Two afternoons ago Jer and I were sitting in the main cloister of San Lorenzo, basking in the sun and watching some young kids playing racket ball, when all of a sudden Jer turned to me and asked, somewhat strangely, ‘Hey, do you feel that?’
It took no more than a few seconds to realize what was happening. The ground was shaking beneath us as if the school had been built on a thick layer of Jell-o. We were oscillating as freely as a spring.
We both looked at each other astonishingly, and then up at the tips of the flagpoles that were waving back and forth above our heads.
On February 27th, 2010, Chile experienced an earthquake with a magnitude of 8.8 on the Richter scale. For those of you unfamiliar with earthquakes or the Richter scale, a magnitude of 8.8 is massively destructive. The epicenter was about 100 miles southwest of Santiago. According to “precise GPS measurements,” the city of Concepción, which is around 75 miles southwest of the epicenter, permanently moved 10 feet to the west following the quake; Santiago moved 10 inches west. And surprisingly (to me), Chile gained an estimated 1.2 square kilometers of area following the quake. I would otherwise make some smart remark, but I think a bit of reverence is more appropriate.
Inevitably, the many affected areas were plunged into chaos. And sadly, that continues to be the case today--many of the hardest hit areas remain devastated from the earthquake, and thousands of families are still without homes and basic necessities. Immediately following the earthquake there was a humanitarian rush to rescue and rebuild, but as soon as the media moved the focus from the aftermath, the aid all but ceased. The schools of the Manquehue Movement have made several trips to affected areas for support, and when their term ends in December more groups will go down as part of their community service requirement.
So was there another earthquake in Chile just two days ago? No. Not even close. What Jer and I felt is called a tremor. Whereas an earthquake produces another natural disaster in itself--a tsunami--tremors might make some small waves in the neighbor’s pool. They are very small aftershocks that can occur several months after the initial earthquake. In our case, it was almost 7 months to the day.
Standard protocol for tremors at San Lorenzo is to move everyone out into the open air and away from windows. We had no idea of the protocol until one of the senior administrative women approached us and asked us if we had been scared by the tremor. It seemed an odd question to me at first, but once all the young kids began asking us the same thing I started to consider the repercussions of not being a bit scared and prudent with the tremor. Instead of enjoying the feeling of floating on earth's landmass, I could have helped to guide the kids out of their classrooms.
In the end no weak structures collapsed, no windows blew out, and no one suffered a blow from a falling object. So, thankfully, I can write this with a light heart. Nevertheless, I couldn’t help but keep present the thought of all the suffering caused on February 27th.
Andrew
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Pura Energía
Today, September 18th is the bicentennial of Chilean Independence from Spain. Consequently, this whole week has been vacation for schools, and the last couple days for all other laborers. I was not alive for the bicentennial of the United States’ Independence Day, so I can’t really compare, but Chile is very proud of their country.
Among other things, all governmental buildings have been opened to the public for tours this week only, and several are showing special exhibitions. We’ve been to several museums over the past few vacation days, but if you’re like me it takes a certain magnificence in a museum to be enjoyable.
But, two nights ago, we did attend something worth mentioning. Enter ¡Pura Energía! (Pure Energy). I have to say I had been anticipating this show ever since I heard the day’s agenda one week earlier, if for no other reason than its name. Pura Energía: “with a name like that it has no choice but to be exciting,” I thought. It was that naïveté that I used to have about a book with a fancy cover: “Wow, this book must be really exciting since it’s got this outrageously cool looking cover.” More often than not I was let down within the first few chapters.
So, Pura Energía was scheduled for 9:30 pm on the front façade of La Moneda, the presidential building in downtown Santiago. And in terms of content, all I knew was that it was a professional light show. I later saw in the paper that the images they would make were three-dimensional.
We left the house at 8:00 pm to catch the subway. We weren’t alone. I’ve never seen a metro station so packed, and we were still six stops from the destination. I am obliged to link another YouTube video that I felt like I was living as we acquired passengers, but for now I will just say we were packed like a Tokyo Metro… Sardine can is an understatement.
We arrived one station down from La Moneda, since the station had been shut down in anticipation of the crowd flow, and walked out onto the street. What the streets lacked in Metro density they made up for in sheer quantity. One of the local papers had estimated 30, 000 people spread over maybe about four city blocks. We stood shoulder to shoulder to give you an idea, and we were stationed three blocks back from La Moneda.
So, we waited in anticipation for the start of the light show. The façade was a dark violet color, lit by an unseen light source, and there were huge searchlights beaming into the night sky. 9:30 rolled around and the crowd began an anticipatory whistle. All right, here we go…
9:45, someone gets on a mike and says something scarcely perceptible to our distant ears.
10:00, that same mystery voice gets on again and says some more unknown things. Meanwhile, I’m thinking, “The light show I’ve been anticipating this whole week is malfunctioning, awesome.”
