next class is Monday night at 6:30, so my weekends are extra long. No plans yet for the day. Thinking about heading out to take pictures. Don't know of what yet. Something other than apartment buildings, to be sure.

Cumpleanos de Betty (Betty's Birthday)

Betty's birthday was on Monday. I don't know for certain how old she is and I don't plan on asking (though she said early in February, in passing, that she was 68). Just the two of us celebrated. I got home from night class around 9:00. I could hear Elvis Presley's "Hound Dog" blasting from inside the apartment as I walked up the stairs. I thought, Wow, Betty's throwing quite the fiesta. The older the wilder. But it was just her inside, waiting in the living room with a bottle of Pisco Sour, Chile's national beverage. She forgot that I had night class on Mondays and thought that maybe I had forgotten her birthday. But no. I came prepared with flowers and cake.

As we sat there chatting and sipping Pisco, Betty confirmed for me what I have suspected since I arrived: that she's very much a solo person. I asked why her daughter and grandaughter weren't here to celebrate with us. Apparently they had exchanged gifts earlier in the day and that was that. I asked if there was anyone else that she would consider inviting. She only mentioned her brother, who lives in Santiago but who she rarely sees as he is "very different" from her. Not one mention of friends, though. If Betty has friends, as I would think a person of her kindness and generosity would, I still haven't met them.

Betty announced after one cup of Pisco that she was feeling quite intoxicated. When she does get tipsy, which is almost never, she talks and talks, which I like, because she speaks to me with an authentic Chilean accent and not a forced, easy to understand Mother-of-a-White-Boy-Struggling-to-Learn-Spanish accent. And she also talks at great length when drunk. She has lots of stories. She told me that when her husband was still alive they used to throw great big parties for eachother's birthday. Her husband must have been a fun man. From the way she speaks of him it often seems that wen he died, the fun in her died too. She misses her man, which is probably why she requests only boys to host.

Overall it was a pleasant celebration. I took a risk by buying her a piece of pineapple cake, but that's her favorite flavor, as it turns out. She let me wash the dishes after dinner, the first time I've done anything except for make my bed to help out around here. She won't accept my help around the house, though this time she accepted the gift.

My Spanish is progressing, especially in the house. Some days I'm really on and other days I can't put a sentence together for anything. Realizing more and more that they don't speak Spanish in Chile. They speak Chilean, which is like Spanish, but very, very distinct. Street talk knows very little of Spanish 101 that schools use to prep you in the States. It's all good, though. I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.

Course Briefing

Here's a summary of the courses i'm taking for those who have asked for it:

1.) Introduction to Narration-- Focuses on the analysis and construction of fiction and non-fiction stories.This is a journalism class. I'll be doing the same things I did in my Intro to Journalism class, only this time all in Spanish. Plus it'll be interesting to see how the professor teaches narration style, as news stories in Chilean newspapers often take a very different format from US papers.

2.) Theory and Critique of the Fixed Image- History and analysis of photography. Not sure as of yet if i'll get to take any pictures. More listening to the professor talk and less doing, it seems. So far, in a way, it's also taken the shape of a philosophy class. For instance, the professor likes to talk about certain philosophical movements that swept through Europe, let's say, and how the written word influenced photographers. Pretty cool.

3.) Theatre of Chile and Latin America- No acting, just reading and talking about important plays. This will be a tough one. Loads of reading (all my classes and readings and lectures are in Spanish). I think we go as a group once or twice to see live theatre.

4.) My fourth class is offered through my exchange program, CIEE, and it doesn't exactly have a name. It's a communications class with a goal of constructing an image of Chile through the different mediums of communication--tv (most popular medium in chile), newspapers, radio, magazines, internet, etc. Even though it's designed for students in the exchange program, it seems harder than any of my classes taught in the university. But there are only four of us in the class and the professor is a great guy. Looking forward to this one.

5.) I'm also taking a Spanish grammer class to brush up on what I've realized is my pretty shakey grammar. Unfortunately Fordham wont give me credit for this one, but it should be worth it in the long run if I keep studying Spanish.

Apart from the CIEE communication class, my courses are primarily teacher talking and students listening. Little room for student input, and we're rarely pressured with questions. It's completely different from Fordham, but I don't mind the format. Only it gets hard to stay focused at times. Often find my mind wandering off and thinking about the beach.

Valley de Elqui

Spent a long weekend (Wednesday- Sunday) in the Valle de Elqui, a small, mountaineous region about 8 hours North of Santiago. In Elqui, ATMs dont exist and cell phones don´t work. Along with 4 other friends I camped alongside a river at the base of a mountain. The ground was hard to sleep on, but the stars were indescribable. In the Southern Hemisphere, some constellations are the same as up North; for the most part, though, it´s a whole different sky down here. And up there in Elqui, where humanmade light is virtually nonexistent at night, the sky is so bright that you don´t even need to light a fire (though we did anyway, to eat).

Had my first day of orientation yesterday. Don´t have to be registered for my clases for another week and a half. The classes actualy begin tomorrow, but what we gringos are supossed to do is go and sit in on the classes we´re interested in taking to see if we like them. I´ve got to get all my courses approved by department chairs back in NYC which could be a tedious proccess. I think it will all go well. Some good news is that students studying abroad in the Spring get preferential registration for the following Fall semester back at Fordham. I get to register for whatever classes I want about two weeks before everyone else. Sweet!

Once I´ve got my schedule figured out I´ll post it up on this blog, as some have asked for full course description as soon as it´s available.

Last night a group of Chilean students from the University brought about 60 Americans to this rustic bar for a couple rounds of Chile´s native (drago) drink, Pisco Sour. Met some new Chilean friends, got there numbers for future hang out sesions, and, most importantly, spoke Spanish all night long. I find that when thrown into situations where I must speak Spanish-like when hanging out with a group of Chilean kids who don´t speak English--my speaking capability jumps tenfold. But my Spanish is broken when trying to speak with a group of Americans. We still do it anyway. It´s the only way to learn. A language is learned in a lifetime, not in two and a half weeks. Must remain patient. My little sister Aimara helps me with this. We´ve been getting along great, as we share the same level of vocabulary.