Fire Clean-up in Valparaiso

You know what I've been sucking at doing lately? UPDATING THIS BLOG.

I apologize folks, especially to those of you who were waiting with bated breath to see via my blog that I had survived the recent fire in Valparaiso.

OK, that was nobody at all, but in case there was any doubt, I'M ALIVE. But here's the scoop: the fire broke out on April 12th due to a wild fire in the brushy areas at the top part of a hill. Around that date, we had been experiencing some extremely fierce winds for just a couple days or so. This fire, with that wind, quickly spread and began to engulf houses.

The houses up in those parts, however, are some of the poorest. Lacking access to water, there was no way for firefighters to connect to fight the flames, but that was only when the trucks could get up there.

Strong winds. Densely packed houses made of wood. A terribly hungry fire.

I snapped this photo of the fire on Saturday night.

Haunting, eerie glow from the flames. We counted 8 focal points.

It raged until Monday, recruiting not only every fire fighter in the city of Valparaiso (who, I should add, are all volunteer firefighters), but also helicopters and airplanes dumping water from above from both Chile and Argentina.

All told, over 12,500 people have been affected by this fire which, according to anyone you ask here, is by far the worst fire to ever hit Valparaiso.

And while it affected several of the 42 hills here, the effects have been felt by everyone. The entire night of Saturday and the whole day of Sunday saw a steady stream of ash raining onto houses throughout the city, including our patio. Any visit to the city center on those days felt similar to a post-apocalyptic movie scene. On Sunday, we saw the inky cloud of the fire drifting toward sea against the brilliantly clear blue sky.

Looking at the fire from Avenida Argentina

It has been a very painful and heartbreaking event to witness. Even though I am a foreigner, even though my house and hill were not affected, I consider Valparaiso my home. Watching the scene on Sunday brought tears to my eyes multiple times as I saw families fleeing the hills, all their belongings in duffel bags, as they sought refuge and the inevitable wait to find out just how much of everything they would lose.

Some people didn't have time to pack. And others didn't even have time to get out. This fire claimed the lives of 15 people. 

Through the time since the fire, Jorge and I have been donating money, time, and possessions. We donated every extra bit of everything in this vagabond house last Sunday. Every time we go to a particular part of the center, we donate cleaning supplies to one of the many shelters set up for the people who lost their homes. And last Friday we went up into the hills with a friend to shovel out rubble from properties.

We went higher up into the hills than I've ever been before.

I've never seen Valpo from these angles.

Assessing the damage.

Helping to dig out the burnt remains of a man's house.

We didn't know him, we just found them and offered to help.

I'm no delicate flower but I'm also not a burly woodsman. The shoveling was back breaking work. We were at it for three hours and my body hurt for days, not to mention the two shiny blisters I got from the shoveling. We made real progress there at the man's house, starting with a deep, drifting pile of ash, dust, dirt, and broken remains of his belongings. By the time we left, we had hit the earthen floor of what used to be his kitchen. The ash entered our eyes and mouths despite the face masks and sunglasses. There was no way to escape it.

Participating in the volunteer efforts and being around to see the ways in which Valparaiso has responded to this crisis has been uplifting and wholly inspiring. The city has come together in the truest sense of the word. People sprang into action from day one, and thank god, because there are so many victims of this fire.

And not just people victims either.

Here's an area for wounded strays -- they were adopting them out once

they'd been cleaned and treated.

Jorge and I after shoveling rubble last Friday. We found soot in our

nostrils and ears for at least the next two days.

Just seeing the solidarity of the portenos each and every time I leave my house is such an insanely beautiful sight. When we went on Friday, there was no lack of support among volunteers. It didn't matter where we were from, who we were with: we were there to help. Formalities weren't exchanged, only directions toward where to help and gentle questions of whether we needed water or food. Water was passed around freely as we worked, mandarin oranges and then actual packed lunches handed out by some lady, who knows where she came from or who she was with, just one of the many angels of the relief efforts.

By last Friday, reconstruction had already begun for some people. This is an effort that will continue for quite a long time. Thankfully, there are so many people to help, and so many individuals and companies alike that are giving time, money and efforts to help those affected by the catastrophe. 

Valpo won't only be fine, it will be stronger and better.

