Chile

To preface this blog: I spent two weeks solo traveling around South America, both in Chile and Argentina. This time alone allowed me to quickly confront some of the most initially challenging elements of adjusting to life abroad. The language barrier was immensely frustrating. One of my favorite examples of this was in my mis-reading of labels. The sun is very strong here (Arica is in the desert) and thus I needed both skin essentials of sunscreen and aloe vera. I bought two good-looking candidates for each of these needs and carried on my way to the beach. Next thing I knew, however, the expected white lotion of sunscreen (bloqueador in Spanish) was actually a deep, rusty brown color signaling tanning cream (which is bronceador in Spanish). I did get a bit of a tan that day! When I went to follow up with the aloe vera, the seemingly clear green goo turned into a creamy foam on my skin, and I quickly realized I had accidentally bought aloe shampoo instead of lotion. Nice job! The cultural differences were also at times overwhelming. Another anecdote for this one: it is a custom greeting here to kiss on one side of the cheek while you embrace. I, however, did not know this coming to Chile and had only ever seen the classic French style greeting of two kisses on each cheek. While I went to place my second greeting kiss, my new friend was absolutely taken aback and flustered by my approach. Nice Aliza! But despite the obstacles and mess ups, I had to stay strong and stay positive, since I was the only person that I could rely upon.

Fast forward to today. It is incredible, and nearly unbelievable, how much learning and growing has already occurred in the past few weeks; and yet, I continue to be challenged, inspired, and changed in new ways each day. I have not truly established a rhythm in my life here yet, as classes have still not officially begun, however, my expectations of Arica and life in Chile have been significantly questioned in my first week of being in the city. One of the things I have been most surprised by is the pace of life here. I have had several conversations with locals about this very topic, as well as started participating in it, and I am still a bit taken aback. Essentially, here in Arica, time is of no pressure or true significance. Many Chileans are late to everything, considering punctuality to be a guideline rather than an expectation. Everything here opens later, following this idea of a relaxed lifestyle. I cannot get into a pharmacy or bank until 10AM and cafés open whenever the owner decides to show up. One personal example of engaging with this relaxed lifestyle was when we went to register ourselves as students at the Policia de Investigaciones (PDI). We were late, by about 20 minutes, even though we had an appointment at 9AM. Unfortunately, we missed our time slot, but no one seemed to care, and we just showed up the next morning, this time only 5 minutes late. It has been difficult, oddly enough, to dive in and appreciate this way of living. In the United States, we are so conditioned for a life on the go. Constantly, I feel the pressure of time- the clock is forever ticking away. Sometimes I am so caught up in the rush of life, I realized I have missed important things, forgotten important events. I am trying my best to embrace more of a calm and not always be looking to the next thing on my to-do list, but it is a cultural adjustment that has been more of an obstacle than I thought. An additional cultural shock I have experienced is with the food. It may seem trivial, and comical, which in retrospect it is, but I am genuinely struggling with the amount of bread that is consumed here and the sweetness that is added to everything. Chileans eat bread with breakfast, lunch, and dinner, but it is not simply an addition, it is what the meal is served on or with. Additionally, during “onces” (which is derived from tea time in Britain, but has become more of a meal for the Chileans) more bread is served to satisfy Chileans’ carb-cravings between lunch and dinner. Then, to add to the amount of glucose already entering my body, Chileans love their sweets and elevate all of their dishes with sugar. Beer is not a favorite flavor here because it is so bitter, so what do Chileans do? They mix Fanta (an orange soda) with beer. Furthermore, manjar (the Chilean version of dulce de leche) is everywhere as well: on pancakes, in ice cream, in cookies, between layers of cake, on toast, and in cupboards. It has been a bit overwhelming having to consume all of this bread and sugar all the time. I sincerely did not think about how significant everyday food and eating is influenced by culture and subsequently influences my personhood. I am hopeful that I will be able to get a handle on my eating habits soon!

Through these initial experiences in my host country, I am simultaneously learning more about another culture’s and other people’s ways of living, as well as my own. As I embrace this new lifestyle, I hope I can find a balance between engaging and transforming myself based on my cultural immersion, while maintaining core pieces of my own lifestyle. Two of the ways I am seeking to accomplish this is by going to local fitness classes, specifically yoga/pilates and salsa, and cooking for and alongside my host mom. Ultimately, I am looking forward to becoming a part of the community and developing more of a schedule and flow to life. I feel like there is no good preparation for this experience, as each day is different, which is what makes this such an exciting and amazing opportunity to grow.

