I'll admit right now that I don't regularly read and Chilean newspapers. Occasionally when I'm on the metro in the morning I get my hands on the Publimetro, or I'll buy El Mercurio if it is a particularly interesting day (Pinochet's death, Bachelet's election, etc). Since my self-informing activities primarily take place after the fact, I was not prepared for today.
Alameda's storefronts (Santiago's Broadway) were closed. Buses were few. The metro closed early. Volunteers were tear gassed. We received this warning early this morning:
"There may be protests and such things. While there is no reason to be alarmed, I think it would be wise to be aware of your surroundings and not to go wandering too much in the city."
What? I don't know what this means. Seriously, since Transantiago came, there is a protest everyday.
But wait:
from the Santiago Times
"CHILE: STREET PROTESTS, TEARGAS COMMEMORATE 1985 DEATH OF YOUNG PINOCHET OPPONENTS"
"Flying rocks and teargas marked the 22nd annual Young Combatants’ Day, which commemorates the slaying of brothers Eduardo and Rafael Vergara Toledo by Augusto Pinochet’s military forces in 1985." rest of article...
en Español, de El Mercurio
"Alta seguridad para evitar los desmanes"
"Se acordó cierre de 5 universidades y protección a buses del Transantiago." leer más
They say its the worst its been in years. The city is empty but full of tension all at the same time, with an eerie, micro-free silence broken periodically by the sounds of yelling or chanting or bottles breaking.
The wounds of this country, the dictatorship and its results, are far from healed.
viernes, marzo 30, 2007
A Touch of Grey
This week fall came rumbling in (literally...there were two earthquakes this morning). We haven't seen the sun since monday, and our window-filled office turned in to a n icy wind-tunnel. As I've explained many times, Chile isn't all that cold (climate is like northern California, at least in Santiago), but so few places (including my apartment) have heat that when its cold outside, its also cold inside. And everything is made of concrete. So its cold, and dark and I have three grants due tomorrow and I've been cranky all week. So here is a foto of my last really great day:
Kids. Playdoh. Punto.
martes, marzo 27, 2007
7 days
Has it really been more than 7 days? I'm so in trouble.
This post is going to showcase my vanity, because I did something potentially traumatizing, but absolutely necessary, with mixed results: I cut my own bangs.
Many know of my struggle with the bang, beginning with an undying hatred and quickly advancing to obsession as my stand-in stylist "KC" cut my first bangs in such an amateurish fashion that I stormed out of the salon. "What was I thinking?" I thought to myself, as I walked up 3rd avenue to hide in my room until they grew out.
My last bang experience was when I was 5, and my grandma took me on one of her secret trips to the Lemon Tree at the mall, against my parents explicit instructions. It didn't bother me all that much before, because I was a child and she used to give me cookies. But on this particular day, she had me get the most heinous, tiger looking bowl cut ever, and when I showed up at school the following Monday my kinder-friends pretended they didn't know who I was.
Thus, the bangs have always been a difficult for me to deal with. I took a big chance with KC, as my previous little man fled the 34th Street Dramatics without telling me where he was going, and I (gasp) decided to just walk-in. I brought a photo, just to be safe, but still KC failed.
But they the ray of hope who is "Flame" fixed my bangs, and gave me perhaps the best haircut I've ever had. I was "banged" for life so to speak, and have kept a variation of the cut ever since.
And then there was Chile, where haircuts are only $5-$10 but trying to explain "sideswept" in Spanish is a challenge. I braved one salon about 4 months ago. Oh sweet lord. Never again.
Flame told me never to cut my own bangs. Does it make sense that a person whom I pay lots of money to to cut my hair would say this? Of course. However, she had a point...knowing the consequences of the bad bangs, why would I attempt such a precarious activity?
Because I'm an idiot, that's why. I cut my poor bangs in a fit of rage, using dull office scissors. Because I have absolutely no patience. Because really, who cares anyway?
Pity me.
This post is going to showcase my vanity, because I did something potentially traumatizing, but absolutely necessary, with mixed results: I cut my own bangs.
