Nunca Olvidar

Today is our last day in Santiago. We’ve done it all, ate it all and spent it all. The cupboards are bare, suitcases are full, and farewells have been said. I don’t think we’ve forgotten anything. It’s time to come home.

I’m ready to go, but not ready to say goodbye. I long for the mountains of Colorado, but don’t want to leave the Andes. I’m looking forward to the warmth of summer, but don’t want to pack away my new Chilean poncho. I anxiously await the company of good friends, but will miss being a stranger in a strange land.

Somehow, we’ve managed to fit everything into the suitcases we came with. It was challenging because I forgot about some of the souvenirs we bought. But I remembered I married an engineer who can make anything work. We thought about forgetting the girls, but then realized we really needed their luggage allotment, so they’ll be coming home too. (I hope they forget I ever said that).

So fire up the asado (BBQ), our flight leaves tonight. We promise to not bore you with endless stories or boring pictures. We want to hear about your year. I personally have no more words left. They’ve all been said, here in these pages, written down for our benefit so we remember even the small details that made our lives here so large.

It won’t be long now. We’ve left behind no time, money nor regrets. And we’ll never, ever, forget.














Jacqueline, Keith, Rebecca and Samantha Molenaar

When God created the world he had a handful of everything left - mountains, deserts, lakes, glaciers - and he put it all in his pocket. But there was a hole in this pocket you see, and as God walked across heaven it all trickled out, and the long trail it made on earth was Chile.
-Chilean Folklore

Squeezing the Mayo

We’re stuffing ourselves with Pastel de Choclo (a yummy traditional Chilean dish). I’m chugging the last of the Chyrimoya juice and Ciervo is choking down the rest of the Nescafe. Sarafina is inhaling the last of the maní con plátano (banana nuts), and Margarita is wringing the last little bit of white gold out of the bag of mayonnaise.

With just a few days left, we are squeezing all we can out of this experience. We are still looking for the best empanada, inexpensive souvenirs, and a comfortable couch (although we’ve pretty much given up on the latter). This weekend we have good-bye dinners planned with friends, and with any luck, the shampoo and deodorant will hold out so that we are presentable.

Today we used up the last of the flour, vanilla and chocolate chips and made cookies with the usual results: burned half and ate the rest. So, tomorrow I’ll take one more run down Tobalaba so I can squeeze into my bathing suit in two weeks.

The less time we have, the more valuable it seems. So instead of blogging ad nausuem about how we have to somehow condense our year into eight suitcases and four carry-ons, suffice it to say packing will just have to wait. I think I can squeeze just enough toothpaste out to keep smiling bright for 10 more days and I’m not about to waste it.

Sisma

Chileanos

Wherever you go, people are more the same than they are different. Our time here has revealed that the differences between Chileans and NorteAmericanos are mostly negligible, with a few differences of note:

In general, we all have two eyes, ears, and nostrils, a mouthful of teeth and hairy legs. Chileans love their families, free time, desserts and cars, although are not near as enamored with their kitchen appliances as we are. Like us, most have dreams hindered by responsibilities, incomes mired by cuentas (bills), and vidas (lives) inundated with the pursuit of the aforementioned. They are concerned about their waistlines, bank accounts, and poor people, but not enough to stop eating, start saving or volunteer.

But there are differences as well. Chileans hate it when the busses strike, are not afraid of staring one down to make it stop, and are more apt to be tear-gassed when they do. Most have strong feelings about the Colo Colo soccer team, have sung the fight song while riding the metro, and are more likely to be tear-gassed when at a game. They basically support their government, can freely speak out against it, but are more likely to be tear-gassed if they do.

They sweep their leaves, talk funny, and love white bread. They eat late, work slow, and wouldn’t know a good cup of coffee if they burned their tongues on it. They are good business people, dress nice, but have a queer reverence for receipts. Cab drivers can be warm in a cold kind of way, outgoingly introverted, and pleasantly crabby.

I’d love to introduce them to zucchini bread, rakes, and Dr. Scholls inserts. I’d advise them to reject American restaurant chains, Latin American Idol, and the proposed highway development along the beautiful Avenida Vespucio. I hope they embrace their fleeting culture, on-line bill pay and Mercado Libre (think ebay).

For the past 11 months, I’ve been one of them. While I don’t have an identity worth stealing, I do have a carnet, a Chilean ID card, that I proudly show to whoever cares. I’ve enjoyed this change of self and am thankful for the opportunity to be someone different for a while. However, my visa expires in July, so soon I will just be estadounidense once again.

Sisma

(picture taken by Ciervo while waiting for the metro one morning)

I got chills, they’re multiplyin’

When I was young, “Grease” was the word. Now “High School Musical” is all the rage. So, in a never-ending quest to be a “hip” mom, we bought the dance video, moved the furniture and learned the steps to “We’re All In This Together”. You got it: the cold weather is back and we were stuck inside… together.

I look at the calendar and can’t believe how fast the time went by. It gives me chills to think that 11 months have passed since we arrived in the rain, and now its raining again and we’re thinking about packing it all up. While I am not as enamored with the rain as Gene Kelly was, I don’t mind it either as it seems to anchor our time here. Also, rain in town means clean air and a stunning view of snow on the Andes in the morning.

But regardless of the cold, tonight we’re steppin’ out and celebrating the sale of our car. An extraordinary event considering the lavaauto (carwash) decided that blue spray-paint on our green car would be the best solution to hide a few scratches.

