It´s Rush Hour & I´m On The Metro

It’s 7pm and the platform is packed. People are waiting anxiously, inching forward alarmingly close to the edge with eyes peeled to the left. The train sounds in the near distance and they ready themselves at the same time as the metro guards spread their arms and shout to stay back. There is only one word to describe what comes next: battle.  The doors open and there is a swarm of commuters descending from the carriage … while fighting the ferocious onslaught of those trying to get on. There’s pushing and shoving, people shouting “weon” and once inside (if you make it that is) there is no room to even lift a finger and all manner of things pressed into your bottom.

The metro has a bad reputation amongst locals and foreigners here but it’s fair to say that in (most) countries travel during rush hour is a hectic and trying time. It’s true that the above picture is commonplace and it’s also true that it’s near impossible to find a space if you are disabled, with children or with a pushchair. People are already stressed by the time they arrive on the platform thanks to Santiago’s long working day, and just waiting to use your ticket/Bip card can take half an hour in some stations (looking at you Tobalaba!).

Last night we had to use the metro at exactly that time –  and with Emilio. Sometimes there is just no other option. The yellow line was extraordinarily busy. No-one offered us a seat, which is rare because someone usually does.  In their defense they probably couldn’t see us over the sea of bobbing heads … and also because they were all taken by middle aged ladies (the WORST culprits for doing the usual eye-avoiding/I’m asleep/I-can-see-you-but-don’t-care-trick). Some people motioned for us to sit down when one of the not-that-old ladies vacated but by then we were getting off at the next stop. At Santa Ana the swarm pushed into Emilio so much that he got very scared but the people around us pushed back to move everyone away from us. When we arrived at Los Heroes it would have been impossible for us to disembark if it hadn’t been for all the people who helped part a path for us and shouted to be careful of the guagua. On the platform it was madness but everyone that saw us gave us a wide berth.

This is something that I think often goes overlooked. For every person pushing, there are five more who will try and help and this goes for the buses and taxis too!. I have found the men to be more helpful than the women (generally), that people nearly always give me a seat without prompting outside of the rush hour, and that often the most helpful people to Luis or myself are the most unsavoury looking men. I also have to point out there has been immense improvement since I was here in 2012. During rush hour there are trains every minute, there are lots of people working to help you, and the Ruta Verde/Roja help make the trip a lot faster. It’s also worth pointing out that in a country where (most) things are privatized, the metro line is state-run – I’m sure TranSantiago would love to have a piece of that pie too because it must be a goldmine of income! The lines are constantly being repaired, lifts are being put in, carriages have been designated as preferential, and drivers are well-trained (its no easy feat to get the job either). A week or so ago, I lost my balance on the metro (darn dizziness!) and then had a full-blown panic attack.  I cannot speak highly enough of the young guard  who calmed me down, offered to call me an ambulance and then walked me across the station to wait for Luis to rescue me – and he spoke English! I dread to think how much worse it would have been if he wasn’t there, or not as easy to find.

The pressure on the metro during rush hour is intense and I really hope that that improves with all the new lines being put in. Do you know what I wish you could get here? Those badges that show if you need a seat or extra help – there are alot of disabilities that make no outward change to your appearance. For me, it’s very difficult for me to stand on something that is moving or even using stairs – made doubly worse if I’m holding Emilio! It really makes me feel for those amongst us who really need assistence. I don’t think Santiago provides well for the disabled (or am I wrong) and the ultimate day would be when they set aside a whole carriage for those of us with pushchairs or wheelchairs. Sure would help me avoid dirty looks when I have to use the lift!

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