Are Places What We Expect?

One of my life dreams was always to visit Machu Picchu, Peru.  It was probably one of the greatest travel aspirations that I have had for most of my life.  It is interesting to say that here because it isn’t so uncommon for people to travel between countries.  But for me, coming from a place like the U.S. where we tend to not travel outside of our own country that often for a variety of reasons, I had always imagined Machu Picchu when I was younger as a place that was remote, far away and unattainable.  Years ago, I probably felt that way about all of South America.  Perhaps because throughout my childhood, all of my memories of the news on TV centered on scenes of guerilla war and uprisings (many caused by our own government) as well as drug trafficking.  Never mind the major contrast of all of the Latin American countries, not to mention the major distances between them, our news helped grow the vision that all of Latin America together must be the same:  unsafe.  Interestingly enough, most of my students are now having the same thoughts towards the U.S. after continuously hearing about loose gunmen randomly killing people in schools and movie theaters. Their opinion is that we are somewhat crazy, and I think they probably have good reason to think so.

The truth is that flying into Cusco, the closest city to Machu Picchu was really very easy.  While the city is somewhat touristy and the local people are adamantly trying to sell you things like hats and magnets and massages on every corner, it is definitely a place where I felt for the most part, serene.  The architecture is a combination of the colonial Spanish and the indigenous Quechua culture of the Andes Mountains.  For me, having a vacation from the dreary winter of Santiago, I couldn’t get enough of the clear sky and the balky clouds that hover low that remind me of places like the desert of New Mexico and Arizona.  The only problem was becoming accustomed to the higher altitude during the first day which led to me spending the first five hours in bed nauseous, with a migraine headache.  However, the hostel provided plenty of free coca tea which supposedly relieves these symptoms.  I think my body eventually adjusted.

In the days leading up to Machu Picchu, I was able to travel outside the city to an area called the Sacred Valley which is filled with scattered indigenous ruins.

     

There are two options for seeing Machu Picchu.  One is by taking a train from outside of Cusco and the other is by hiking the Inca Trail.  Because access to the trail is limited by the number of people per year in an attempt to preserve its existence, the latter involves making a reservation at least five months in advance with a guide and a small group of other hikers.  This is what I decided to do and yes, the trail can be tough at times, but it’s really the better way to see Machu Picchu.  Not only because you see many other ruins along the way and have the opportunity to connect with other travelers from different countries, it also builds more of an anticipation to reach the destination.  And, in addition, you acquire much more of a relationship with the land.  The hike is not completely difficult as I passed many people that were very young and very old, but it can be exhausting since you are walking six to eight hours each day up and down very steep steps, part of the time in the rain, the second day being the most strenuous.

   

We were lucky enough to have signed up with the tour that we did because I have heard of some that give little food.  On the contrary, ours offered three huge meals each day and not mediocre food, but a variety of homemade soups and vegetable and meat dishes complete with a dessert.  Below are the men that carried and prepared all of our food and equipment.

These men, some of them wearing only sandals literally ran very quickly ahead of us on the trail transporting all of these items on their backs.  Some people even paid them to carry their own personal belongings as well.

Usually it takes four days to reach Machu Picchu, but our group arrived just before sunset on the third day which only gave us enough time to view it from a distance and relax a little before walking to Aguas Calientes, the closest small town to stay the night in a hostel.  The next morning we returned around 6am to have an official guided tour of the site, unfortunately, in the rain.  The area was covered in a thick layer of fog that later began to disappear.

Not long after our tour, hundreds of other tourists began appearing which made me think of when I went to the Grand Canyon and found myself bombarded with large buses of loud mouthed families all anxiously waiting their turn to take pictures of themselves on the edge of the cliff.  It sort of disrupts the serenity of it all, to say the least, especially after spending so many days away from the sounds of vehicles and city life.  Therefore…..

No, I didn’t have any spiritual realizations.  For some reason, I always considered that I would, but I find that I have those in moments that are more unanticipated.  This is why I am happy that I experienced the hike, because the actions of walking the steps and spending so much time under the trees and noticing all of the subtle changes in landscape and climate and altitude from the beginning to end are what affected me most and what I will most remember of Machu Picchu.  Sometimes I like to think of places in terms of relationships and so I could say that in some ways, I had a short encounter with a very beautiful and amazing place and I wish I had had more time to continue knowing it.