But then, at 10:14 pm (according to my watch), the façade turns from violet to a deep purple and the searchlights flash royal blue into the sky; a blast of music all but assures that the program has begun. The searchlights reaching thousands of feet into the night sky begin to descend on the crowd of 30,000. I felt like I was part of a science fiction movie--waiting for some huge machine to spot us with its light beams.
And then the fun began.
I still don’t know the technology used to create the three-dimensional images on the face of the building, but nevertheless I am impressed at how they took a normal building with lots of windows and uneven planes, and transformed it into a three-dimensional movie screen.
Here are a few of my favorite effects from the show:
#1: The building assumes a normal color and structure. Then, a massive drop of rain hits the surface, sending the face rippling in effect. The segments undulate back and forth like the building was just a gelatinous farce. I felt like I was living in a world created out of Inception.
#2: Once again, the building appears in its normal state. But slowly massive faces began to press out of the whitewashed stone, stretching it as if it were nothing but a nylon veil. They survey the crowd and speak something before drawing back from the elastic façade and out of view.
#3: The lights go dark, but the straight lines of the stone are still visible. Then, those same lines transform in color and new lines grow from the stone. The building is now composed and supported by a vast network of lively neon strings, ebbing and flowing in the light breeze. The strings then turned white and gave the appearance of complete vacancy within the structure.
The show finished with a grand finale of fireworks and as quickly as it had begun the building was once again tranquil, with the façade returning to its violet hue.
After that, it was a free-for-all to get out of the crowd and back onto the metro. Which brings me back to the YouTube video I promised to link. I can’t say our ride was as impressive as the Tokyo ride, but with Rodrigo leading the way I literally dropped my shoulder and pushed our way into the train. Enjoy.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GlNyCHlLt1Y
Andrew
Among other things, all governmental buildings have been opened to the public for tours this week only, and several are showing special exhibitions. We’ve been to several museums over the past few vacation days, but if you’re like me it takes a certain magnificence in a museum to be enjoyable.
But, two nights ago, we did attend something worth mentioning. Enter ¡Pura Energía! (Pure Energy). I have to say I had been anticipating this show ever since I heard the day’s agenda one week earlier, if for no other reason than its name. Pura Energía: “with a name like that it has no choice but to be exciting,” I thought. It was that naïveté that I used to have about a book with a fancy cover: “Wow, this book must be really exciting since it’s got this outrageously cool looking cover.” More often than not I was let down within the first few chapters.
So, Pura Energía was scheduled for 9:30 pm on the front façade of La Moneda, the presidential building in downtown Santiago. And in terms of content, all I knew was that it was a professional light show. I later saw in the paper that the images they would make were three-dimensional.
We left the house at 8:00 pm to catch the subway. We weren’t alone. I’ve never seen a metro station so packed, and we were still six stops from the destination. I am obliged to link another YouTube video that I felt like I was living as we acquired passengers, but for now I will just say we were packed like a Tokyo Metro… Sardine can is an understatement.
We arrived one station down from La Moneda, since the station had been shut down in anticipation of the crowd flow, and walked out onto the street. What the streets lacked in Metro density they made up for in sheer quantity. One of the local papers had estimated 30, 000 people spread over maybe about four city blocks. We stood shoulder to shoulder to give you an idea, and we were stationed three blocks back from La Moneda.
So, we waited in anticipation for the start of the light show. The façade was a dark violet color, lit by an unseen light source, and there were huge searchlights beaming into the night sky. 9:30 rolled around and the crowd began an anticipatory whistle. All right, here we go…
9:45, someone gets on a mike and says something scarcely perceptible to our distant ears.
10:00, that same mystery voice gets on again and says some more unknown things. Meanwhile, I’m thinking, “The light show I’ve been anticipating this whole week is malfunctioning, awesome.”
But then, at 10:14 pm (according to my watch), the façade turns from violet to a deep purple and the searchlights flash royal blue into the sky; a blast of music all but assures that the program has begun. The searchlights reaching thousands of feet into the night sky begin to descend on the crowd of 30,000. I felt like I was part of a science fiction movie--waiting for some huge machine to spot us with its light beams.
And then the fun began.
I still don’t know the technology used to create the three-dimensional images on the face of the building, but nevertheless I am impressed at how they took a normal building with lots of windows and uneven planes, and transformed it into a three-dimensional movie screen.
Here are a few of my favorite effects from the show:
#1: The building assumes a normal color and structure. Then, a massive drop of rain hits the surface, sending the face rippling in effect. The segments undulate back and forth like the building was just a gelatinous farce. I felt like I was living in a world created out of Inception.
#2: Once again, the building appears in its normal state. But slowly massive faces began to press out of the whitewashed stone, stretching it as if it were nothing but a nylon veil. They survey the crowd and speak something before drawing back from the elastic façade and out of view.
#3: The lights go dark, but the straight lines of the stone are still visible. Then, those same lines transform in color and new lines grow from the stone. The building is now composed and supported by a vast network of lively neon strings, ebbing and flowing in the light breeze. The strings then turned white and gave the appearance of complete vacancy within the structure.
The show finished with a grand finale of fireworks and as quickly as it had begun the building was once again tranquil, with the façade returning to its violet hue.