FUERZA VALPO!

High School Marching Bands: Chile Style

My family on my mother's side has always been enmeshed in music. My grandfather not only met his wife (the famous G-M-Z) in band during college by bumping her chair with his trombone (not a metaphor), he then went on to be a career band director for their local school system. They raised their children (one of which was my mother, the other famous G-M-Z) in a hotbed of music. I'm fairly certain that my grandfather's heartbeat, when observed during doctor's visits, sounds exactly like a metronome at 120bpm.

The grandkids, aside from maybe actually every single one of us excelling at an instrument during our school years, also grew up with The Classic Band Stories. Ranging from summer lessons mishaps on Seminary, to pregnant grandmothers scaling the stands during Marching Band season, to every sort of reed failure imaginable, my youth was firmly enmeshed in actual music and memories of music.

Which is why when I stumbled upon a high school marching band in Valparaiso, I had to film it, share it, critique it, and immediately email my grandfather.

Here's the thing. They were good, and very Latin American Music-y, but there were a couple aspects to the show that differed so greatly from any high school band performance I've ever witnessed in the United States that I felt I had to formally comment. Here it is... Things That U.S. High School Band Directors Never Have To Deal With:

1. The salsa-reggae-cumbia-whatnot blend of music the kids were playing really brought out the crazies. Valpo has a healthy roster of crazy hobos, and I don't mean this in a flip, derogatory way. More like, there are actual mentally people who roam the streets and most likely have no home. Some beg, other wanders and interact with birds, and occasionally they will approach and make incoherent conversation. They are harmless in my experience, but sometimes they get too close or start speaking in tongues, which is the cue to walk the other way. The music down here being naturally infectious and inspiring, it's easy to see why the frenetic drum beats similarly make the crazy resonate a bit stronger in everyone...but especially the crazies.

2. Going along with item 1, the music meant that the crazies, who notriously do not abide by social constraints, also do not adhere to appropriate performance etiquette. The band director at one point had to wrangle a man who had wandered into the drum line and carefully guide him out of the performance. The student dancers up front didn't even bat an eye or miss a step.

3. Similar to item 2, the other group that doesn't obey societal rules is The Strays. During the performance in the plaza, a rogue retriever wandered into the drum line and contented himself sniffing the ground amongst the gyrations and beats of the band. Nobody really cared -- not a single student reacted, which is probably very different from what would happen during any band performance in the States. I can see entire horn sections giggling and making eyes, drummers missing the beat and flag girls dropping poles in response to even one unexpected animal on the field. Not here. It's just part of the show.

4. Mid-way through the performance, one of the front line percussionists wandered out of the drum line, tiny multi-cymbal instrument in one hand, cell phone in the other, eyes glued to her phone. She paused near the periphery of the performance, intently texting. [long pause] Really??? Mid-performance? How could she even hear that she'd gotten a text with all that racket around her?

5. There is a very distinct sound that accompanies some genres of Latin American music, like a whistling-type noise that punctuates the music and gives it almost a Caribbean feel. I've never known (and still don't know) what this instrument is called, but during this band performance I spotted it. It is essentially a small, hollow drum that the student was, well...fisting. It was funny to watch for a variety of reasons. The student playing the Unknown Instrument seemed pretty pleased with his performance, too.

6. In the States we have the flag girls or the baton twirlers, typically in eye-catching, flashy uniforms with impressive skilled routines. In Latin America, there are girls dressed simply but with a jaw-dropping, booty-popping choreography. With musical roots the likes of salsa, cumbia, bachata and more, each with their own unique dance but almost all involving a surprising amount of hip movements and flair, it makes sense culturally that the student dancers would dance like that. But outside of hip-hop culture in the States, you just don't really see that. Especially not fronting a band, and especially not when under the age of 18.

Here we catch a glimpse of a stray dog wandering into

the performance, the pleased-with-himself student mentioned

in Item 5, and a brief look at some dancers near the front.

Unfortunately, no crazies in this shot. 

The Ballad of Flank & Shan

Flanky and Shannon were partners

Oh lordy, how they could roam

Swore to be true to each other

Just as true as the moai around.

She was her dog, and they hiked for hours.

