Chiloe: The Strange and the Beautiful

El Oso, Puñihuil

A beautiful woman emerges from the sea. Fishermen who catch sight of la Pincoyo as she dances along the rocks are snared by her long hair, but she also saves Chilotes from drowning if their boat capsizes. El Picoy, her husband, summons her from the rocky shoreline to dance in a sexual frenzy for him. If she turns toward the ocean, the sea will offer up its abundance to the inhabitants for Isla de Chiloe, but there will be sarcity if she turns toward land.

El Trauce, a tiny and hideously deformed man, lives in the woods. He attacks young women and disflowers them. When they leave his clutches and return to their village, they are always pregnant with his child.Detail from a house in Ancud

El Invunche is created from a baby boy who is given to the brujos, the male witches of the island, or he might be stolen from home. He is raised naked in the darkness of a cave and is given human meat to feed upon and the milk from cats to drink. As he grows,the witches transform him into a monster, piercing one of his legs to his backbone. When he is allowed to leave the cave, he searches for people by smell. When the "clean" ones see him, they are bond to him forever by their fears. Those that can look upon him and not show fear become the brujos. When an invunche dies, the witches indulge on his flesh because of its curative powers.

Isla de Chiloe has a unique mythological and cultural heritage, distinct from the rest of Chile. It's myths incorporate both those of its indigenous people: the Chonos, the islands first human inhabitants, then the Huilliche, a subgroup of the Mapuche, and also from stories that the Spanish brought.

We crossed the Canal Chacao via a short ferry ride where seals rode along the wake of the boat, and went to Ancud, an atmospheric fishing port on the north end of the island. I wanted to disappear there, spend a rainy winter snuggled in a warm wool sweaters, listening to cuecas and seeing what spell the magic of the island might cast on my writing.

Chiloe, at least the parts most tourists see, is a modern place, twenty-first century in many respects except for slow Internet connections and very attuned to the needs of travelers. Plans are underway for tourists to take in more of the traditional life of Chiloe by housing them with island families.

View from our hostel in Ancud

In an earlier posting I wondered why areas of Chile seem colder than in similar latitudes in the northern hemisphere, especially the farther south one travels. It turns out that there is a frigid current off the coast that affects the continent with more precipitation that even the Pacific Northwest. Chiloe is near the 45th parallel (mid-Oregon), but we felt as though we could have been in Alaska on our first evening there.

In the winter it rains up to two to three weeks without stopping, accompanied by strong icy-cold winds. Our hostel was on top of a hill overlooking the city and the sea. Twice in four days, the wind howled for hours, followed by a heavy downpour. It felt like a shortened version of a winter rain storm in northern California, but this was January and the height of summer. The following pictures were taken on the same day, the brooding gray morning and the afternoon of dazzling sunlight.



Ancud had the feeling of a frontier. After all, we were on the edge of Patagonia. Many of the buildings have rough-hewned wood exteriors. The mercado central looked fairly new,though it was also made of wood and captured the towns essence. Here, as in the other port towns, there was plenty of fresh seafood to buy, along with the beautiful handicrafts. Women sat in their stalls, knitting or crocheting when they weren't dealing with customers. Their yarn is hand dyed using tree bark, roots and grasses.

We spoke to a caballero minding his wife's store who told us that the conquest of Chiloe was less bloody than that of most of the Americas. Many of the settlers were farmers from Galicia, folk of small stature and their ways and the native population blended together fairly harmoniously. Many of the native traditions have not been lost as they have in other parts of the world.

Harbor in Ancud

In the morning from my hostel I could see fishing boats off the coast. The harbor in Ancud is full of boats in the water or in dry dock for repair. There were a few drunks sleeping along stone walls. An old woman (was she really old?) giggled like a school girl as she shared a bottle of what looked like whiskey with the two much younger men snuggling next to her. Seagulls cried like the links squeaking on a chain and the saltwater in the air could almost be tasted.

Gypsy Camp

There are two tours that most tourists take. In the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, Jesuits and then Franciscans built over three hundred chuches on the island made of native wood. About 80 remain and are now UNESCO World Heritage Sights.