  

And, it was an interesting experience having always imagined a place, a perfect place and always carrying a certain image of how I might be changed in some way by that place.  The reality is that real change cannot be predicted or foreseen or maybe even longed for; instead, it is usually quite unexpected.  I must admit with some honesty that I am more certain that I have had spiritual and emotional shifts in places like….yes, Santiago… only because it is a place that has tested my patience and caused me to struggle in ways that have forced me to grow as a person.   It is a place that I have built a relationship with and in this respect, I am always seeing myself mirrored back to me, the good and the bad.  And so, the trip made me think a lot about the expectations I project towards places as well as the time limits I place upon them.

Finishing the trip also made me think a lot about fulfilling life dreams and life goals.  It sort of gave me that dreaded what’s next? feeling.  Maybe it’s even caused me to feel like I can be finished (at least temporarily) with all of that traveling I was dying to do all those years.  Not that I don’t want to see other places, but at the same time, I can let go of that feeling of having never really experienced life outside my country in a profound way.  It’s no longer a big mystery and I see it as something do-able instead of unattainable.   I guess my goals in life are returning to that need to once again build a career for myself and maybe how to do it a little differently this time, and that leaves me with making some decisions on how to approach things next.

I used to think I would know what to do when the time presented itself to me…but I think it’s more like me being ready enough to seek out the time and knowing that making the decision is just like taking an opportunity…like trying something new and interesting.

Whatever I decide, the process continues…

Why can’t I write??

Okay, so I’m really struggling to keep up with this blog and I can’t figure out why.  I love to write and I want to continue it.  But why can’t I make it come together as easily as it did, say, 6 months ago?  Every time I sit down to write, I find myself remembering to do things like pay for my storage space or worse…I dedicated an hour yesterday to skype Sallie Mae about my student loan payments….not to mention relentlessly checking the latest Facebook posts and finding new things to like.  Still, I am insistent on getting one more blog post in by June (and that leaves only one more day!).

I guess without being self critical (as I could call myself lazy)…I like to think that my circumstances have changed a lot from when I began writing on here.  Last year I suspect I used it more as a source of expressing my frustration and uncertainty about many things, while this year, I feel….more….at peace.

And to what do I attribute this peace?  Maybe I have just resigned myself to the fact that I am here…that I live here now.  In a strange way, even though I am far from completing all that I want in my life, I like to think I have begun to resolve a certain sense of incompleteness that I have always felt (of course I am speaking about that part of me that has always felt unsatisfied with my life as it is in the present moment) and I find myself with much fewer “troubles,” feeling more balanced and hence more content maybe more than I have ever felt in my life.

I still feel ambition for all the things I would like to achieve, but I’ve also broken away from insisting on the grand objectives and becoming disappointed.  I think I’m a little more open to the random things that life sort of suggests for me and so I find myself more and more enjoying the moments I have to paint, travel and experience my relationship or the new friendships I have made, rather than anticipating the next big life change or dwelling on how to preserve some sort of stability or better yet, why, I have not attained it.

I realize it’s possible that this could be my greatest accomplishment in coming here.

Plus, its winter now, and I was able to walk home today in the rain (wearing wet socks because my boots no longer withstand the water on the street) and not feel like I was counting down the days….

I’m pretty sure this is good news.

But what does that leave me to write about when I cannot complain?  This is my new problem!

In any case, I’m determined to keep up with this thing.  After all, if not for this blog, I would never have met my newest best friend, who first wrote me in response to one of my posts that she too was a “vegetarian,” who “loved the desert” and was also “thoroughly defeated by the puna in San Pedro de Atacama.”  Both of us being from very small towns in the same geographic area of the East Coast of the United States, we also moved West at the same age, and we practically arrived in Santiago on the same day in March of 2011.  We swear that for sure we must have been completely linked in our past lives…and we are continuously assessing what those lives may have been.  When we last left off and after some wine drinking, we had convinced ourselves that we had without a doubt existed in some era of the old American west as to account for our love of the desert…most certainly outlaws of some sort.  (Well, it sounded reasonable at the time).  But here we are in Valparaiso, in this lifetime, pretending to proudly represent our country in what looks like some kind of US summit meeting, secret agreement, take over of Chile photo:

(Somehow, like Waldo, the US flag always shows up in unexpected places, like here in front of this Chilean war memorial for a war fought against Peru…that to my knowledge had absolutely nothing to do with the United States.  Maybe we assume we won that war too?