After that, it was a free-for-all to get out of the crowd and back onto the metro. Which brings me back to the YouTube video I promised to link. I can’t say our ride was as impressive as the Tokyo ride, but with Rodrigo leading the way I literally dropped my shoulder and pushed our way into the train. Enjoy.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GlNyCHlLt1Y
Andrew
Sunday, September 12, 2010
La semana del colegio
Imagine a week long celebration in favor of your school, your country, and all the best aspects of your culture. In a pistachio shell, that is what just transpired at San Lorenzo, San Anselmo, and San Benito--the three schools run by the Manquehue Movement, the religious group with whom I am working and living.
Although I’ve never kept a diary, they seem to be a cinch compared to writing a blog, because one has no readers in a diary (or at least that you know of), so no story must be introduced, prefaced, rationalized, nor explained in any more detail than the writer wishes to give.
Starting out my writing is like riding a bicycle through the mud, struggling to explain the reasons and histories that make my posts pertinent, finding myself bogged down in everything I wish to share; and unfortunately, when I make it out of the mud on my own terms, I’m riding down a hill out of control and with no interest to stop and share the ride.
This is my explanation for a lack of communication. In the beginning I’m too lazy to spend the time making sense for my readers of what I would like to write, and in the end I’m too busy with things that I don’t wish to write them down. That, and I feel it as a type of sacrilege to turn great experiences into a brief note scribbled down in a blog, never quite doing it justice.
Which relates to why I don’t like to take pictures. Why spoil a great moment or series of moments by taking out a camera and snapping a picture? Why alter the course of a moment just for proof of an experience? Sure, pictures are nice to look at years later and reminisce, but they tell so little and capture only one dimension.
And now that I've rationalized my reasons for not writing often, I will do just the opposite. I still can’t make any promises on taking pictures, but every time I think about the bulk of my camera in my jeans or in my coat pocket, I’ll make sure to bring it along.
Which brings me to my task: my experiences from this last week--"school week". And since I remember most of the week as one big day patched together, there will be no chronology to this post, which I am sure makes no difference whatsoever.
San Anselmo smorgasbord:
Monday. We woke up early and were on the road by 7:05 am, arriving at school by 7:30 am. The day began with prayer, lauds, at 7:45 in the chapel. After lauds the tour began. We saw all parts of the school and were introduced to many professors and staff, who all, curiously, seemed glad to meet us and interested in who we were. It was a curiosity at first, but as my time with members of the community continued and I met more people from the movement, I discovered the curiosity to be a genuine interest. The foundation upon which Manquehue was founded is that of true community. They follow the rule of Benedict, and anyone who knows anything about the Rule knows how integral the concept of community is. And it wasn’t just the oblates of the community that welcomed us so exceptionally--the students of the school showed the same hospitality.
So, our day continued as we met more students and staff, and wandered around, occasionally involving ourselves in a game of football or a brief chat with an interested student.
The relationship the students have with the administration and staff at the schools is unique and very different from the United States. In Chile, staff and students are friends. Kids would come up to the principal nonchalantly and say hello, give a handshake, and ask about how he was doing. The normal greeting in Chile between a man and a woman is a kiss on the cheek. Girls would come up to their principal, their dean and give them a kiss and say hello. It wasn’t awkward at all, but I tried to imagine myself approaching my principal at the Catholic grade school I attended, shaking his hand and asking him how he was doing. It never happened… unless I was in the principal’s office, in which case the atmosphere wasn’t relaxed enough to lend itself to this occasion.
When I went to Spain, I remember my host mother asking me about all the lawsuits in the States. That is how we are seen--a nation full of lawsuits, for this reason or that--full of people coldly interacting through lawyers to extract whatever they possibly can for their own benefit.
We are full of fear in the United States, instilled in us by strict laws and taboos. Seldom do we hear about a teacher-mentor that has helped a student overcome adversity; instead the headlines tell about sex scandals and teach us to fear a healthy, active teacher-pupil relationship. In Chile, I saw plenty of kisses, hugs, and interested conversations between students and staff. Rodrigo pointed out that Chile will soon be where the United States is when it comes to school related laws, but for now their sense of community and friendship remains intact.
San Benito skits and Karaoke:
So the next day we were off to San Benito, the most prestigious of the three schools. The morning began with lauds, once again, and then we went off to meet the staff working in the tutoría.
Here I need to start another tangent that will tie some things together. The tutoría. The tutoría is the name the movement gives to the staff-student/ student-student relationship. They are responsible for fostering a sense of community on all levels. Older students mentor younger ones, staff mentors old and young alike, and the result is a school environment rich in friendship and unity. One of the projects Jer and I will be working on at San Lorenzo is the tutoría, fyi. So after meeting the staff in the tutoría, we were invited to the event of the morning: skits put on by the teachers and staff.
This was another thing that surprised me about the schools: teachers had a sense of humor to look silly in front of all the students. I won’t go into detail about the skits, but they ranged from nonsensical and boring to educational and well-planned. Needless to say, everyone seemed to be enjoying the spectacle of their teachers running around in funny outfits.