Winnie the Pooh and Piglet once walked around in the snow, thinking they were hunting something but all the time only following their own footprints. In a similar way, it is starting to feel like we’ve come full circle. Almost. We’ve a few steps left.

Sisma

Backstage

There is always a backstage. Ciervo made this observation while watching his daughters set up for their daily dance performance. They seem to spend more of their time “backstage” practicing, preparing, and primping than putting on the show. Clearly the details behind the scenes are just as fun and important as the experience of the event itself.

I spent this week trying to organize our pictures so that we remember the details of our experience here. A daunting task, indeed, but I discovered that while we took a lot of trips and saw a lot of different things, it’s the daily life that I don’t want to forget. So I ventured out on foot, camera in hand, ready to snap stillframes of the backdrop that has made our time here so special.

It was a beautiful day, and I tried to take a picture of the excitement I felt being here but couldn’t get the right angle. So I snapped one of my worn shoes, but it didn’t capture the feeling of walking on the cobblestone sidewalk. I tried to take a photo of the smell of fresh baked bread from the Castaño up the street, and the hum of the Metro but they came out blurry. So, I snapped off few digitals of a Lucuma, but they just don’t capture the flavor of this sweet South America fruit.

How do you document Mario’s friendliness, the twinkle in Luis’s eye when he sees Sarafina, or the way Alfredo says my name in his Dracula-like way? Along with Juan Carlos and Elvis, these are our conserjes (doormen), and have been an important behind-the-scenes detail of our time here. They greet us each day with a warm “Buenos días!”, always hold the door open, and wish us “Le vaya bien!”. They are happy whether it is hot, cold, or rainy, and on weekends, holidays, and in the middle of the night. They are always excited to see us, and are simply dying to hear where we’re been and where we’re going next. They help with the groceries, directions, and keep the building pristine. They warn us of upcoming Chilean holidays and downtown protests, help us get into our apartment when I forget my keys, and loan us poetry books that they think we’ll enjoy. They slip our bills under our door, but hand-deliver anything from the U.S. so they can join in our excitement. They were as excited as we were when Sarafina lost her tooth and that Margarita wanted to run with me this morning.

I’ve always wanted to go backstage at a concert to see what happens. I know that often it is the effort of people who work without recognition that make the show fantastic. I hope I can find a way to say “gracias” to our backstage crew, our conserjes, that captures the support they have been to us. Maybe I’ll invite them to one of our daily dance shows.

Sisma

Se Vende

(With one month left of our adventure, we are starting to think about packing to come home, and are selling some of our less-treasured Chilean aquisitions).

FOR SALE:
Hyundai Santamo: Minivan-esque, seats 6 Americans or 8 Chileans. Minor scratch on side due to concrete "attack post" in the Jumbo parking lot. MPG unknown as owner can’t make the gallon/liter and mi/km conversion at the same time. Comes with emergency sustenance stored between the seats and radio that plays only 1980’s American music.

Iron: Makes excellent door stop, clothes dryer, hair straightener or Panini press. Comes with ironing board which doubles as extra counter space, buffet table, ballet bar, or diving board.

Hair Dryer: Used mostly for blowing dust bunnies out of sight and warming dinner. While operating, need to hold unit in one hand and plug in socket with the other, leaving no free hand for, oh, say, a brush. Interested parties are advised to act fast before I hurl it off the balcony.

Bunk Beds: Great for adhering stickers to the ceiling and Barbie suicides. Warning: slats tend to break under stress requiring top bunk occupant to be bajapeso (lightweight) or bottom bunkmate may have midnight visitor.

Unused Spanish Vocabulary Books: Good intentions included.

Pilates Video: Unopened.
Yoga Book: Unread.
Weights: Unused.
Exercise Band: Unstretched.

Bathroom Scale: 50% discount as it seems to go only in one direction.

Wanted to trade: Wonderful Chilean experience for my “real” life. Comes complete with friends that we don’t want to leave behind, viajes (travels) that will not be forgotten, and a small piece of my heart. Available in approximately 30 days.

Sisma

Googling Hernando

Who out there has ever “Googled” themselves? Come on now, be honest. We’ve all done it at least once. I, for one, do it weekly to see if I’ve accomplished something unawares or been discovered. So far, nothing.

I’ve been trying to find out who Hernando de Aguirre (the namesake of the street where we live) was. I was hoping that maybe he was a great warrior, the first president of the country, or an inventor who discovered something great like “scrubby bubbles”. But apparently, he only discovered a street.

And a dirty street it is. Living in a small apartment means our dirt has less room to spread out. So when Ximena, our cuinado came for the first time last week, she had quite a chore ahead of her. Thank heavens for those bubbles.

With all the joy a clean house brings, I took the day off with a visiting friend, Jenni, and went to Isla Negra to visit the house of Pablo Neruda, a Nobel Prize winning poet and a national treasure (albeit a dead one). He collected everything from bottles and seashells, to ship figureheads and masks, and even a life-size papier-mache horse. A very accomplished man, but I’d hate to have to dust his house.

To make things easier on myself, I plan on investing in the table-bed seen here. Someone had the brilliant idea to combine my two favorite pastimes while confining the space you need to clean when done. Someone intelligent thought of that one. Maybe it was Hernando.

By this point in my life, I was hoping to discover my purpose that would make me Google-worthy. This week I am feeling particularly gloomy about my failure on this front. I make less money than my cuinado, have never invented anything, and cannot papier-mache a horse. But, I’ve discovered that getting old is better than the alternative, and as long as I have time, I have hope.

Sisma