Interior of cathedral in Castro

We chose to visit the penguins in Puñihuil, an hour or so from Ancud on the seaward coast and just north of the Chiloe National Park, where one of the few rain forests in a temperate climate exists. The day was wet and blustery, but as soon as our little boat set out in the channel it stopped raining. Four or five boats from various enterprises on the island line up on the beach. As you can tell from the picture, raingear is available.




An English interpreter was provided for us, a young man from Haiti named Michael who, as our boat was launched, wanted to know how Barack Obama had ever been elected. He said that Haitian never believed that the United States would elect a black man.

Two types of penguins are found in these small islands: the Humboldt and Magellanic. They have their marches just as do their larger cousins in Antactica. The males mate for life, and if a mate dies he will not eat until he finds a new partner. The females have a reputations for fooling around and aren't nearly as devoted.

Red-legged Cormorants share the islands with the penguins.

Here is a video taken from our boat of a group of penguins diving into the water:



We met a young woman named Maria Jose, her mother and nephew at our hostel.



It turns out they live close to us in the Quinta Region. Maria Jose took us to Castro, the capital of Chiloe, a pleasant city that looked very livable. Of course, I'm writing from the perspective of summer when the sky was blue and the breeze off the ocean was cool but not freezing. It was here at the market we found the central room filled with thousands and thousands of tejidas. El Dorado!

> Castro is well-known for the palafitos, houses built on stilts to accomodate the tide.

This strange building (front and back view) took us by surprise. We think it was a museum. Perhaps it was closed for repairs?












What Chile has lacked in cuisine for us, it has more than made up with music. It seeps in every aspect of life here. These performers were in front of the bus station. They're singing a cuecua, traditional Chilean music. The pitch of the woman's voice is a standard motif.



We said goodbye to Maria Jose's family and came back by ourselves to Ancud. We met up again with Shelly, the Canadian chef, and Dee, a friend of hers from England. One our way to find dinner, we came across this concert in the Plaza de Armas. These young people were a part of a summer music camp.



Afterwards, we found a non-greasy version of a chorellano to eat, shared another bottle of red wine, and talked until at least 11:00. We said goodbye at the Plaza de Armas. Bill and I started on our way up the hill to our bed as hundreds of lolos (teenagers) passed us by; their night was just beginning.

Puerto Varas and Puerto Montt

We swore off Chilean pastry in Puerto Varas. We'd had the good experience of finding a decent cake in Valdivia, but this was rare. We've had delicious meals at the homes of friends, but restaurant cuisine in general (except for the places my husband calls "working man cafes" that serve up darn good pollo asado and papas fritas), and pastries and sweets in particular, have left us underwhelmed. They are not very sweet, don't have much flavor and are made with an incredible amount of doughy dough. But since we had success with the Valdivian bakery and hoped that the German pastry influence had found it's way down to Puerto Varas, we thought we'd give it a try. We went into a coffee house with a good solid German name and ordered a slice of pie de lemon. Two inches of dough and a sliver of lemon flavor later, we made our resolution.

The picture above is of Lago Llanguihue (pronounced yawn-KEE-way), a huge lake that puts the size of Clear Lake (the lake near our house in . . . duh . . . Lake County, California) to shame. Behind it is Volcan Orsono. If we'd had more time (and if it hadn't started to rain), we would have explored the small towns around the lake or taken one of the all day cruises. The town has a little over 30,000 full time residence but in January and February all of Chile siphons down to it. I would think that the town would be incredibly peaceful and slow-paced the rest of the year.


Puerto Varas is pleasant and pretty. The views are incredible with not only Volcan Orson to see in the distance, but two others volcanos as well: Calbuco and Tronador. The shrine below is just below the Catholic church, very typical of the ones that are all over Chile.



My favorite part, though, was being at the Hostel Compass del Sur, a friendly, very clean old house where we met Shelly, from Vancouver, Canada, a chef who had tried a gig in Buenas Aires and was now traveling until it was time for her next job as a private chef in Hawaii. My husband, who has done a great deal of cheffing, had a lot to talk to her about. We all met in the kitchen, naturally. We'd gone to Puerto Montt for the day. Bill cooked up the salmon filet we'd bought there and we shared our white wine with her.