After the skits there was a break time, at which point we did some more browsing of the campus, and made our way back to the main cloister where there was a very entertaining contest going on-- one I’m sure was much more entertaining for me, the gringo, than for the Chilean students.
Fifteen students sit on chairs, in a straight line, all facing a shoe placed on a mattress, about thirty feet away. A mattress sits behind the first, guarding some concrete steps. Music starts playing and all or a few students bum-rush the shoe, trying to be the first to grab it. Pig piles, body checks, hair pulling--I saw it all… striking. So, the first to reach the shoe gets a special prize: they get to sing Karaoke in front of the whole school. 1,500 students. Now, apart from the bum-rush and rugby scrums, I thoroughly enjoyed this contest because of the singing.
Remember William Hung or whatever his name was from American Idol? Now think of listening to Chilean boys singing Lady Gaga or Justin Bieber and Chilean girls singing Daddy Yankee. For those of you who do not get my references I would recommend at least listening to a few seconds of William Hung on YouTube. I applaud you if you can endure more than that.
I don’t sing. I’ve never been proud of my voice. Few are the souls that have heard me sing a song solo, although I once rapped a Ludacris song to the whole Saint John’s cross-country team. I’m in no way suggesting that I would do better than these students at their task. All I’m saying is that they were the unlucky ones to grab the shoe and sing like William Hung. What started out as entertainment devolved into a William Hung festival--between several serenades and a few contestants that had no idea what they had to sing, my sympathies were exhausted by the end. Call me old fashioned, but later that day several jock straps were added to the lost and found by the San Benito janitorial staff; they were found lying on the ground near the competition area.
Sports day at San Lorenzo:
I had planned to conveniently skip a certain event that took place on this day, but since I can make a good story out of it and really everything else that happened on this day was just me watching sports, I decided it was necessary to insert.
Knowing it was sports day at San Lorenzo, I brought some shorts and a t-shirt, in hopes that I would have the opportunity to get schooled on the art of South American fútbol. I had no idea I would be running in a race.
It was the morning and we had just finished lauds. We were walking around and Rodrigo was inquiring about the schedule:
“What’s going on this morning?”
“El maratón.” (“The marathon”--Chilean for a long-run--American for a short race).
“Ayaaa, ¿a qué hora?!” (Oh! What time?)
“Ahora!” (Now!)
“Andrew, you’ve gotta run.”
(Me thinking) Mhmmm, I don’t want to change out of my warm clothes and run a race.
“Eh, I think I’ll just watch.”
Five minutes later a group of students approaches me:
“Hey, will you run in the race for our team, we need to get the points for our alliance?!”
“Well, I can’t turn down a group of persistent students… yeah, I guess.”
“You better win it for us.”
“Hmm, I can’t promise anything.”
Five minutes later I’m on the starting line cold with goose bumps, staring at the gates to the front of the school wondering how all of us are going to squeeze through such a small area. But this wasn’t my first rodeo....
I thought the crowd at Cross Country Nationals was loud. They don’t hold a candle to the kids at San Lorenzo. I’ve never before gotten an adrenaline rush from the beat of a bass drum or from the sight of a crowd packed around a starting line, but with all honesty and no artistic hyperbole whatsoever, I stood on that starting line amidst the throng of roaring voices and drums and had the most exhilarating start to a race in my life.
And like almost all amateur races I’ve ever been in, someone tried to be a hero in the first 200 meters. Bolt and Johnson would have been proud, but not Bowerman or Lydiard. Needless to say our hero was accosted by the silent killer, Lactic Acid, before the first turn, and I saw his honey-buns dragging him over the finish line some time later. No guts no glory, right? Or was it no brains no glory? I forget.
So we had to make three laps of the blocks around the school and then turn back into school and finish in the main cloister. My strategy was to stick with the front pack until we had made one full lap and I was sure of the route; at which point I would turn on the burners--if they were functioning.
Unfortunately, my strategy was garbage after the first quarter mile. I started out at a modest pace, but it was soon apparent that there were no heavy hitters in the field. There were professors and young adults running this thing, but I was pulling away without effort. Well, I thought, they’ll follow me. But they didn’t.
It was sort of bittersweet. I was in the mood to have to grit out a tough race and get outrun by some young prodigy and help make him the hero of the school. Girls would gossip:
“Oh yeah Paco is so awesome he beat the gringo who everyone thought would win.”
I had this hidden desire that Paco would catch up with me at the final turn and outkick me in front of all his peers and teachers.
I never look behind me in a race. I think it’s bad sportsmanship. That and I’ve never been good enough to look back so as to slow down and win a race. I looked back before the final turn, hoping my phantom runner would be on my heels. I knew I wouldn’t see anyone, but I wanted to.
Once I knew Paco wasn’t going to make it a blockbuster, I settled for some self-satisfaction. I started to pick it up and look over at the police car that had been escorting me around the course. Let’s go, piggy.