-original version of the classic song "Frankie and Johnny"

I was wandering around map-less on Easter Island in the blazing mid-day sun, walking down a long, deserted road thinking that maybe I'd taken a wrong turn somewhere. My destination was Rano Kau, the biggest inactive volcano on the island which, at its summit, features the ceremonial site of Orongo. Being the guilty young traveler that I am, I feel often obligated to use legs as opposed to easier methods of transportation even though I usually want to take the easy option. So I thought yes, let's walk. 10km there then 10 km back. Cake. There was a pedestrian trail that began in some ambiguous spot near the coast, and as I wandered further my mental map grew fuzzier. A mother and her child whizzed by on bikes, took a left turn, and I decided I'd follow them.

Down the road which I later found out to be the wrong turn (note: do not just follow strangers. Their mere existence does not mean they have the same destination as you), I was almost bowled over by a friendly stray dog and his companion. Folks, meet Flank, the friendly stray who was my dog for a day on Easter Island.

Flank leading the way, friend in tow, at the beginning of the pedestrian trail.

"Come on, slow human. There are things to explore!"

I've had plenty of strays accompany me on various journeys. But never to this extent. In a way, I feel like Flank chose me. I didn't give him a name right away- I fully expected Flank to wander away after ten minutes or so. But he stayed true to me. He waited for me as I lingered like a silly bipedal humanoid wielding strange contraptions and pausing for amounts of time in various spots to snap photographs. He made sure I caught up when I struggled down narrow paths. And he sat with me whenever I chose to plop down in a field or along the path to take in the heavy silence of Rapa Nui Nature.

Not a bad view. Here we stopped to look at the scenery

and eat soda crackers. Please note the walking stick I

acquired somewhere along the way.

Flank and I finally reached the first stop of our two-tiered voyage above, the lookout over Rano Kau. This volcano crater, which looks like a giant scummy pond, provides the fresh water for the island. 

I named Flank "Flank" because I was staring at his flank the majority of the time. Also I think it's funny to pretend it's a bad mispronunciation of "Frank". Also, I found out that Flank was a female about halfway into our hike. By that point, we'd shared so much that I couldn't just up and change her name. We kept Flank despite the unladylike moniker. 

The Rapa Nui men used to compete for a coveted religious position

by swimming out to these rocks,

collecting some sort of seafood, then making it back to land alive.

Whoever made it back without being eaten by sharks or other

monsters of the sea then had the honor of spending

a year in a cave by themselves.

Along the trail up to Rano Kao.

That red face is a mixture of sunburn and exertion. 

Flank was so much "my dog" that day that she would come when I called her (I felt silly screaming "Flank" in front of other people but, hey, it's her name) and always reunited with me despite wandering off sometimes to go explore other things. When we finally reached the ceremonial site of Orongo, I was a bit panicky: what should I do? Would she wait for me outside while I went to look at the site? The answer was quickly clear: she was coming with. In fact, she led the way. Right through the visitor's center and all through Orongo. She was very friendly with the other tourists, and quite inquisitive as we see below. 

Flank, no! It says you can't go in there!

I had so much fun with Flank at Orongo. I was way more engrossed by the fact that I was wandering around an inactive volcano with my adopted dog-for-a-day (I mean, come on, who gets to go see ancient stuff with their pets??); so engrossed, in fact, that we breezed through the site and I think I missed all the exciting petroglyphs. Oops.

On our way back from the hike, Flank led me down a different

road than from where we started. I followed her, the dutiful

master that I am, and she brought me to this gem.

I am forever grateful to her.

Flank rests with me in the park. There were also

more moai here, so she gets a couple

tour guide points for this one.

Find the Flank! 

I thought she was being a silly and irresponsible Rapa Nui pup when she wandered off along the super steep coastline (depth not perceived well in the photo above), and when she began to descend closer to the cliff I even called to her to come back, anxious that she would slip and fall to her death. She ignored me, and instead sat on her haunches and watched the sea, unmoving, for almost ten minutes. We both enjoyed the view quietly, the sea breeze whipping our respective locks of fur/dreads. 

After the hike and surprise visit to the place above, I knew firmly and resolutely that she was the coolest dog I've ever met. I told her all about my dog back in my home country far, far away, how they would probably be really good friends; I told Flank that my dog could never be off-leash like she was, and that she was really lucky to have such a cool view like on Rapa Nui. Flank understood me. She also listened while I made up songs about the activities we were performing. 