Later, we shared her red wine as the three of us had a card game with an Anglo-Indian cancer researcher with whom I'd watched the ending to Van Helsing earlier in the day. He talked about how drug companies didn't want to cure diseases because where is the profit in that? Instead, he said, their interest is in maintaining patients for life. The next day he was off on the Navimag to backpack around the Torres del Paines National Park.

Puerto Montt, a bus ride away, is the gateway to Patagonia. We looked into taking the Navimag to Puerto Natales for the experience and perhaps seeing a glacier or two, but it would have cost as much as a trip to the U.S. and back. Someday we may be fool enough to take the thirty hour bus trip to Punta Arena, the largest, and according to Chile, the most southern city in the world. Check out the Youtube videos about the Navimag, if you're interested. For us, getting to Torres del Paines was cost prohibited and our backpacking days are behind us, but if you ever get to go, lucky you!

What I saw of Puerto Montt didn't excite me, but there might be a wonderful city that lies behind the bus route and the port. It is the fastest growing city in Chile and until recently it's economy was churning. The feria at Angelmo along the port is a definite must if you love handicrafts. We saw beautiful carved wood panels for doors for 10,000 pesos, a little less than twenty dollars at today's exchange rate. Don't buy anything in Puerto Varas (one shop did have beautiful knitted and crocheted clothing for children, so if you just have to drop a lot of money, that's where I'd suggest.)



The sweaters,shawls and scarves that you find at Angelmo are often handmade by the women running the shops. I became addicted at looking and touching them, though I ended up not buying any of these things either in Puerto Montt or in Castro, (Isla de Chiloe) where we found the El Dorado of tejidos. I was just too befuddled by the choices.

After our visit to Chiloe (next blog), we came back to Puerto Varas for our last night traveling and stayed at a bed and breakfast near the bus station. We encountered another Chilean mystery. Notice where the handles. The bottom one starts the flow of water, and the top one adjusts it.



Now look at the shower head (and in particular to the wires on top). The contraption is a type of on demand hot water heater and you have to turn it to make it work. Only it didn't. Bill's hot water only lasted a minute. I decided to pass and not risk either a cold shower or electrocution.

Hitchhiking to Rio Nuevo

This is our dear friend Pamela leaving Vina del Mar last year for what she thought would be a job as a nanny in Santiago. First she went home to the Lake Region in southern Chile to spend a month or so with her family, but now she's decided to stay, attend preuniversario and then marticulate to university or technical school in 2010.

Pamela and me in my front yard

From Valdivia, Bill and I took a bus to La Union. The bus was full, every seat taken and many people were standing in the aisle. We were entertained by a couple of little girls singing songs and squeezing back and forth from their abuelita who sat in the back seat, through older sisters listening to MP3 players, to where their mama and papa stood, holding on to their packages and the backs of seats.

Outside the window, the trees grew even more densely here than they did on our way to Valdivia, bearing witness to the stories we've heard so many times of the mammoth rains that occur in the Region de Lagos during most of the year.

Pamela and her cousin Karen cooking lunch for us!

La Union is in a valley, reminiscent of the lumbermill towns my family passed through when I was a child on vacations to the Pacific Northwest. Pamela met us at the bus station, and we were off in a taxi to la casa de su abuelita where she spends the weekdays, saving the weekends for her mother's place in Rio Nuevo.

Pamela's cousins Karen, Carolina, Gabriela, her Tio Harry, her grandmother (abuelita)Elcira, and two of her brothers, Cesar and Felipe, were all there to greet us. Many besos (kisses) later, I was offerred the use of their computer to check on my mom in California.

Cesar sat down with my husband, apologizing for his ingles, which was far better than our espanol, wanting to find out what Bill thought about Obama. He explained that he was very concerned about Obama's position on abortion. The family is Pentacostal and very worried that abortion is legal in the U.S. Bill said that Obama supported a woman's right to choose what to do with her own body and then added that, personally, he felt making criminals out of these women was not a good idea. Cesar, in a very softspoken and careful manner, asked wasn't God the same God everywhere? Then he said that since we were guests in his country he would not argue with us and we should stop discussing the matter and enjoy the almuerza.