Many know of my struggle with the bang, beginning with an undying hatred and quickly advancing to obsession as my stand-in stylist "KC" cut my first bangs in such an amateurish fashion that I stormed out of the salon. "What was I thinking?" I thought to myself, as I walked up 3rd avenue to hide in my room until they grew out.
My last bang experience was when I was 5, and my grandma took me on one of her secret trips to the Lemon Tree at the mall, against my parents explicit instructions. It didn't bother me all that much before, because I was a child and she used to give me cookies. But on this particular day, she had me get the most heinous, tiger looking bowl cut ever, and when I showed up at school the following Monday my kinder-friends pretended they didn't know who I was.
Thus, the bangs have always been a difficult for me to deal with. I took a big chance with KC, as my previous little man fled the 34th Street Dramatics without telling me where he was going, and I (gasp) decided to just walk-in. I brought a photo, just to be safe, but still KC failed.
But they the ray of hope who is "Flame" fixed my bangs, and gave me perhaps the best haircut I've ever had. I was "banged" for life so to speak, and have kept a variation of the cut ever since.
And then there was Chile, where haircuts are only $5-$10 but trying to explain "sideswept" in Spanish is a challenge. I braved one salon about 4 months ago. Oh sweet lord. Never again.
Flame told me never to cut my own bangs. Does it make sense that a person whom I pay lots of money to to cut my hair would say this? Of course. However, she had a point...knowing the consequences of the bad bangs, why would I attempt such a precarious activity?
Because I'm an idiot, that's why. I cut my poor bangs in a fit of rage, using dull office scissors. Because I have absolutely no patience. Because really, who cares anyway?
Pity me.
sábado, marzo 17, 2007
You can get it if you really want
As many of you know, I left New York for a variety of reasons. One of which was some unfortunate luck concerning me, the New York City subway system, and vomit. Not my vomit, but a stranger's vomit. So imagine my surprise and chagrin when I discovered that Santiago would be switching over to an MTA-clone transit system "Transantiago"(aren't they clever) which involves shuttling people about with heavy dependence on the Metro (subway). There are long, caterpillar-looking express buses, and little local buses. They renumbered and rerouted everything. Its a fucking mess.
In theory, this was a good idea. The old system was very unfriendly to the environment (noise and air pollution were out of control with the constant stream of old, gas guzzling micros), and more than a little unfriendly to people that value their personal safety. Micros drove fast, and often drivers would compete with each other, speeding away from traffic lights and cutting off other micros. More than once, I saw mirrors tumble to the ground or people fail to step fully onto the micro before it pulled away, leaving them staggering in the middle of the intersection.
I sort of loved the micros. Because of the blonde hair (and presumably, the boobs) I was usually given a seat. Sure, people watched me sit and read, but I never got pick-pocketed or hassled (beyond the usual catcalls that I get in the street). Since you paid the driver in cash, you could haggle and talk your way onto the micro (especially in a group) for as little as $.20 (100 pesos). In the summer, you could count on the ice cream man coming through with his "Chirimoyamoracremapiñadoblecienpesitosheladoooooss", giving you instant and cheap release from the stifling heat. Men with guitars sang traditional songs and/or told jokes. People on the micros were the real chileans.
I like to call transantiago the "transit system scrubbed clean." Sure, the routes are easier to follow, there are maps everywhere and you can pay with a "bip!" card and receive free transfers. The buses don't simply stop for every old lady standing in the street waving her hankerchief, so travel is a bit more streamlined. But still, I've found myself waiting up to 45 minutes for a bus, or on a Metro platform because its so crowded that you simply can't get on (oh, memories on the 86th street 6 train...). In rerouting more than half the city to the Metro, they neglected to add enough new trains to handle all of them. Similarly, in an effort to meet their deadline for system change, they unveiled transantiago with 800 buses missing. In many ways it seems that people tend to prefer that things look nice even if they don't work all that well. In a country of astonishing economic disparity, its no wonder that the metros and buses serving Las Condes, Vitacura & Providencia (where the rich people live) are cleaner, more modern and running on time, while those in the south (where all of our institutions are) are older and harder to come by. Many people farther out of the city who had depended on one micro to get them home for their whole lives, now have nothing...there simply isn't any more service to their neighborhood.