A few weeks ago, my boyfriend and I went on a long drive through the mountains.  This was the day of May 21 when supposedly it was predicted by some Brazilian scientists that there would be a mega earthquake (and possibly also the end of the world – as the day drew nearer, I was hearing more of that).  Naturally, “the end of the world” worked itself into this date as well, as did its cousins, the Mayan Calendar and the year 2012.

Obviously, I survived and none of those things happened.  (Although, I admit it.  I took 10 cans of tuna fish and a bag of almonds as food rations, just in case!)  Here are some photos of the drive…

There is something to the whole end of the world phenomenon as well as all of the catastrophic news that is reported daily, even if it conjures up feelings of fear and dread, that remind us that we are totally vulnerable to whatever might happen.  I am not totally at ease with this feeling, although at the same time I like to think that only through vulnerability and only through giving up a little control and adopting a faith in the unexpected, have I gotten this far.  It has allowed me to travel, meet new people and have certain experiences both abroad as well as in the States.  Ironically, choosing the non-secure lifestyle is what has led me to the harmony I am discovering now.

So, I appreciate my days here even more, knowing it’s not something that will last forever…and maybe none of what we know now will exist one day.  Places, friendships, relationships all have the potential to change or dissolve.  This doesn’t have to signify failure or defeat or destruction…it doesn’t even have to imply an “end,” but perhaps a transformation.

This makes me remember a story of a friend of a friend who had worked in a remote area somewhere in the South of Chile as a person who shaved sheep.  There he met an older woman whom, when she was a pre-teenager, had been kidnapped, kept in a basement, tortured and raped for years.  Today this woman has a husband and five children and would appear to live relatively normal.  I guess one could judge this woman without knowing her past and assume she hadn’t done that much with her life…a simple house wife with kids.  But, in reality, considering all that she had experienced…just to live relatively normal, to raise kids and to be married is a huge accomplishment.  This makes me wonder if maybe the greatest thing we can hope for…is just to feel joy….I mean despite anything negative we have all experienced…maybe this is the greatest achievement in life…and since the energy we possess we inadvertently offer to one another, the greatest thing we can offer to the world is just to be a content person who works with life instead of against it, a joyful person who has gratitude for all that they have in this moment.

After the rain…and snow…and teargas…

Near the end of July I went through a rough time of homesickness and frustration with the Spanish language.  I decided to just accept the awkward feeling and make a change.   The first thing I did was change apartments and I now live in a new place with only Spanish speaking roommates. At the same time, I made a commitment of taking Spanish classes with a friend of mine five times a week.  For this reason, I haven’t had much time left over to write my blog since studying and working have been the only things occupying my time.  But now I am happy to say I feel less homesick and I am actually able to have conversations in Spanish – however slow I am – I am speaking now.

And I can finally say for once that I am proud of myself.  Next week I will have been here for six months and I am well over half of my original commitment of staying here until December.  Things weren’t quite the way I had imagined when I came here.  I had too many immediate expectations.  For one, learning a language is a process and so I’m over beating myself up about not being better than I am at this point.  And in addition to leaving my life behind in the States and coming here alone, it’s taken me a while to work out the kinks…  Most of all, I just accept that I am imperfect.  I have compassion for what I am going through when I look at my life on the outside…just as I would for anyone else.  I want to give myself a hug and tell myself that I am doing a good job!

August was an interesting month and definitely the coldest yet.  This is what the city looks like before and after the rain.  Note the thick layer of smog where the Andes Mountains should be in the before pictures:

And after the rain…..

 

I am definitely not cut out for winter.  It’s not only that I am always cold, but it affects everything about me.  I sleep late, have less motivation, no energy and I can’t kick that urge to hibernate with my calientecama (electric blanket).  The thing is like my best friend.  I don’t know why I never got one in the States.  Every morning I wake up nice and warm and it’s a struggle to turn the thing off and get out of bed.  I do that thing where I have to talk myself out of bed…if we just make it through the morning, then we can come back and lay in bed later in the afternoon for an hour…I think some people can adapt well to the cold, but certainly not me.  I remember years ago how I imagined dressing up in stylish coats and scarves, drinking hot cocoa and living in New York City and how romantic of an idea that sounded to me.  No thanks!  A few weeks ago it actually snowed in the city which apparently is rare outside of the mountains.  I walked 40 minutes in the slush to one of my student’s offices, completely unprepared…no boots, no gloves, no hot cocoa waiting for me and no romantic scene…just me freezing my ass off.  And then the next week I was sick.