After lunch, we took a walk with Pamela, two of her cousins, and Felipe to a park where in the heat of the afternoon a river seemed to beg to be waded in. However, even this isn't encouraged as it's contaminated with wastes from the mills and local dairies. We then walked to the plaza de armas. Earlier in the day, we saw a funeral procession in a little town where the bus had made a short stop. A good fifty or sixty people dressed in black had been slowing walking behind the hearse down a street that had been closed off. Here, at the plaza, another funeral procession had just ended. Over a hundred people stood in front of the Catholic church waiting for the coffin to be taken inside.

Pamela realzed it was getting late and we needed to catch a bus for Rio Nuevo. We'd left our bags at her grandmother's. On our way back, Felipe saw the pastor of their church at a tienda. He wanted to introduce the pastor to us, so younger brother trumped older sister. We waited for fifteen minutes. We finally shook hands and kissed the pastor and his wife, spoke of our enjoyment of Chile while Felipe took their groceries to the car. The pastor's wife warned us to watch our pockets and be careful. La Union looked so peaceful to us, a tidy town, slow paced, that we were surprised when she mentioned the drive-by shootings.

By the time we got to the bus station, the one we needed had left. The last one for the day was about to leave but would only take us part way. We got on and rode as far as we could. We were still twenty or so kilometers from Rio Neuvo. Thumbs out, it only took the third vehicle to get a ride. We climbed in the back of a huge van and sat on the floor and the wheelwells. The van stopped again and a family with five kids, a mom and a grandmother who had to have been at least 80 climbed aboard. The driver stopped once again for the cattle being driven back home by two huasos (An aside: my husband's favorite Chilean expression is "huasos con plata," cowboys with money.)

The van got to where it was going. We were left standing in the middle of grassy fields shimmering in the early evening light. Bucolic and beautiful, but we still had a long way to go. A young boy on a horse rode by and an occasional car ignored our imploring thumbs. After half an hour, we decided we had to walk the final six kilometers with our thirty pound suitcase (even with wheels, hard going on asphalt). But we didn't go far. A special bus that had been chartered for the funeral in La Union came chugging up and stopped. It took us to Pamela's road. Another kilometer and a half up a dirt lane, and we were home.

Pamela in Rio Nuevo






We were disappointed that we wouldn't meet Pamela's mom, but she was in Santiago visiting her eldest son. For dinner, Pamela fixed us huevos del campo (scrambled eggs) which she served along with the cheese her mom makes. Pamela knows very little English. We wonder how much Spanish we have learned, but when we're with her we carry on conversations all day long, only reaching impasses every so often when we just have to laugh and change the subject. That night we slept well and woke to the mooing of the cows in the backyard and the greeting of the rooster next door.

For breakfast we were served fresh warm bread, and milk for our Nescafe that came straight from the neighbor's cow to Pamela's woodstove (where it was brought to a boil) to table. We spent the day walking along the rocky shore of Lago Ranco where I slowly made my way; the other two were very patient with my bad eyes and lack of depth perception-- walking where rocks are concerned turns me into a turtle. I followed Bill and Pamela for two or three miles as we passed through the beachfronts of the homes of the ricos who might only spend a week or so in Rio Nuevo for summer vacations.

A spring along the shore of Lake Ranco

Every so often, we'd find shade and sit to take in the view.

Valdivia

I love Valdivia. It reminds me of Arcata, California with its university feel and clapboard houses. But it also feels like Seattle, though it's not right on the sea. The commercial and university areas are divided by the sapphire blue band of the Rio Valdivia. Streets are wide. The town is clean. The Plaza de Armas is expansive with many benches beneath shade trees.

A young mime entertained the entire plaza by putting on a performance that could rival Charlie Chaplin's, stopping cars as he "tried" to pick up his hat only to have it skip away from him, humorously escorting old ladies across the street, giving deadpan looks at people ignoring him, and taking hats off of the heads of the most distinguished gentlemen.

