The yin and the yang

Our first tour of Santiago is drawing to a close. Tomorrow is our last day of school. Just about everyone in my class is heading out for other destinations in Chile and parts unknown in South America. 

I’ve probably had encounters with 20-30 or so different people at the Escuala Bella Vista over the last 4 weeks. They fall into a few different buckets:

·         The very young ones who have finished high school, and have come here prior to starting a career in the army or doing higher education – these are almost entirely Northern Europeans, with Germans leading the pack. They are 19 going on 30. Most have come here alone, undaunted by the language or perceived culture barrier. This is the pan-Euro generation who welcome learning new languages and cultures. Basically, they’re Merkel’s Militia, a hoard of fearlessly optimistic “Jugend” that compares to the wave of Peace Corp youth inspired by JFK in the U.S. in the 1960s, except these kids have cell phones and credit cards and are mostly interested in documenting their experiences on Instagram.

·         The burn-outs are next. This group has already graduated and got launched into one kind of career or another, but are feeling overwhelmed and are searching for a different life – you know, a life experience that they can be seen to be enjoying on their Instagram account. So you get the picture, this group isn’t that dis-similar to the first group. The point of difference is that these guys/gals thought to (or were expected to) act responsibly and start earning money. Unfortunately, no one clued them in to the fact that life after school is a lot of drudgery and hard work. So they have a vague sense of loss, that something didn’t click for them, or something was felt to be lacking. There are a few Germans in this group, but there are also Swiss and Australians too. 

·         The “Jubilados”, that being the Spanish word for retired, are where Truus and I slot in. This group is in a powerful minority position. Put it this way, we’re stronger than the Greens, but not quite the NDP in terms of representation. We’re treated with benevolent patience and tolerance by the students. Daily I get looks from fellow students like, “Who let the old guy in here?” It’s like their dad crashed their regular coffee bar. The teachers like having us around, to balance the demographics in the class and keep them from feeling too old and out of touch with the kids. So far it’s been a mixed bag of folks, but the dominant nationality among the retired folks is U.S. In general, these Yanks tend to be relatively liberal – meaning that they likely only own hand guns. I’ve been avoiding them like the Asian flu, wherever possible.

Truus suggested going to explore another new neighbourhood after dinner. We ate early and hit the Metro just in time to catch the end of rush hour, which is around 7pm. The commuters get crammed in like sardines. No question of personal space, but the mood remains light throughout the 15 minute trip. Truus and I are on high alert since my wallet was stolen. I hold onto my money belt that is now dangling just above my groin, like I’m imitating Michael Jackson post-Thriller. Truus holds my arm for stability, her other arm clutching her Fort Knox uncuttable travel bag in a Dutch death grip. We arrive feeling squeezed, mildly violated, but financially no lesser off.

The “Barrio” we’re looking for tonight is called Paris-Londres (London). It’s one of the few remaining older places in Santiago, with cobbled streets and Euro architecture. We exit the Metro and head off bravely towards the place Truus has identified on the map. First thing we see is a downtrodden neighbourhood book market that is packing up for the day. A couple of young kids are running around playing as their Mom closes up her kiosk for the day. The boy has no shoes, but is carrying his mom’s cellphone. Truus and I walk through this funky neighbourhood for a while until Truus senses that we’re in the wrong place. I cross the street, but she starts talking to a young couple heading home at the end of the day. Truus waves me back. We’ve gotten turned around and these two Chilenos have decided it’s too confusing to set us right with mere directions. They offer to walk us to the place we’re looking for. It’s 15 minutes out of their way. We pass the time chatting in our broken Spanish and making friends. When we’re delivered to the spot we were looking for (that we never would have found), we say goodbye, thanking them for their hospitality. Hugs and kisses are exchanged. This is normal in Chile.

As we took our leave, I was struck by a thought. Chileans are basically like the Newfoundlanders of South America. The country itself is kind of like an island, isolated from the rest by the ocean and the Andies. The vibe here is very similar to NL. Respect and courtesy and good humour are de rigueur. Anything less is not acceptable, unless you’re robbing a clueless tourist.

It makes the other reason for our visit to this neighbourhood that much more poignant. At the edge of this area is the seat of power in Chile, “La Moneda”. In front of the building is a massive Chilean flag. A large area around and adjoining La Moneda is surrounded by barrier fencing. Armoured crowd control vehicles stand at the ready. Kitty corner to La Moneda is the building housing the Department of Defense. This was the epicentre of the military Junta in the time of Pinochet. The basement of this building was a torture centre and weigh station for dissidents and activists scooped up to keep the order. 

A couple of blocks away and around the corner, in the middle of the old Londres road, is a non-descript building, number 38. This was a very dark place of murder and crimes against humanity. The place was used as a clandestine not-so-fun house by the infamous DINA secret police (Dirección de Inteligencia Nacional). It’s now a kind of memorial to the victims, but the wounds have yet to heal. On the walls, the graffiti is pointed: “Fucking Cops”, and “You can control parts of the city, but you can’t stop the revolution”.

We’re back in Santiago for a few days to pick up our third Stooge in a couple of weeks. For now, Truus and I are excited to be heading North to our next adventure.