And it’s a sickness that keeps returning.  Last weekend I stayed home all weekend in bed.  I couldn’t go out because I was on lock down by the mom of my roommate, Felipe.  She kept a close eye on me the entire weekend, making sure I ate all of my soup, making sure I wore socks walking around the apartment, giving me medicine, preparing me teas…  This is quite a change from the times I would get sick in the States.  In the States, when someone is sick, the people panic.  They put you in quarantine where you are avoided and forced to fend for yourself while people spray Lysol on everything you touch or come into contact with.  Needless to say, I’m not used to this kind of care and nurturing.

Outside the Universidad de Chile

Perhaps another thing that sparked my sickness was breathing in all of the teargas from all of the student protests last month.  College students as well as high school students have been protesting for several months now for free education and better education.  The protests can be unavoidable, and on more than one occasion I’ve found myself in the middle of a mob of running students and police spraying teargas.  The teargas lingers in the air and so you can be walking through the city and suddenly be struck with watery, stinging eyes.  Some areas of the city will wreak of teargas long after the students have left.  I canceled three of my night classes last month due to the protests and watched from my window as students threw rocks at the police and listened to people bang pots and pans together from their apartment windows as another sign of protest.  I like to ask each of my students what their opinions are of the protests.  All of my students are different in age and profession, but the consensus is that while they sympathize with and understand the reasons for the protest, they are not happy with all of the recent violence.

Barricades of chairs built by high school and university students

I teach a small group of women at a financial firm and they seemed to think that solving the education problem is not the real problem for Chile, but that the social class system is the bigger issue.  They concluded that even if the students win, that nothing would really change in Chile for the better because there would still exist a division in the people.  There is a big difference between rich and poor here, although personally I have not seen the same kind of poverty I saw when I was in Brazil.  The favelas there were like nothing I have ever seen…whole families living in shacks and by shacks I mean some sort of construction with four walls thrown together with a tin roof.  Still, I do feel the class system here and I have even felt it among friends I have made here that are from different family backgrounds and observing how they relate to one another.  An Argentine student of mine drew a circle for me in which he placed the poorest people in Santiago.  Around it, he drew another circle of semi-poor people and then another circle of lower middle class people and so on.  He told me that each group of people does not associate with the other at all and that here it is very important which area of the city that you live.  People actually lie on their resume and use another address for fear of not being hired.

Signs of Protest from Chilean students: President Pinera with donkey ears

I find it interesting here that the young people have organized themselves so well and have caused so much of a stir politically, enough to potentially make an actual change.  Friends of mine and I recently had dinner and talked about how we couldn’t see this kind of thing happening in the United States and we wondered why.  I always return to the idea that protest seems to be so much apart of the culture in Latin America, its natural here for people to protest about anything they oppose of the government and that it makes sense for the young people to make themselves heard.  But then young people seem to be doing this everywhere around the world lately, in Egypt, in London, in Spain, in many other countries…but not the U.S.  I read an article recently in the Huffington Post that contemplated the same question.  The article implies that the young generation in the United States nowadays has become numb and complacent.   It goes on to suggest that perhaps the youth (I include myself in this) in the United States are emulating the passive traits of the characters in all of our great Hollywood movies such as “Hangover II.”   It could be.  The writer made an interesting point in saying that the only young people who protested in the U.S. this year have been a group of angry foreign students who came to the U.S. to study English as part of a State Department program, but were instead forced to work long hours for little pay at the Hershey’s Chocolate Factory.

This weekend is September 11^thand this day has quite a different meaning in Chile because it is the anniversary of the day that the dictator Pinochet and a coup backed by our CIA took control of Chile in 1973.  For people not familiar with the history, before Pinochet, Salvador Allende was President of Chile.  He was a Socialist leader voted for by the Chilean people.  The government of Allende was not welcomed by the United States who feared the possibility of another successful Communist country, and during Nixon’s presidency the U.S. invested $8 million dollars over a three year period to boost Anti-Allende opposition.  Supposedly, during the day of the coup, Allende killed himself in the Presidential Palace in La Moneda, however people seem to have doubts that he ended his own life.