My husband, once upon a time a redhead and still sensitive to the sun, needed a good hat. This store has been in the same place since the 1930s and walking in was like stepping back in time. I loved the wood walls and the elegant cases. Bill found just the right Panama-style sombrero.

You can also take a sunset cruise and look for black-necked swans. Bring a jacket, though, because you'll need it coming back.

Southern Chile was settled by immigrants from all over Germany. Many Prussian families came in the 1890s because their sons were being forced to serve in the army. The architecture, street signs, breweries and bakeries reflect the German influence. Overall, we haven't been impressed with Chilean bake goods, but we went to one pasteleria/chocolateria whose name I didn't write down. Darn . . . it's in the downtown section which only covers about eight blocks by eight blocks . . . a trip to olfactory heaven. We bought an amaretto cake that was light and melt-in-the-mouth good.

My favorite places, though, were the three-story mercado central where we found beautiful earrings and bags and the large outdoor market across the street where all sorts of fresh sea food (some still alive) could be found. Salmon, salmon, salmon, salmon. Cooked with a little butter and lemon . . .ah! We were not to buy any off a truck as salmon robberies are increasing. Much of the commercial salmon in Chile has been farmed raised as numbers seem to be declining just as the Pacific salmon in the north have decreased. There has recently been a "great escape;" thousands of fish broke loose from their pens.

Lobos del Mar, sea lions, line up on pilars behind where the fish are cleaned. We met the guy at the bottom of this posting who let Bill know how satisfied he was. (Now, get that camera out of my face.)

Heading South

Just so you won't miss it (next to the bus station in Temuco, Chile)

There are certain mysteries about Chile that as guests to the country my husband and I have decided we'll probably never solve. Why does a country rich in vineyards and wonderful inexpensive wine have raisins that cost an arm and a leg? Into which black hole does the mail disappear? Why do you need to talk to the pharmacist to buy Rolaids?

And then there's the Tur Bus food mystery.

The United States could learn a lot about public transportation from Chile. You can journey from one end of the country to the other and know that buses will generally be clean, comfortable and on time. Most people can afford to travel on them. (Though using the bathroom while in transit is an adventure in itself. It's best to bring tissues with you just in case). When traveling distances we usually take Tur Bus and are generally pleased. However, there's the food issue.

The first time we went to La Serena, about seven hours to the north of Vina del Mar, everyone was served lunch: a dry sandwich, some cookies, and a coke. Not delightful, but at least it filled us up. On the way back, we found two women in the seats we had reserved. They were elderly, and we told them not to worry and sat in theirs. Come lunch time, everyone on the right hand side of the bus were handed bags with food, including the women. We kept waiting and watched the ladies eat ours . . . evidently the left hand side wasn't in favor that day. On a recent trip to La Serena, the bus stopped at a new lunch facility built by Tur Bus. We had a decent hot dog on the way up and then coming home an even better empanada at a food stand across the street. So there should be something similar in place for a much longer trip, right?

There must be some sort of Chilean bus traveling meme that we just haven't connected to where the food supply is concern. Vina to Valdivia is a 12 hour trip. There was two five minute stops and then a ten minute one in Temuco where I had just enough time to grab some crackers. We got to Valdivia after 10 at night and were starving.

Enough of that. Here's the good part, the scenery:

Everything was very dry leaving Santiago. The area around the city is more or less desert and without the snowmelt from the Andes, it would be hard for a city of over six million to exist. Chile is a first world country,yet scenes like this one of the horse and cart picking up a supply of gravel are common. This picture was taken not far from subways, fast cars, high fashion and skyscrapes.

But in a little while, the campo became verdant. We'd arrived in the core wine growing region of the country, passing kilometer after kilometer of vineyards. Our home in California is in the upper region of the wine country; at this point I felt I could have been traveling down the Napa Valley to San Francisco. The green leaves were a welcome sight.