I’d like to think he couldn’t keep up with me, but I’m guessing the reason I beat him down that last stretch of road had more to do with the potholes and large crowd than my junior-high kick.
I turned the corner and headed into the gates. The same roaring voices and beating drums greeted me as I crossed the threshold of the school, and I soaked it up, throwing up a fist in celebration. Had I thought of it in time I would have pulled out the smoking guns in honor of Señor Kilkus himself, but I’m not that quick with the six-shooters.
I didn’t give it any thought at the time, but when I crossed the crepe paper banner it was on the ground. Rodrigo would tell me later that the kids at the finish line hadn’t expected my arrival so promptly.
So, ego stroking aside, the race was great fun and I think the students enjoyed the spectacle and cheering.
The day continued with an obstacle course, soccer all day, and lots of unorganized kite flying mixed in (kite flying is extremely popular in Chile).
Well, that's going to have to be all for now!
Guasos (wahsos), Cuenca, Chilean Mass, and the House Cup:
To be continued… since this post is getting lengthy I’m going to save it for another day.
And the day after I wrote my first post Cristóbal Valdés arrived, the head of the house. He’s a bigwig at San Anselmo, holding the principal type position, but just like all the others his humility and kindness are the only characteristics one can see. He’s just one more guy that’s a great person to be around.
Andrew
Although I’ve never kept a diary, they seem to be a cinch compared to writing a blog, because one has no readers in a diary (or at least that you know of), so no story must be introduced, prefaced, rationalized, nor explained in any more detail than the writer wishes to give.
Starting out my writing is like riding a bicycle through the mud, struggling to explain the reasons and histories that make my posts pertinent, finding myself bogged down in everything I wish to share; and unfortunately, when I make it out of the mud on my own terms, I’m riding down a hill out of control and with no interest to stop and share the ride.
This is my explanation for a lack of communication. In the beginning I’m too lazy to spend the time making sense for my readers of what I would like to write, and in the end I’m too busy with things that I don’t wish to write them down. That, and I feel it as a type of sacrilege to turn great experiences into a brief note scribbled down in a blog, never quite doing it justice.
Which relates to why I don’t like to take pictures. Why spoil a great moment or series of moments by taking out a camera and snapping a picture? Why alter the course of a moment just for proof of an experience? Sure, pictures are nice to look at years later and reminisce, but they tell so little and capture only one dimension.
And now that I've rationalized my reasons for not writing often, I will do just the opposite. I still can’t make any promises on taking pictures, but every time I think about the bulk of my camera in my jeans or in my coat pocket, I’ll make sure to bring it along.
Which brings me to my task: my experiences from this last week--"school week". And since I remember most of the week as one big day patched together, there will be no chronology to this post, which I am sure makes no difference whatsoever.
San Anselmo smorgasbord:
Monday. We woke up early and were on the road by 7:05 am, arriving at school by 7:30 am. The day began with prayer, lauds, at 7:45 in the chapel. After lauds the tour began. We saw all parts of the school and were introduced to many professors and staff, who all, curiously, seemed glad to meet us and interested in who we were. It was a curiosity at first, but as my time with members of the community continued and I met more people from the movement, I discovered the curiosity to be a genuine interest. The foundation upon which Manquehue was founded is that of true community. They follow the rule of Benedict, and anyone who knows anything about the Rule knows how integral the concept of community is. And it wasn’t just the oblates of the community that welcomed us so exceptionally--the students of the school showed the same hospitality.
So, our day continued as we met more students and staff, and wandered around, occasionally involving ourselves in a game of football or a brief chat with an interested student.
The relationship the students have with the administration and staff at the schools is unique and very different from the United States. In Chile, staff and students are friends. Kids would come up to the principal nonchalantly and say hello, give a handshake, and ask about how he was doing. The normal greeting in Chile between a man and a woman is a kiss on the cheek. Girls would come up to their principal, their dean and give them a kiss and say hello. It wasn’t awkward at all, but I tried to imagine myself approaching my principal at the Catholic grade school I attended, shaking his hand and asking him how he was doing. It never happened… unless I was in the principal’s office, in which case the atmosphere wasn’t relaxed enough to lend itself to this occasion.
When I went to Spain, I remember my host mother asking me about all the lawsuits in the States. That is how we are seen--a nation full of lawsuits, for this reason or that--full of people coldly interacting through lawyers to extract whatever they possibly can for their own benefit.
We are full of fear in the United States, instilled in us by strict laws and taboos. Seldom do we hear about a teacher-mentor that has helped a student overcome adversity; instead the headlines tell about sex scandals and teach us to fear a healthy, active teacher-pupil relationship. In Chile, I saw plenty of kisses, hugs, and interested conversations between students and staff. Rodrigo pointed out that Chile will soon be where the United States is when it comes to school related laws, but for now their sense of community and friendship remains intact.
San Benito skits and Karaoke:
So the next day we were off to San Benito, the most prestigious of the three schools. The morning began with lauds, once again, and then we went off to meet the staff working in the tutoría.