The Rio Pascua is located in the Aysén region of Chilean Patagonia and although it is a relatively short river, it has the seventh largest drainage basin in Chile. For 10 days in February, my RRCS (Round River Conservation Studies) team had the opportunity to conduct field research in the Bajo (lower) Pascua area. To access the area, we drove south from Cochrane, where our basecamp is located, stopping in Tortel, a small town by the fjords, to pick up Fabio, our local guide. Fabio’s family had owned a campo in Bajo Pascua and he grew up exploring the land, getting to know its flora and fauna, as well as navigating the remote area. Continuing further south, we took a small ferry through the fjords and then a pulley-operated two-car ferry used to cross the Pascua and its rapid waters. One the other side, we continued down the dirt road until we reached a driveway, too overgrown to drive down. We shuttled our bags the short distance and set up camp in the yard of Fabio’s abandoned campo. His family had sold the land a few years prior to a large dam company called HydroAysén, with plans to build three large dams along the Pascua, flooding huge swaths of land. The dams weren’t approved and the land now sits quietly undisturbed, unsure of its future

We spent our first few days using the campo as a basecamp, heading out during the day to conduct rapid biodiversity inventories of the area. To do these, we split into teams, each focused on a different category: plants, birds, amphibians, Humuels (stocky deer, endemic in Patagonia and endangered), and a human disturbance team. Ever 250 meters, we would all stop and record all the data we had collected before continuing on. These transects were all off-trail and we went through thick forests, over many bogs and crossed several streams, thoroughly soaking our hiking boots. All day we would snack on Calafate, Chaura and Murtila berries and anything else we could find to try. 

Each night we would return to the campo, usually having a class in the evening followed by dinner. After dinner and chores were done, everyone would sit around the fire and read the articles for the next class or journal about our days. The campo is situated on the banks of the Pascua and the area is surrounded by mountains, reflecting on the water which acts as a mirror on calmer days. It was beautiful. After longer, hotter days of transecting, we would swim in the cold water, quickly running in before bundling up against the cooler night air. 

After several days of basecampjng, we packed up our bags and headed out for a four-day backpacking trip, father away from the access road. Following Fabio through the forests and bogs, we made our way into what seemed like a very remote area, only accessed by gauchos (Chilean cowboys) on horseback. For the two nights, we set up camp on the shores of a glacier lake with icebergs floating freely about. We continued conducting rapid biodiversity inventories during the days, spotting two Humuels which was very exciting as it was unknown whether or not they were present in the area. We also conducted a bird point count, waking up early to record all birds we saw in a specific location for 20 minutes. 

On our last day, we moved campsites, hiking a few kilometers towards the road and camping on a bog. The next morning, a subset of our group woke up early, leaving camp at 5:30 am to bushwhack up a nearby peak, in hopes of getting a better view of the Southern Ice fields of Patagonia. At 6 am we were knee-deep in a bog, pushing our way through tall grasses and then starting up the steeper slopes of the peak. We reached our stopping point around 10 am and sat back to enjoy the view, sipping Luke-warm instant coffee. In one direction, we could look out over the valley we had spent the last week surveying and in the other we had a spectacular view of the ice fields, towering above the mountains to the South. It was pretty amazing and definitely worth the early wake-up. We headed back down and broke down camp before transecting our way back to where the vans were parked. 

Our last day in Bajo Pascua, we again went out to transect. This time, we hiked right along the river continuing until we reached where the river met the fjords. The fjords were surrounded by mountains and the water was a beautiful green-blue. It was a warm day and everyone decided to celebrate the end to our trip with a swim in the fjords. Back at the campo, the celebration continued with an Asado (the Chilean version of a barbecue) and we roasted a freshly killed lamb over the open fire. That night, everyone went to bed content and happy to have spent time in the beautiful Bajo Pascua. 

As you drive along the X-83 road through Vallé Chacabuco in Patagonia National Park, you pass many species characteristic of the Patagonian Steppe. There are Calafate bushes, with their tasty blue berries protected by sharp thorns along with Neneo and Neneo Macho, both cushion plants which are much less forgiving than their name implies. Swallows and finches swoop in front of the road, racing the car before turning and disappearing into the mixed scrub off to the side. Yarrow, Bull Thistle, Mata gris and Siete Camsisas line the road adding color during their flowering season. If you’re lucky, you might catch a glimpse of the larger, ostrich-like Ñandu, running about through the plants before disappearing. 

You come up over a hill and look out over a large valley, with a half-dried lake situated in one corner. Clustered around the water is a herd of Guanacos, a member of the Lama species. They are large animals, just slightly smaller and slimmer than a horse, with a long neck and legs, covered in brown fur with a white underbelly. When they run, they look especially funny, the males often chasing each other, trying to nip the other and assert their dominance. Because it is late summer the babies, Chilangos, have grown a bit, but still clearly stick out as the young and follow the adults around, mimicking their actions. The herd can be anywhere from five or six Guanacos to eighty or more, and there is always at least one Guanaco acting as look-out, standing on a nearby ridge or hill, watching for predators while the rest of the herd grazes in peace. They are mostly unfazed by human presence, looking up occasionally, but usually deem that you are not threat and it’s safe to continue eating. 

Over the last month, I spent several days collecting population data on the Guanacos in the Chacabuco Valley. The Round River students all came together to tackle the large task at hand and the valley was divided up into forty transects, the majority of which were off-trail walking transects. Each morning, after breakfast around 8 am, we would all load into the vans and drive out to which ever area we were working. At each stop four people would get out, with one pair heading due North of the road and the other heading due South. Two kilometers later along the road, the next four would hop out. Each pair was responsible for recording all Guanaco sightings within one kilometer east or west of their transect. The transects varied significantly in length from one or two kilometers to sixteen, and we would walk until we couldn’t go any further, whether we encountered a significant change in habitat like a large forest, a large cliff or river that was too dangerous to cross, or reached the pre-determined turn-around time. Along the way, pairs would record any Guanaco sightings, noting the group size, approximate ages and sexes, as well as the direction and distance they were from the observer. 