The Presidential Palace of La Moneda

The poet Pablo Neruda also died two weeks after the coup and some people suspect that his death was not coincidental, but that he was possibly poisoned for being too critical of the military.  Pinochet’s dictatorship lasted into the late 1990’s and during his time in power scores of people were killed, tortured or went missing.  A report published in 2004 showed that at least 27,000 people were tortured under the Pinochet dictatorship, in more than 1,100 detention centers.  One of my students who now manages a mining company, was a human rights activist in the early 1980’s and was arrested by the police.  While in captivity, he was tortured by electric shock (in which he lost one testicle) and he watched the police murder his friends.  And to attempt to end his life, the police drove him up to a desolate area of the Andes, stabbed him and kicked him off the side of the mountain to die.  He woke up hours later and managed to walk to a small town and seek refuge in a church where the priests and nuns there helped him heal and kept him hidden.

It was suggested to me to stay indoors on the 11th because the people love to riot on this day and that this year will be worse due to all of the student protests.  We will see…

Family and Friendship…

Yesterday was a great day.  I finally made it out of the city and went hiking with friends and friends of friends.  Roxana organized all of us to get together and go hiking for the day and have lunch in Pirque, a small town outside of Santiago.

Yesterday was one of those days where I couldn’t take anything too seriously.  Maybe its how being in nature makes me feel a little giddy, but I forgot how much good humor I find in all situations even if I have a tendency to laugh at maybe not the most appropriate times as well.  I remember camping with a friend of mine years ago in the desert, setting up our tent and going for a bike ride.  When we returned, all of our things were gone.  Our tent had blown away in the wind.  He was pissed.  I couldn’t stop laughing.  I remember him not being very pleased with my reaction.

I am pretty sure this comes from growing up on ridiculous comedies and maybe also the last 10 years of reality tv shows combined.  I was happy to sit in the back of the bus like a trouble maker scheming with my French friend and being disciplined by Roxana.  I swear she is such a leader and such a great organizer.  The price I pay for my sense of humor is that I am not a great leader, nor a good organizer.  In fact, I fail when it comes to those things much of the time.  I don’t have the personality to pull off what she does.  She even had all of us introduce ourselves and do that thing where you have everyone say one interesting thing about themselves.  I wanted her to have a clip board and a headset and pass out name tags too.

Friendship is so important to me.  It always has been.  I rarely get to see my family and to make up for it I have made exceptionally close friendships in my life with both men and women…they are like my replacement family.

I’m not sure if I consider my biological family close.  It bothers me.  I try to call my mom once a week.  I try, but I don’t always do it.  I haven’t seen my sister in almost 7 years and my brother…I haven’t seen him in at least 3 or more years and I only see my other brother due to the fact that he lives semi close to my parents, so when I see them maybe once a year, I usually see him as well.  Is this normal for us in the US?  My dad and I have never been very close, but his one wish for me was to actually write to my sister to say hi and break the ice a little between us.  Why weren’t we talking?  I have no idea.  I think it’s merely just a lack of consciousness we have for communication.  I feel my real family fading away in the dust and it bothers me immensely.

Sometimes I think about how years ago I couldn’t imagine never seeing my siblings…how they were such an integral part of my life.  How did I ever end up with this completely disconnected family?

I always remember the one time my brother came to California because of his job.  He just happened to visit me as well.  I met him at his hotel and we spent the evening together.  The next morning his flight was canceled and he irritatedly referred to the rest of the day together as “dead time.”  That kind of stung. But then at the same time I hear from so many people that know him about how much he talks about me and how much he thinks about me.  He isn’t the only person like this in my life.  Why can’t we just say how we feel to the actual person we have these feelings for?  And why is it easier to express it to someone else?  My mom always says, “You know your dad talks about you a lot,” but he isn’t talking about me to me so how would I know?  In addition to this, my family has always had a habit of insulting each other and its sort of an affectionate thing.  Tough love.  I kinda have a feeling that this is normal for many American families.