Here I need to start another tangent that will tie some things together. The tutoría. The tutoría is the name the movement gives to the staff-student/ student-student relationship. They are responsible for fostering a sense of community on all levels. Older students mentor younger ones, staff mentors old and young alike, and the result is a school environment rich in friendship and unity. One of the projects Jer and I will be working on at San Lorenzo is the tutoría, fyi. So after meeting the staff in the tutoría, we were invited to the event of the morning: skits put on by the teachers and staff.
This was another thing that surprised me about the schools: teachers had a sense of humor to look silly in front of all the students. I won’t go into detail about the skits, but they ranged from nonsensical and boring to educational and well-planned. Needless to say, everyone seemed to be enjoying the spectacle of their teachers running around in funny outfits.
After the skits there was a break time, at which point we did some more browsing of the campus, and made our way back to the main cloister where there was a very entertaining contest going on-- one I’m sure was much more entertaining for me, the gringo, than for the Chilean students.
Fifteen students sit on chairs, in a straight line, all facing a shoe placed on a mattress, about thirty feet away. A mattress sits behind the first, guarding some concrete steps. Music starts playing and all or a few students bum-rush the shoe, trying to be the first to grab it. Pig piles, body checks, hair pulling--I saw it all… striking. So, the first to reach the shoe gets a special prize: they get to sing Karaoke in front of the whole school. 1,500 students. Now, apart from the bum-rush and rugby scrums, I thoroughly enjoyed this contest because of the singing.
Remember William Hung or whatever his name was from American Idol? Now think of listening to Chilean boys singing Lady Gaga or Justin Bieber and Chilean girls singing Daddy Yankee. For those of you who do not get my references I would recommend at least listening to a few seconds of William Hung on YouTube. I applaud you if you can endure more than that.
I don’t sing. I’ve never been proud of my voice. Few are the souls that have heard me sing a song solo, although I once rapped a Ludacris song to the whole Saint John’s cross-country team. I’m in no way suggesting that I would do better than these students at their task. All I’m saying is that they were the unlucky ones to grab the shoe and sing like William Hung. What started out as entertainment devolved into a William Hung festival--between several serenades and a few contestants that had no idea what they had to sing, my sympathies were exhausted by the end. Call me old fashioned, but later that day several jock straps were added to the lost and found by the San Benito janitorial staff; they were found lying on the ground near the competition area.
Sports day at San Lorenzo:
I had planned to conveniently skip a certain event that took place on this day, but since I can make a good story out of it and really everything else that happened on this day was just me watching sports, I decided it was necessary to insert.
Knowing it was sports day at San Lorenzo, I brought some shorts and a t-shirt, in hopes that I would have the opportunity to get schooled on the art of South American fútbol. I had no idea I would be running in a race.
It was the morning and we had just finished lauds. We were walking around and Rodrigo was inquiring about the schedule:
“What’s going on this morning?”
“El maratón.” (“The marathon”--Chilean for a long-run--American for a short race).
“Ayaaa, ¿a qué hora?!” (Oh! What time?)
“Ahora!” (Now!)
“Andrew, you’ve gotta run.”
(Me thinking) Mhmmm, I don’t want to change out of my warm clothes and run a race.
“Eh, I think I’ll just watch.”
Five minutes later a group of students approaches me:
“Hey, will you run in the race for our team, we need to get the points for our alliance?!”
“Well, I can’t turn down a group of persistent students… yeah, I guess.”
“You better win it for us.”
“Hmm, I can’t promise anything.”
Five minutes later I’m on the starting line cold with goose bumps, staring at the gates to the front of the school wondering how all of us are going to squeeze through such a small area. But this wasn’t my first rodeo....
I thought the crowd at Cross Country Nationals was loud. They don’t hold a candle to the kids at San Lorenzo. I’ve never before gotten an adrenaline rush from the beat of a bass drum or from the sight of a crowd packed around a starting line, but with all honesty and no artistic hyperbole whatsoever, I stood on that starting line amidst the throng of roaring voices and drums and had the most exhilarating start to a race in my life.
And like almost all amateur races I’ve ever been in, someone tried to be a hero in the first 200 meters. Bolt and Johnson would have been proud, but not Bowerman or Lydiard. Needless to say our hero was accosted by the silent killer, Lactic Acid, before the first turn, and I saw his honey-buns dragging him over the finish line some time later. No guts no glory, right? Or was it no brains no glory? I forget.
So we had to make three laps of the blocks around the school and then turn back into school and finish in the main cloister. My strategy was to stick with the front pack until we had made one full lap and I was sure of the route; at which point I would turn on the burners--if they were functioning.
Unfortunately, my strategy was garbage after the first quarter mile. I started out at a modest pace, but it was soon apparent that there were no heavy hitters in the field. There were professors and young adults running this thing, but I was pulling away without effort. Well, I thought, they’ll follow me. But they didn’t.
It was sort of bittersweet. I was in the mood to have to grit out a tough race and get outrun by some young prodigy and help make him the hero of the school. Girls would gossip:
“Oh yeah Paco is so awesome he beat the gringo who everyone thought would win.”
