Angels with Dirty Faces

I read this line in a reading from one of my English classes and I thought how apt it was for my blog. While I have had an overwhelming positive reaction to my posts, I have had a few people who have been negative and have been unable to grasp the point of my words. I have never insinuated that Santiago was perfect, or that all taxistas are honest and all bus drivers unintelligent but I certainly have tried to illuminate the diamonds in the rough and the “angels with dirty faces”.

What can I say? I get as pissed off as everyone else about tiptoeing around bad customer service or dealing with the machista attitude.  I hate that the best cheese goes to Spain and that there’s no real milk readily available (find out why here).  Above all, I hate that I want to support the strikes that occur regularly in Santiago but find that it’s nearly impossible to have any sympathy for them because life becomes utter chaos.

12191704_10153662995005097_1271567381719411643_nBut what else can I say? That in the ugliest of places you can find gems that glitter like diamonds. They may not be but sometimes they are something far better. I see that in the frazzled security guard at the Registro Civil who did his best to help us today. I see that in the young carabinero who moved me to the front of the Cedula queue today when he wasn’t obligated to. I see that in Luis who sometimes drives me nuts for never doing the dishes,  and in Emilio who has developed an affinity for sticking his finger up his nose whenever we have company. I see that in our dog Luna, who once lived on the street and is riddled with cancererous growths but who is sweeter than Babe and Lassie combined. I see that in my suegro who manages to disagree with everything I say but still manages to make Emilio happier than a ray of sunshine. I see it in Jose’s empanadas that are cooked in a dirty oven but taste delicious.

I also find in the most random of places, most evident in the following pictures I never expected to find where I did.  So I guess what I am trying to say is this: if you walk around with your eyes wide shut, you may never see the beauty right in front of your eyes.

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Where you can find delicious Arabic food in Patronato
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Where you can find wonders in la Vega Chica
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Where political statements are made through art
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Where you can eat like a king in the market (mote con huesillo anyone?)
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Where you can eat cheap, delicious Thai food in Franklin
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Where you can encounter festivals in Huechuraba
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Where you never know what you might find
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Worm farm down a Recoleta street? Tick.
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History down town? check
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Where you can eat delicious empanadas (thanks Jose!)
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Where cementeries are for family fun
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Best park in Santiago is in Recoleta!
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Where you can enjoy BBQ during the national holiday celebrations
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Where anyone can be your friend if you take the time
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Where the trees where clothes
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Breaking social boundaries and playing in unlikely places
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Remembering through graffitti
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Where you can find unlikely treasures
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Tirso Molina is one of those treasures
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And the artists too
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Where even the most dangerous of places have spectacular views.
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Getting Philosophical About Santiago

Who was it that said, “the only true wisdom is knowing you know nothing?”

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I will tell you. It was Socrates, the man I would have tried to marry if I had been born over two thousand years ago.  The Greek philosopher may not have been a looker (so they say) but he whipped the young people of Athens into such a frenzy that he was found guilty of disturbing the peace and forced to swallow poison. Nice*

The reason that I bring him up is that I often mull over deep, existential questions when I’m travelling on Santiago’s (excellent) metro system.  The commute to Nunoa is like a lesson in “How to Enjoy Life as a Sardine” because at rush hour its impossible to do much else but use the little grey cells of the brain. You don’t even need to hold on to anything because men very kindly squish themselves so deeply into your behind that its impossible to move. Or run away.

My academic background is in social anthropology. I just love people. When I meet a person I take in everything about them, from how they speak to how they dress, and I store this information away, to be put together at a later time.  I see their stories in front of me like I see their eyeballs – unique but also formulaic, and thus predictable to a degree.

Emphasis on the “to a degree.” It’s really quite impossible to make generalizations, especially when all the information you take in enters via several filters, whether they be filters of the senses, beliefs or of your own life experiences. This causes a difficulty in objectivity. That is why this blog is about my experiences in Chile, and not about any grand general statements about its people.

I was walking to my English class today when I saw an elderly gentleman sitting on a fold-away chair, out on his doorstep, in the street. He was alone and wasn’t do anything special, just sitting and watching, at that moment, me walk by.  Later, as I tried to escape appendages on the metro, I considered him again and I was struck by a thought: in nearly every country I have been to, I have witnessed similar behavior!

When I stayed with the adopted family of my uncle in Rural Gujarat, India, I would assist the aging patriarch to his porch each morning and there he would sit, until lunchtime. After lunch, back out he would go until the evening, when the whole family would soujourn to the living room and share the immensely bonding experience of Indian soap-watching.  He did absolutely nothing the whole time … that I could tell. Maybe he was seeing something that I just could not.

In England, my own grandparents would dust their sunroom with glee as spring approached, and summer was spent doing something similar, albeit with a healthy barrier of glass between them and nature.

In the north of New Zealand, we live outside come rain or sunshine, and I would argue that Sitting on the Deck is a national pastime.

In all these instances it’s plain to see that we human beings are united in our desire to enjoy the outside world, which seemingly increases with importance as we age.

What I love about its occurence in Recoleta is that it is an action without prejudice. We don’t have the best streets – hahaha (excuse the laugh).  In case you are wondering why I chuckled I will paint you a clearer picture. Santiago in general doesn’t have good roads (except the highways) and even the nicer areas flood after a drop of rain. Here in Recoleta its almost impossible to use a pushchair thanks to the broken footpaths, the roads are filled with potholes, and there’s always a dog every few metres that kindly offers you a present when you walk by. There’s rubbish everywhere, perhaps because people leave their rubbish bags outside and the dogs rip into them. Worst of all, when it’s warm, it gets stinky.

If it sounds like I can’t write a much worse description of the place I call my home, let me pause here and tell you one thing. On a sunny day, this smelly pot-holey barrio becomes heaven.  Maybe I say that because I love observing cities and their inhabitants, but the truth is it really is magnificent when the sun is shining.  Every house is unique, no one style employed in design, and the extravagant paint work bursts forth like an explosion under the sunlight. Every house and apartment keeps plants that have the power to transform even the most mundane of dwellings, and what you can find on the roadside is surprising. By my house there is a line of aloe vera plants. Nearby there are cacti with such aggresive spikes that they jut out into the road and dare you to walk by (seriously, they are so spikey you have to actually step off the footpath and walk around them – I’m surprised no-one has been seriously injured there). There are flowers of every description that bloom over fences and brighten doorways, and there are plum trees so laden that they drop their heavy purple fruit onto your head as you walk underneath.  I remember months ago we were walking home from taking the recycling (Recoleta recycles – woop!) and I saw a very elderly couple with thinning white hair out in the street and trimming the trees. It struck me how happy they were, how they were laughing and joking like teenagers while taking the time to care for the street. The moment really touched me.

So to return to the eternal question: what makes us human?  I have no idea but I want to say that the answer could be found in the way we always try to re-connect with the outside world, especially as we age. But the anthropologist in me hesistates to say anything and I leave you here with another tidbit from my past lover, Socrates: “true wisdom comes to each of us when we realize how little we understand about life ourselves and the world around us.”

* If you can, have a read of Plato’s Apology, which details Socrates’ trial. The man could debate.

Title by Socrates