A modern transportation system doesn't necessarily make a city more modern. It just brushes away all the dirt, hides the poor people among the masses and convinces itself that its working in their best interest. The next time I sit down next to a man talking about his 2 hour commute to work, and help an old lady figure out how to get in and of the cavernous, stair-filled metro, I'll remember why my friend Liz only takes collectivos now.
In theory, this was a good idea. The old system was very unfriendly to the environment (noise and air pollution were out of control with the constant stream of old, gas guzzling micros), and more than a little unfriendly to people that value their personal safety. Micros drove fast, and often drivers would compete with each other, speeding away from traffic lights and cutting off other micros. More than once, I saw mirrors tumble to the ground or people fail to step fully onto the micro before it pulled away, leaving them staggering in the middle of the intersection.
I sort of loved the micros. Because of the blonde hair (and presumably, the boobs) I was usually given a seat. Sure, people watched me sit and read, but I never got pick-pocketed or hassled (beyond the usual catcalls that I get in the street). Since you paid the driver in cash, you could haggle and talk your way onto the micro (especially in a group) for as little as $.20 (100 pesos). In the summer, you could count on the ice cream man coming through with his "Chirimoyamoracremapiñadoblecienpesitosheladoooooss", giving you instant and cheap release from the stifling heat. Men with guitars sang traditional songs and/or told jokes. People on the micros were the real chileans.
I like to call transantiago the "transit system scrubbed clean." Sure, the routes are easier to follow, there are maps everywhere and you can pay with a "bip!" card and receive free transfers. The buses don't simply stop for every old lady standing in the street waving her hankerchief, so travel is a bit more streamlined. But still, I've found myself waiting up to 45 minutes for a bus, or on a Metro platform because its so crowded that you simply can't get on (oh, memories on the 86th street 6 train...). In rerouting more than half the city to the Metro, they neglected to add enough new trains to handle all of them. Similarly, in an effort to meet their deadline for system change, they unveiled transantiago with 800 buses missing. In many ways it seems that people tend to prefer that things look nice even if they don't work all that well. In a country of astonishing economic disparity, its no wonder that the metros and buses serving Las Condes, Vitacura & Providencia (where the rich people live) are cleaner, more modern and running on time, while those in the south (where all of our institutions are) are older and harder to come by. Many people farther out of the city who had depended on one micro to get them home for their whole lives, now have nothing...there simply isn't any more service to their neighborhood.
A modern transportation system doesn't necessarily make a city more modern. It just brushes away all the dirt, hides the poor people among the masses and convinces itself that its working in their best interest. The next time I sit down next to a man talking about his 2 hour commute to work, and help an old lady figure out how to get in and of the cavernous, stair-filled metro, I'll remember why my friend Liz only takes collectivos now.
Ummm...yeah. People are pissed. There are protests almost every weekend, and sometimes it can be mayhem. Especially if the Colo Colo are playing.
domingo, marzo 11, 2007
And life is sweet...
I've spent the past three days in front of my computer, doing loads of research about and amazing amount of craziness. I searched in vain for someone to give me a comprhensive explanation of the past subjunctive mood, I tried to find a foundation with guidelines lenient enough that they would provide funding to one of our institutions (a shanytown nursery school) and I discovered flash fiction. Living almost exclusively in cyberland has been an experience, and made me realize that its scarily easy to get everything you need from the Internet - advice, news, social interaction, porn - a fact most people discovered back in 1999. But more than that, its possible to never leave your house for any reason, even when the sun is shining and there's a protest in the square and you're supposed to be taking children to the interactive museum.
Luckily night time was the right time, and over the weekend I did in fact leave the comforts of my L-shaped couch and cushion (that I sleep on...kind of like a dog bed, really but I prefer to think of it as bohemian chic) to hang out with our new volunteers (who ROCK) and do a little dancing. But the whole time, instead of feeling the overwhelming guilt of staring at a computer screen for 12 hours a day instead of hanging out with the kids (in fairness, there were more volunteers than children during the trip...I can't say that I was missed) I felt accomplished. I managed to cram tons of information into my head that was actually...dare I say...helpful in some way. It seemed like such a first, since I used to spend so much time at my old job poking around on the Internet to distract myself from my job. Maybe this is just what happens when your life becomes your job.