I had this hidden desire that Paco would catch up with me at the final turn and outkick me in front of all his peers and teachers.
I never look behind me in a race. I think it’s bad sportsmanship. That and I’ve never been good enough to look back so as to slow down and win a race. I looked back before the final turn, hoping my phantom runner would be on my heels. I knew I wouldn’t see anyone, but I wanted to.
Once I knew Paco wasn’t going to make it a blockbuster, I settled for some self-satisfaction. I started to pick it up and look over at the police car that had been escorting me around the course. Let’s go, piggy.
I’d like to think he couldn’t keep up with me, but I’m guessing the reason I beat him down that last stretch of road had more to do with the potholes and large crowd than my junior-high kick.
I turned the corner and headed into the gates. The same roaring voices and beating drums greeted me as I crossed the threshold of the school, and I soaked it up, throwing up a fist in celebration. Had I thought of it in time I would have pulled out the smoking guns in honor of Señor Kilkus himself, but I’m not that quick with the six-shooters.
I didn’t give it any thought at the time, but when I crossed the crepe paper banner it was on the ground. Rodrigo would tell me later that the kids at the finish line hadn’t expected my arrival so promptly.
So, ego stroking aside, the race was great fun and I think the students enjoyed the spectacle and cheering.
The day continued with an obstacle course, soccer all day, and lots of unorganized kite flying mixed in (kite flying is extremely popular in Chile).
Well, that's going to have to be all for now!
Guasos (wahsos), Cuenca, Chilean Mass, and the House Cup:
To be continued… since this post is getting lengthy I’m going to save it for another day.
And the day after I wrote my first post Cristóbal Valdés arrived, the head of the house. He’s a bigwig at San Anselmo, holding the principal type position, but just like all the others his humility and kindness are the only characteristics one can see. He’s just one more guy that’s a great person to be around.
Andrew
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
First thoughts
I know I will, so if I miss a certain detail that you would like to hear about, make sure to tell me in some form or another. Comments to the blog seem the most efficient. So here we go.
All is well here in Santiago. I am living with six other men, one of whom is my fellow Volunteersman--Jeremy Graney from Saint John’s, and the other four are men of the Manquehue oblate community. Here’s a short description of all five:
Jeremy (Jer): I forsee only good times in this next year living with Jer. He’s easy going like myself and has an adventurous soul. We both enjoy similar things and although he doesn’t really speak Spanish he has been toughing it out like a champ.
Rodrigo: One of the founders of the Manquehue movement that got started 35 years ago, Rodrigo has the aura of an Englishman cast in a Chilean mold. I say this because not only is he familiar with the British and their culture (still not sure on the”how”), but if I knew he weren’t Chilean I would swear he were McCartney’s best bud. I couldn’t envision a kinder, more down to earth man than Rodrigo, so I’m glad he is our contact and sort of guide in Chile. He took us to downtown Santiago yesterday to show us the layout and give us some background on the city and its citizens. He’s an all-around great guy.
Cristobál: A small, wiry character. Cristobál is soft-spoken but also very kind at heart. He runs the media at the school I will be working at. He’s like Igor from Ghostbusters… except smaller.
Vicente: Vicente reminds me of my friend Ted. I think it’s the way he talks and the things he says that have their own unique humor about them. One of the things I will undoubtedly remember him for is his impersonation of the movie “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre.” It’s a movie I haven’t seen, but that is not too hard to picture. While choosing a movie to watch last night, Vicente fired up his air chainsaw and began to hack through imaginary bodies. It was either the moment, his impersonation of a lunatic killer, or both that turned the room into a bunch of laughs.
Nikolas: Nikolas’ appearance reminds me of the stereotypical coffee shop college snob; however, he is anything but that. He’s very outspoken, but his ego could fit in my hand.
Andrés: As he just arrived from a retreat today, and we’ve only just had lunch, I can’t say much at all except that he appears to be another kind Chilean.
We live in a normal house in Chiculeo, which is a suburb to the North of Santiago. I’m sure I’ll have a picture of it soon, but for now it will suffice to say it comfortably houses the six of us.
We haven’t been to the school yet--that is tomorrow--so I can’t say anything of the kids or the work situation, but Rodrigo has suggested that we work from the morning (8 or 9 am I assume) and return home around 7 or 8 pm. We would have one day off each week to do what we please, and weekends are free too. It sounds like we’ll be working a lot, but I have no problem with that.
The temperature right now hovers around 50 degrees Fahrenheit, but in the sun it feels quite a bit warmer because there is hardly a wind to disrupt it. Unfortunately, the whole inside of the house is in shade, so temperatures tend to be chilly. It’s nothing a sweater and shoes can’t fix, but the first day was a bit chilly adjusting.
We are currently in the Spring season, with plants and trees beginning to bloom. It really feels like a Minnesota autumn, but that idea doesn’t last long in Santiago as we can see the Andes Mountains looming on the eastern horizon. I went for my first run this morning and got a good chance to ogle at the peaks rising high above the land. I guess one of the oblates has climbed the highest peak, which is about 4500 feet and not too technical, so Rodrigo has said perhaps we would have time to do it ourselves. I’m hoping he remembers his words, but if not I’ll be sure to remind him.