Then the grapes made way for other crops and across the valley the distinct cone of volcanos came into view. I was finally in the south! Every ten or twenty minutes or so a new one appeared. They looked cloned, so similar in shape they were, all snow capped with funnel-like peeks, defying gravity and flirting with the angle of repose.

There are approximately 620 volcanos in Chile, more than in any other country. And with volcanos come earthquakes, the two biggest in the last century occurring in our neck of the woods (Valparaiso 1906, 8.2) and in Valdivia(1960, 9.0). The one in Valdivia was the biggest earthquake in recorded history, causing a tidal wave that flooded the town and several fishing villages along the southern coast. Last May, the town of Chaiten was virtually rubbed out. The ash combined with heavy rains and buried the community.photo credit: Carlos Guiterrez

In so many ways Chile is a mirror of the Pacific coast from northern Mexico to Alaska, except winters are colder than in the same latitudes in the north. Less land mass may affect the climate, especially as the continent dwindles into Patagonia down to Cape Horn. As we rode down Ruta 5 (the same number as the main artery between Southern California and Washington), there were changes that refected this.

We entered what could have been Oregon, the landscape no longer a flat plain, but greener with rolling hills. Pine trees grew tall, and for the first time in Chile I saw houses made entirely of wood. Small farms extended on either side of the road. We crossed rivers. Clouds were in the sky; their shadows made the land seem cooler. After leaving Temuco, on the last leg to Valdivia, geese flew overhead while ponds turned gold with the setting sun.

Santiago, January 2009

Detail of mural, Concha y Toro Barrio, Santiago Chile

Santiago in the summer is hot; unlike Los Angeles which has a similar latitude, there is less smog than in winter . . . I chalk this up to how things are just different in South America like dealing cards right to left and putting guacamole on hot dogs because . . . well, I'm not sure why. Chilenos don't understand why we gringos find completos unappetizing. Complete Mural

There's also the chorrellano, a meal of saugage, beef and chicken covered with greasy French fries and an egg sunnyside up that people love here. Just looking at it makes your arteries want to close up.

The Completo

I'm more used to Santiago in winter when everyone is bundled up with scarfs over their mouths, babies are thoroughly wrapped in blankets, and hostels and restaurants are quite cold as there is little central heating. In summer, the pace is just as fast, but a veneer of sweat stays with you until the evening. After a long subway ride or being in a stuffy bus, I look forward to the helados aguas, fruit popcicles that are incredibly rich in flavor, the best I've ever had; so much better than soda to quench a thirst. I was surprised to find that manzana (apple) flavored ones are sold along with ones you might expect: moro (berry), naranja (orange), pina (pineapple), fruitilla (strawberry) and, on lucky days, frambuesa (raspberry).

Evenings are wonderful, and there are plenty of sidewalk cafes (albiet the majority with smokers) to sit and linger in. The murals above were taken in one of our favorites places, the small barrio of Concha y Toro, near Barrio Brasil, where the neo-colonial architecture has been preserved. We had orange cake and coffee on a terrace overlooking the Plaza Libertad de Prensas. Lovers, including two young women, kissed on the benches that surrounded the fountain below, while the little daughter of the owners of the tienda circled the plaza on what might have been her Christmas bike.

We spent two days in Santiago before heading to the Lake District and Isla de Chiloe. As we travel, like the good consumers we are, we dream of an export business and are drawn into stores and artesan workshops. There are two ferias we know of in Santiago: one more centrally located across from Cerro Santa Lucia, which, generally is more inexpensive than El Pueblito San Dominico, larger and more upscale, in the Los Condes area. It is here that those large buses pull up filled with tourists with plenty of cameras and VISA cards. If you don't have time to explore more of the country, handicrafts are represented here from all over the country. But if you do have a chance for more travel, buying things from the areas they are actually made is usually less expensive.

Two girls in the shade, El Pueblito San Dominico.

When we vacation, our main occupation is walking aimlessly around the towns we visit, enjoying the architechture, getting a feel for neighborhoods and the people. This is one of our favorite streets in Santiago, a little crooked one we found in Barrio Brasil that we think would be fun to live on.

I Am This/Esa Soy

I Am This
by Susana Montanares M.