So much of American culture is based on independence.  If you are still living with your family after 20 years old then something is wrong with you…or at least that is what we assume.  I haven’t lived near my parents since I was 18 years old other than a small stretch of time when I needed to stay with them for financial reasons.  I missed out on a consistent relationship with my brother and his family and all of my nephews and my niece.  Suddenly my niece is 14 years old this year.  Suddenly my parents have grey hair and all kinds of medical problems.  When did they age?  I was never around long enough to witness all of the transitions.

Maybe I needed them more.  Maybe leaving them so young was actually a premature thing to do because the lack of them has made me seek it in others and I’ve maybe stayed in relationships way too long or formed bonds that maybe I shouldn’t have because of this.

At the same time, to appear needy at least in the US is completely unacceptable and so I was taught that I need to do it all on my own and I need to be proud of this.  I am proud of it.  I have done a lot just solo…more than I give myself credit for most of the time.  I’m definitely not afraid of being alone.  I can take care of myself and I can support myself just fine even if I slip up sometimes and get my Ipod stolen or forget my keys or have to go back to my apartment two or three times after I intended to leave to get something else.    One of my ex-boyfriends used to call me “two trips” because I couldn’t just leave the apartment the first time.  I’m not perfect.

I am thankful for Roxana because currently she is my stand in family and she does a good job of it.  She also does a good job of including all sorts of other people that are new here.  Our new addition was a guy from the States who lost his financial job during the beginning of the economic crisis in the US and changed his life becoming a yoga instructor and looking towards spirituality instead of the American dream.  That’s not much of a unique story these days.

I think I would absolutely go crazy if I didn’t have at least one good friend here that I could really communicate with inside out.  I’m realizing so much how I actually do need people in my life and maybe being so overly independent isn’t all that its cracked up to be.

The mountains were beautiful yesterday and it was so nice to breathe fresh air again.  Between that and having laughed all day, I feel somewhat renewed from all of it.

First Week in Chile

I’m starting this blog because I need a creative exercise.  It has been a while since I was painting daily and in the last year or so, I’ve really abandoned my art – so, in the spirit of Artist’s Way, this is my attempt to start somewhere…to just write something and also to record my experience here in my new home of Santiago.

So, as of now – all I know is that:

1.  I have a contract (that hasn’t quite been made official) to teach English here until December.

2.  I’m determined to learn Spanish.

3.  I want to travel and explore South America.

4.  I want to begin again doing something creative, artistic…

Ultimately, I’m still searching for the best art form to do…??  What?  There was always a separation for me and my art in the past that was so uncomfortable to me…so not right.  I know they say that there is always struggle in creating art, but shouldn’t there feel like some flow from whatever is inside me to the physical outcome called art?  I never felt it.  For example, I want to feel like painting flows from me as easily as I desire to eat, sleep, love…  It always just felt like work to me.  And, yet I still feel like I need to do something.  But, what?  I’m choosing to start with where my passion has always been and with which I have usually ignored or not given enough credit because there has never been any physical product to see from traveling, seeing places, meeting people, moving around in the world, being outside in the mountains, the desert…or just doing something I love versus what I have I always thought I should be doing.   Why not start doing what I love and stop telling myself how great it is to be pacing around my studio with my paintbrush wondering if this year my paintings will sell…if I will sell just one?  or…if I will be in this show or that show….or am I doing enough work…?   meeting the right people? …and not just that, but just feeling so frustrated about how limited it feels to sit in my studio and paint…there’s something more I desire from art…but I don’t know what it is and maybe it will just turn out to be nothing…we’ll see..

Still…I have to know if it’s the physical art that I desire to make or if it’s just that I have lived my life in fear of doing and enjoying the things that I truly desire and that what I really need to do is just make my life like art.  I think that to express myself as an artist, I first have to just be honest with myself…do what I really love and try to put the rest aside as much as I can.  Maybe it’s that simple.

Yesterday, I went to the Andes Mountains for the first time ever.  I’ve wanted to do this for years.  Through, a group called EcoChile that takes people to places that they don’t normally see or can’t normally get it…I went on an all day hike to the Glaciers in El Cajon del Maipo about an hour and a half from Santiago.  I probably wasn’t totally in shape for the hike.  My legs hurt today and my face is completely sunburnt, but I had so much fun!