Rodrigo had said with an air of apology that their food tends to be very plain compared to the Mexicans or Spaniards, but I would say he was being modest, whether he intended to or not. We’ve had two large meals, dinner and lunch, and both are worth mentioning. The main course last night was a type of hot dish made with potatoes, squash, meat, and whatever else. Great flavor and very hearty! And today for lunch we had pancakes (more of a crêpe) stuffed with spinach, chicken, and other things, topped with corn and a cream sauce. They were delicious.
I’m not sure what’s on schedule for this afternoon, but right now most of us are either napping, writing, or reading a book.
My intention is to write twice a week while I’m here, but with periods of less frequent writing when the entries get repetitive. So until next time!
Andrew
P.S. I wrote this a couple days ago and a lot has happened since then, so I will be revising and adding to these thoughts shortly.
All is well here in Santiago. I am living with six other men, one of whom is my fellow Volunteersman--Jeremy Graney from Saint John’s, and the other four are men of the Manquehue oblate community. Here’s a short description of all five:
Jeremy (Jer): I forsee only good times in this next year living with Jer. He’s easy going like myself and has an adventurous soul. We both enjoy similar things and although he doesn’t really speak Spanish he has been toughing it out like a champ.
Rodrigo: One of the founders of the Manquehue movement that got started 35 years ago, Rodrigo has the aura of an Englishman cast in a Chilean mold. I say this because not only is he familiar with the British and their culture (still not sure on the”how”), but if I knew he weren’t Chilean I would swear he were McCartney’s best bud. I couldn’t envision a kinder, more down to earth man than Rodrigo, so I’m glad he is our contact and sort of guide in Chile. He took us to downtown Santiago yesterday to show us the layout and give us some background on the city and its citizens. He’s an all-around great guy.
Cristobál: A small, wiry character. Cristobál is soft-spoken but also very kind at heart. He runs the media at the school I will be working at. He’s like Igor from Ghostbusters… except smaller.
Vicente: Vicente reminds me of my friend Ted. I think it’s the way he talks and the things he says that have their own unique humor about them. One of the things I will undoubtedly remember him for is his impersonation of the movie “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre.” It’s a movie I haven’t seen, but that is not too hard to picture. While choosing a movie to watch last night, Vicente fired up his air chainsaw and began to hack through imaginary bodies. It was either the moment, his impersonation of a lunatic killer, or both that turned the room into a bunch of laughs.
Nikolas: Nikolas’ appearance reminds me of the stereotypical coffee shop college snob; however, he is anything but that. He’s very outspoken, but his ego could fit in my hand.
Andrés: As he just arrived from a retreat today, and we’ve only just had lunch, I can’t say much at all except that he appears to be another kind Chilean.
We live in a normal house in Chiculeo, which is a suburb to the North of Santiago. I’m sure I’ll have a picture of it soon, but for now it will suffice to say it comfortably houses the six of us.
We haven’t been to the school yet--that is tomorrow--so I can’t say anything of the kids or the work situation, but Rodrigo has suggested that we work from the morning (8 or 9 am I assume) and return home around 7 or 8 pm. We would have one day off each week to do what we please, and weekends are free too. It sounds like we’ll be working a lot, but I have no problem with that.
The temperature right now hovers around 50 degrees Fahrenheit, but in the sun it feels quite a bit warmer because there is hardly a wind to disrupt it. Unfortunately, the whole inside of the house is in shade, so temperatures tend to be chilly. It’s nothing a sweater and shoes can’t fix, but the first day was a bit chilly adjusting.
We are currently in the Spring season, with plants and trees beginning to bloom. It really feels like a Minnesota autumn, but that idea doesn’t last long in Santiago as we can see the Andes Mountains looming on the eastern horizon. I went for my first run this morning and got a good chance to ogle at the peaks rising high above the land. I guess one of the oblates has climbed the highest peak, which is about 4500 feet and not too technical, so Rodrigo has said perhaps we would have time to do it ourselves. I’m hoping he remembers his words, but if not I’ll be sure to remind him.
Rodrigo had said with an air of apology that their food tends to be very plain compared to the Mexicans or Spaniards, but I would say he was being modest, whether he intended to or not. We’ve had two large meals, dinner and lunch, and both are worth mentioning. The main course last night was a type of hot dish made with potatoes, squash, meat, and whatever else. Great flavor and very hearty! And today for lunch we had pancakes (more of a crêpe) stuffed with spinach, chicken, and other things, topped with corn and a cream sauce. They were delicious.
I’m not sure what’s on schedule for this afternoon, but right now most of us are either napping, writing, or reading a book.
My intention is to write twice a week while I’m here, but with periods of less frequent writing when the entries get repetitive. So until next time!
Andrew
P.S. I wrote this a couple days ago and a lot has happened since then, so I will be revising and adding to these thoughts shortly.
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