I am a body without a soul,
a hungry corpse of desire,
a caress converted into torture.

I am an autumn leaf,
the trampled cry of nakedness born alive.
I am pain and forgetfulness staring together,
rage and hate joined into a fist.

I am the one you carry into the world
and cannot restore.
I am the sons of men
eagerly deceiving the wind.

You swear to protect me.
You swear to love me
but you kill the birth of my soul.

I am a frustrated dream,
annihilated desire.
I am a butterfly
undertaking its flight
and devoured by a flower.

I am this.
I am nothing,
a thing that opened its eyes to the world
but was assasintaed before it could see.

Yo Soy

Soy un cuerpo sin alma

un despojo hambriento de deseo.

una caricia convertida en tortura

soy una hoja en otoño

que pisoteada llora la desnudez de aquel que la vio nacer.

Soy la pena y el olvido

unidos en una mirada.

Soy la rabia y el odio contenidos en un puño.

Soy aquel que trajiste al mundo

y no pudiste devolver.

Soy los hijos de los hombres

engañados en el vientre.

Juraste protegerme,

juraste amarme,

pero mataste mi alma al nacer.

Soy un sueño frustrado,

un deseo anhelado.

Soy una mariposa que emprende el vuelo

y es devorada por una flor.

Eso soy...

No soy nada.

Algo que abrio los ojos y quiso ver el mundo,

pero fué asesinado antes de verlo.

La musica de los perros

My house, the second in a row of brick casitas, sits above a small canyon on the edge of a barrio called Los Romeros, a neighborhood of sandy streets that wind through a eucalyptus forest with working and middle class homes. The eucalyptus remind me so much of California, but the homes here are virtually all gated, a trend I loath in the United States. Almost every home has at least one dog who spends its life outdoors. Some never leave the enclosure, others jaunt around the streets. Most are friendly, though it's wise not to try to prove this.

There are many street dogs without owners who feed on trash and handouts, for the most part the tougher guys and gals on the prowl. It's not unusual to see one limping from an encounter with a car. Some are sick. It's estimated that there are 70,000 dogs in Valparaiso alone; where I live they number in the thousands as well.


Of course, there are exceptions. Many Chilenos have little pampered dogs like this one who get to go to the veterinaria peluqueria and sleep in the house on any bed bebe wants.

I previously wrote about the situation of dogs here and stated that they needed to be sterilized. How wonderful it was to find out yesterday that this has started in Valparaiso. Six free permanent clinics and three mobile ones have opened in the city with the goal to substantially reduce the dog population.

Dog sounds fill up the nights. From across the canyon, from our side and on our own street, we fall asleep (or not) to a cacophony of shrills and barks, high-pitched yipping, and the machine gunning of the most persistent perros. It goes on for hours until the rooster begins to crow. I'm reading a book now called Metidas de Pata, which explains blunders native English speakers make in Chile while also discussing the culture. A case in point: I recently told some people it was nice to eat them instead of meet them . . . and I really thought I knew what I was saying. I guess an appropriate metida de pata since I write of flesh eating aliens. Mabel Abad C., the author of the book, states that it mystifies foreigners why the dogs aren't brought inside at night and friends tell me they barely notice the "musica," as it's been with them all of their lives.

Security is the issue, a constant concern; crime is up. Our neighbor's car was broken into earlier this month, and almost everyone I've gotten to know here has a story of a wallet or a purse stolen. Insurance for replacement help for important papers is highly popular to have. Gringo friends were actually attacked by boys with a broken bottle in Valparaiso.

A couple of days ago a young couple were pushing their baby in a stroller, and Miel, the little bitch, went after it. We called her, hoping the people didn't think she belonged to us. "Don't bite the baby," we told her. Miel's name means honey. Once she's tried to nip you a couple of times, she becomes your friend and is sweet like her name.

Miel, chica mala

She and Pisco (whose real name, I think, is Timoteo) and Picha take their responsibilities very seriously and our street fills up at all hours as their barking announce the visitors. We appreciate their vigilence, though when the kids came to break into the car it was lo mismo como cada noche and no one went out to investigate.