the kindness of strangers (finally)

This weekend was characterized by unexpected openness and kindness. It all starts with Juliette of course, the girls’ phys ed teacher at school. She’s 25, probably the youngest one on the staff. Since I arrived she has eagerly practiced her halting but quite understandable English. I usually have lunch with her. Every time we sit down to our steaming meal of meat and mush, she issues her disclaimer: “This is not Chilean food. Chile is not like this.” James and I nod out of politesse and not any real conviction -- we pretty much only eat cafeteria food and bread and tea at home.

Well, last week Juliette had invited me to spend the weekend with her and her boyfriend, Tito. On Friday, because we had no students, we skipped out at lunch time. We headed downtown – it was actually really exciting to be downtown during the week when things are open and people are wandering around. We oogled shoes, I bought my DVD of West Side Story, she bought Tito a bag. We saw chichineros – boys with the drum/cymbal contraption strapped on their backs who play and dance. We even saw a little one, maybe about 8 years old, who got rowdy applause when he took off his drum and his jacket, and swung the latter into the audience. Oh, and we had lunch at the Chilean fast food restaurant of choice, Domino. You walk into these places and it’s like grills on both sides, with dozens of guys in white hats zipping around behind the counter. People eat standing at the counter, scarfing down hot dogs/burgers/sandwiches a la Chilena. We had a massive sandwich which included, among other things, grilled turkey, tomatoes, secret domino sause, and tons of palta (avocados). Yum!

We eventually made it back to Juliette and Tito’s. They live in the center of Santiago, in a tiny apartment with their very yappy puppy Romeo. Juliette also works in a university across the street from her house, and I went with her to her 10-minute 'pausa active' course. She basically goes in at the beginning of a class and gets everyone to get up and play a silly game, or stretch, or relax, for ten minutes.
Anyone else want to bring her to McGill??

After class, at about 9pm, we went out for dinner to a marisco place by their house. After the requisite pisco sour, I had mussels covered in parmesan cheese, followed by a creamy crab baked thing, also covered in cheese. (I had to make up for the lack of cheese in my diet!) It was so delicious – I begin to understand why Juliette feels so strongly about cafeteria lunches.

Dinner conversation was as interesting as the food itself. I met my first (but not my last...) Pinochet supporter. More on that another day... Of course I tried to pay, and was summarily shot down – pretty much the theme for the weekend. We got home at around 11 pm. I was tired, full of cheese, and very happy. I crashed on their living room floor, on an inflatable mattress. Their apartment is tiny, and under other circumstances I probably would have felt like I was totally intruding. But they were so hospitable and chill – and I slept like a baby.

On Saturday, I went with Juliette to her mother’s, so she could dye her hair. Juliette's mother dye Juliette’s hair that is. So I sat in her mother’s bedroom, taking part of the sacred girlie ritual that is the make-over. I also met the aunt, the cousins, and the baby cousins. Once Juliette’s hair was back to its somewhat natural brown, we headed back to the apartment. We collected our things, picked up Tito and Romeo, and piled into the truck again.

Tito is from Melipilla, a small city about an hour outside of Santiago. Juliette always says that he lives in Melipilla – Santiago is just the place where he sleeps during the week. They spend every weekend in Melipilla, and this time I was taken along for the ride. On the way we met up with Sylvia, Tito’s cousin. She also lives in Santiago, and spends the weekend with the family in Melipilla. She is key, because his family does not know that he lives with Juliette, or that Sylvia lives with her boyfriend. Frightening, because she’s 30 and he’s older. Chile, in many ways, is a dastardly conservative place…

On the way we stopped in the small town of Pomaire for lunch – I was dying, it was almost 4 pm by the time we ate. We ate at this typical restaurant where I attempted the classic empanada de 1 kilo. I got about half way through the thing – it had ground beef, a quarter of a chicken, an egg, olives, and raisins. It was delicious, but devilishly large. Pomaire has like three restaurants, and a strip of handicraft stalls. It’s a typical daytrip for the city folk, and the place to buy anything traditional. I picked up some souvenirs before we continued onto Melipilla.

Tito has a collection of aunts that all live in this same compound. These two old ladies welcomed me into their house, set me up in a guest room, wined and dined me – and all I was to them was the friend of the nephew’s girlfriend! I spent most of the night trying to grab anything from the conversation that whizzed around the table. Far too much concentration required to keep up with the nattering – I was exhausted by the time we made it to bed.

On Sunday morning I awoke to more avocado and bread, much to my delight. Juliette, Tito and I went to the mall for a coffee – a terrible mocaccino, but characteristic of the lame coffee that people drink here. More interesting conversation, this time about the health care system and the problem with Chilean attitudes towards politics, education and the rest of life. We went home for lunch, magicked by Sylvia while we were out. Salmon, baked, with mashed potatoes and salad with more avocado. It was so good – Sylvia is a wonderful cook, and the fact that we were eating around a massive wooden table in an old kitchen apart from all the houses (complete with a wood stove!) made it all the tastier. After lunch we went to, quite literally, a shack in the middle of the cow fields for chicha, a grape-derived liquor. It was good – the ant floating in my glass just added to the charm...

On the way back, we stopped at another stall, where I bought ridiculous amounts of cheese, including fresh cheese just like in Portugal! I was rather gleeful. After the cheese shopping, we grabbed our stuff from the house, kissed the tias, and drove back to Puente Alto. I was dropped off in time for tea, much improved by the addition of my yummy cheeses, if I say so myself.

The most remarkable thing about the weekend was how normal it all was. What a privilege to be let into people’s normally routines, to be welcomed into their families and to hear their opinions about their country – I am more and more convinced that this is the only way to travel.