After our hike, we meandered back into town. She waited for me as I stopped to buy groceries; she sat by my table as I rested with a coffee and to journal, even though the waitress tried to shoo her away and I said, "Please, she's with me." Flank paused as I lingered over souvenirs, waited patiently as I consistently was slower than her due to my two legged deficit. In fact, it was around this time that I knew she had to come back with me, whether or not the cabana owner Carmen liked it.

Just as we were about ten minutes from the cabanas, it started to rain. The precipitation up until that point was pretty sporadic- maybe it would sprinkle for five or so minutes, then it would clear up. Well, not this time. What started as a grey drizzle turned into a full-fledged monsoon. I wanted to take a taxi but knew that no Flanks were allowed in cars. So we walked. Step by step, through mud streams and up hills and along horse paths that had turned into miniature rivers. By the time we got back, every article of clothing was leaking water and I was completely soaked to the bone. But Flank was with me. 

And then, my beautiful Flank instantly plopped on the welcome mat in front of my door, as if she already knew it was my room.

Carmen came over a bit later and found Flank and I lounging outside during the freak rainstorm. She wasn't pleased. "What are you going to do with this dog? She can't stay here." I felt awful, like I was abandoning Flank, but what could I do? Feed her for a couple days, then just disappear from her life, never to return? It was a doomed situation and I knew it. She was Rapa Nui; I was beholden to the continent. I disappeared into my room for a time and when I next emerged, Flank was gone. I think Carmen's dogs scared her off.

This post is dedicated to the wonderful 6 or so hours that Flank and I spent together. I left for Orongo that day alone but returned with a new best friend. 

Notes on Cultural Differences

I stated in an earlier post that Chile hasn't shocked me. Life here is somewhere in-between what I'm used to in Mexico/Guatemala and the USA, but more toward the USA end. Orderly traffic, structured shopping centers, a lack of haggling, fixed prices, etc. However, that doesn't mean it's the same as America. I shall begin an on-going list of the differences as I encounter them. Let's begin.

1. No commercials. Luz the Abuelita and Roommate loves to watch her nightly television shows. She is sometimes so enraptured that I hesitate interrupting her. In fact I've noticed that the volume of the TV increases proportionate to how loud Leslie, Amanda and I are talking. Due to my issues with remembering things, or at least remembering them when it's appropriate to address them (remembering everyday at the office that I've been meaning to go buy shampoo, and then never doing it once I leave work for weeks on end; forgetting to get the one thing you went upstairs for until three hours later; things like that), I find it important and quite necessary to seize the moment when I remember something within the appropriate context. This is usually the reasoning behind my frequent outbursts. I've already developed the frustrating habit of forgetting to ask Luz important questions about Chilean life until she's gone to sleep or left the house for the day, and her TV time is one of the only consistent opportunities I have to ask her these questions. Due to her interest in the nightly programming, I often tend to wait until the commercial breaks to ask her what I need to ask her. However, it became apparent pretty quickly that I was waiting...and waiting...and still waiting for an opportunity to talk to her. It's because the commercial break never came; there are no commercials here. I can't explain how foreign this is (Is this Cuba?), how fundamentally unsettling it is to not have a break from the programming in which to rummage in the kitchen, go pee, or otherwise distract yourself during a show. I don't mind it at all - really, I don't miss the pathetic advertising aimed at shoving useless products and ideas down American's throats at all hours of the day - but it certainly makes conversation difficult. I've taken to just interrupting anyway. Problem solved.

2. The Tap Water is Great. Really, it is. And like I said, still no gut-wrenching diarrhea. I fill up my water bottle everyday and love it. I think it has an abundance of minerals in it. I don't know if that's true or not. Let's just go with that for now.

3. The Strays are Well-Fed. Per every other Latin American country I've ever visited, there is a large amount of stray dogs here. Except, these dogs are actual house-pet quality. I've seen several businesses around here leave out bowls of food for the dogs, and they're all extremely friendly and playful. Some can be found in the same spots everyday. We've had dog escorts a couple times already, strays that just pick up our pace and walk with us for a length of time like our guides (or maybe guards).