Luckily night time was the right time, and over the weekend I did in fact leave the comforts of my L-shaped couch and cushion (that I sleep on...kind of like a dog bed, really but I prefer to think of it as bohemian chic) to hang out with our new volunteers (who ROCK) and do a little dancing. But the whole time, instead of feeling the overwhelming guilt of staring at a computer screen for 12 hours a day instead of hanging out with the kids (in fairness, there were more volunteers than children during the trip...I can't say that I was missed) I felt accomplished. I managed to cram tons of information into my head that was actually...dare I say...helpful in some way. It seemed like such a first, since I used to spend so much time at my old job poking around on the Internet to distract myself from my job. Maybe this is just what happens when your life becomes your job.
sábado, marzo 10, 2007
jueves, marzo 08, 2007
When we break free....
Remember Poe? I was so obsessed with her music...I'm gonna SoulSeek something fierce tonight!
Today is the day that everything changes here at ATGD...I'm going to blog with TREMENDOUS regularity (I'm fairly sure that you can't be tremendously regular, but you're just going to go with it). Of course, many posts are going to ridiculous, but I've neglected this blog for too long, and it stops right now.
The main impetus for this: I'm becoming a freelancer. No, seriously. You're going to see stuff that I've written around every corner of these here Internets. Why? Because month 9 in Chile is when Lauren goes broke. I love my job (even after an extremely rocky past few weeks...there were tears), and can't bear to leave even though they can't really afford to pay me. I write all day anyway (when I'm not running in a circle with the kids...school starts Tuesday!), and I'm going to try to get paid for it. My first submissions are in, and I'll start posting links when articles go up.
Summer is coming to an end (and yes, I know that sounds weird to you norteamericanos), and things are shifting gears again. The organization just had a major overhaul, resulting in a new administration and title change for me (hooray! i do it all for the glory!). We have twelve new volunteers going through the orientationmotions this week. And they're all, dare I say it, pretty happy.
This is such a major turnaround from a few months ago (I call it the dark period) that I almost don't trust it. The vols from this past class treated us with such contempt and animosity (some of it deserved, most of it not) that as much as I want to, I'm not sure that I can trust any of them anymore. How horrible is that? I've devoted my life to working with volunteers (hell, being a volunteer) and I'm having crazy trust issues! If I had health insurance, I'd transantiago my way to the shrink.
Today is the day that everything changes here at ATGD...I'm going to blog with TREMENDOUS regularity (I'm fairly sure that you can't be tremendously regular, but you're just going to go with it). Of course, many posts are going to ridiculous, but I've neglected this blog for too long, and it stops right now.
The main impetus for this: I'm becoming a freelancer. No, seriously. You're going to see stuff that I've written around every corner of these here Internets. Why? Because month 9 in Chile is when Lauren goes broke. I love my job (even after an extremely rocky past few weeks...there were tears), and can't bear to leave even though they can't really afford to pay me. I write all day anyway (when I'm not running in a circle with the kids...school starts Tuesday!), and I'm going to try to get paid for it. My first submissions are in, and I'll start posting links when articles go up.
Summer is coming to an end (and yes, I know that sounds weird to you norteamericanos), and things are shifting gears again. The organization just had a major overhaul, resulting in a new administration and title change for me (hooray! i do it all for the glory!). We have twelve new volunteers going through the orientationmotions this week. And they're all, dare I say it, pretty happy.
This is such a major turnaround from a few months ago (I call it the dark period) that I almost don't trust it. The vols from this past class treated us with such contempt and animosity (some of it deserved, most of it not) that as much as I want to, I'm not sure that I can trust any of them anymore. How horrible is that? I've devoted my life to working with volunteers (hell, being a volunteer) and I'm having crazy trust issues! If I had health insurance, I'd transantiago my way to the shrink.
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