The transects were beautiful, but not always easy. There were several that went directly through marshes, with students wading past their knees in water, moving amongst tall grasses. Others went through thick patches of scrub, with thorns and branches blocking the way. Some pairs went over tall ridges, with grand views of the valley that were breathtaking. The easier ones followed trails or roads and sometimes felt like a leisurely stroll through the park, watching the wildlife and snacking on Calafate berries. During one transect, a pair of students reached a river, and not wanting to get their pants wet, they crossed in just their underwear and ate lunch on the other side, warming up in the sun. Driving back to basecamp at the end of the day, students shared their stories, detailing rocky scrambles, wildlife sightings, moments of joy and of frustration. Both the good and bad transects were valuable for our research, compiling important information on the Guanaco population in the valley and comparison data from previous years.

While many of my peers have started their abroad experiences, I am still at home, twiddling my thumbs and excitedly anticipating my ever-nearing departure date. I have spent a good portion of my free time day-dreaming about Chile, trying to imagine what the markets will consist of, what the air will taste like, and how I will introduce myself in Spanish. Hóla! Soy Aliza! No tengo ningún idea que estoy haciendo! In addition to my mental imaginations, I have looked at my fair share of pictures from Torres Del Paine, watched too many videos of surfing competitions in Arica, and attempted to memorize the names of classic dishes I want to try. I also have spent some time listening to Radio Ambulante (Spanish NPR), reading El Mercurio (a Chilean newspaper), and learning slang phrases unique to the country (sí po); however, all the preparation feels somewhat unproductive, for I know there is nothing that will truly equip me for the next five months abroad. I am fortunate to have spent time alone in other countries and remember facing immense moments of culture shock that even the most extensive research did not prepare me for, such as the time I tried to use an Italian bathroom and could not figure out the pedal system. But, that is the fun of it, I think. Those moments of cultural learning are some of the most resonating and transformative experiences. And thus, when the question was posed: what do you hope to gain? I rolled this phrase over, but arrived at the simple answer: to learn. I sincerely want to learn about how other people shape their lives, how they see their world, how they find and express meaning. I want to truly absorb Spanish and be transformed from the beauty of articulating myself in new ways. I want to forge new connections, with people and the natural world, with food and my understanding of what healing means. Specific to the content of my program, I am very much looking forward to learning about traditional medicine practices of indigenous communities. Ultimately, I feel more than ready to begin my life abroad, where I am dedicating myself to learning. I am ready to face the challenges, embrace all the trials and tribulations, and immerse myself into the beautiful country of Chile.

The video tells most of the story… Midway through the semester in Chile, we conducted research on Magellanic woodpeckers in the Jeinimeni area. This involved snowy days scanning the woods for fresh wood chips, communication breakdowns, and an abundance of cheese. We also rapped about birds and added songs like “Magellanic Missed Connections” and “Trees with Benefits” to our album.

The production:

*CW: following blog may contain triggering content, including violence, sexual assault and torture*

Before coming onto this trip, I have always thought about protests as an action, a verb, something that humans actively participate in. However, I have learned in Chile that physical sights can also be participants in protesting the regime or human rights abuses. 

We visited two former torture sights during the dictatorship called Villa Grimaldi and Venda Sexy. They were both residential homes of people who fled after the coup and have been seized by the dictatorship to use as torture houses. Captured detainees, who are usually intellectuals, revolutionaries, social activists and communists, were taken here to suffer. After the tormenting period ended, Villa Grimaldi was transformed into a memorial site and stand there as a constant reminder of what happened here and the continued protest to human rights abuses. There are reproductions of the torture houses, exhibitions of detainees’ belongings and many pieces of art that commemorated the exploitation that happened here. The woman who guided our tour, Lucretia, was a survivor of the sight and show explained the history of the house to us. Her presence and her positivity as well as strength is still another form of protest to the torture that happened here.

Venda Sexy, which means sexy blindfold in Spanish, was a torture sight specifically for women and political sexual torture. They used sexual assault (forced pregnancies, rape, forced nudity and other severe forms of sexual abuse) as a method of political oppression. The survivors and activists have been lobbying and negotiating to turn the house into a memorial sites but all their efforts so far has faced incredible legislative, legal and financial hurdles. Thus, as a form of protest, we had class on the public space right outside the house, educating passing pedestrians about the brutal history of the place and pressuring the house owner to sell or donate the property. Our physical presence, even if we didn’t chant anything, put up signs or demonstrate, was a pacific yet powerful mean of protesting. Our guest speaker, Beatriz, told us that they have tried to occupy the public space outside Venda sexy as a form of protest and the homeowner has repetitively tried to drive them away but since they don’t own the road, they have no means of stopping the protest. Visiting these sights and participating in their activism definitely opened my eyes to different ways of protesting, and the significance physical spaces carry in activism.