Los retratos de una vida.

“Are we to paint what’s on the face, what’s inside the face, or what’s behind it?”
- Pablo Picasso

Puertecillo

Old faces, new places

I ventured down to Lastarria last night, which is a beautiful neighborhood near Universidad la Católica, to meet up with an old acquaintance from college for drinks. Jillian first came to the city on exchange back in 2008, fell in love with a Chilean boy and eventually made the jump across the Atlantic to start a new life here with him. She now works for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and as I'd hoped, has blossomed in her 2.5 years here into a savvy Santiaguina with lots of tips and insider knowledge on how to find ones way. We grabbed a table on the terrace of Casa Lastarria and poured our hearts out over cocktails, ceviche, empanadas and, in true Dutch style, patat met mayo. It was lovely, not only to see a familiar face here, but also to feel so open and relaxed with someone I'd never really spent all that much time with before. It felt like meeting up with a good friend that I'd simply lost track of for a few years.

Monumento Iglesia de la Vera Cruz (Barrio Lastarria).

It's a wonderful thing to be able to listen to impressions of a place from someone with a shared cultural vantage point. Putting experiences into context becomes a lot easier and it's also vaguely reassuring to know that certain perceptions were actually spot on and not just figments of my imagination borne out of insecurity.

For example, within the first days here I had noticed that Chileans seem to do a lot of staring. Not necessarily in the rude, leering sense of the word, but certainly allowing their gaze to rest upon you for extended (and sometimes uncomfortable) periods of time. Granted, I notice it a lot more when in the company of G, but then again a nearly 2-meter tall, blond, blue-eyed Dutchman seems to attract attention just about anywhere outside of northern Europe. But even without him in tow, I often find myself meeting eyes with someone in the metro or passing by on the street, only to lose the staring contest after a few seconds. I found it all a bit disconcerting in the beginning, as back in Amsterdam you basically have to stand on your head, naked and with a whistle in your mouth to draw even a casual second glance.

Las Primeras Impresiones

It's been just over a week now and we've seen, tasted, and experienced much more than we could have imagined before leaving. In fact, I can hardly believe that just 10 days ago, we were stuffing our belongings into boxes, tugging on our winter coats and running off to the post office in Amsterdam.

We arrived last Friday night after a 28-hour journey through Germany, the Dominican Republic and Panama and were greeted at the airport by Simon, G's new employer and the head of the new project he's going to be working on at OAN (el Observatorio Astronómico Nacional). He drove us right to our new place in Las Condes, which is a posh suburb in the north-east of Santiago. The house is situated at the foot of a hill known as Cerro Calán and hence just a 10 minute walk from the observatory. It's also enormous by any standard and even more so because it's just the two of us here, but we're very comfortable and have quickly gotten used to enjoying the use of our garden, the enormous terrace which gives us a beautiful view of the city, and the spacious living room complete with two big, soft couches which we usually crash onto at the end of the day and heave a sigh of contented exhaustion.

Abajo del Cielo Abierto

This is a city to be taken in sips, rather than the frantic, thirsty gulps it's sprawling massiveness and undeniable liveliness inspire. From the arid vistas and gated villas of Las Condes we wind our way slowly toward her center, stopping frequently for small, exotic treats and long pauses in the sun. Fresh ceviche from the market at Los Dominicos, sticky sweet mote con huesillos in the park near Santa Lucia, unfamiliar tastes that tantalize our tongues and sights that widen our eyes. On la Plaza de Armas it seems that life from all corners has congregated to while away the seemingly endless Saturday hours, to bask with utter reciprocity in the delicious simplicity of doing absolutely nothing. The purple of the flowers on the trees dances vibrantly against a deep azure blue sky while the sounds of music, laughter, clicking chess pieces and scattering pigeons fill the air. And all around it seems as though a thousand stories from either side of the Mapoche spin together to form this colorful, dissoluble tapestry that is Santiago. I close my eyes and inhale deeply, hoping to take even a fraction of this vitality into me, then exhale again and smile at the stunning, nearly inconceivable notion that this is home.

Pienso en aquel día.

I am moving to Santiago de Chile. In October. For three years. Wow. Leaving the Netherlands had been part of the plan for some time now, but somehow it feels different to say so now that it's ceased to be a vague goal and become, rather, a concrete course of action. There is much to be done, many aspects to be arranged, many promised visits to be made good on. Nearly a decade after crossing the world to begin a new adventure here in Europe, I am packing my bags and heading off for undiscovered territory once again. It's enthralling, inspiring and just a tad frightening. But it is an adventure I cannot wait to set out on!

Thoughts on the State of the Union.

The images glaring from the television, the words of the newspaper headlines, the general buzz on the street, all suggest that the way of life across the Atlantic, life as I had always known there, is crumbling, disintegrating, changing in a way that few had ever anticipated. As I watch interest rates sky-rocket, politicians bicker, jobs disappear and the national deficit continue to expand at the same rate as the waistlines of my gluttonous, sedentary, blindly consumerist compatriots, there is a thought that comes to mind:

All the better.

Now I know that this may be interpreted by many as a distinctly un-American sentiment, that most would find it inconceivable that I should bear my fellow citizens such ill will that I would welcome the prospect of America's dethronement, of her ousting from the position of world superpower. But to these interpretations, I turn an ear of disaccord and reply simply that to truly love a nation and her people, to sincerely wish the best for her future is perhaps not to condone her continued accumulation of wealth and power through iniquitous means, nor her demonstrations of military strength through the provocation of unjust, ambiguous wars, nor her sustainment of an insatiable dominant streak, manifesting itself in the form of global cultural contamination. No, true patriotism cannot be measured in numbers. It is not necessarily the desire to see ones country be the richest, but much more to see her maintain her integrity.

Bobby Kennedy said it best, over half a century ago, when noting that:

"The gross national product does not allow for the health of our children, the quality of their education, or the joy of their play. It does not include the beauty of our poetry or the strength of our marriages; the intelligence of our public debate or the integrity of our public officials. It measures neither our wit nor our courage; neither our wisdom nor our learning; neither our compassion nor our devotion to our country; it measures everything, in short, except that which makes life worthwhile. And it tells us everything about America except why we are proud that we are Americans."

The road on which the United States has found herself for the past fifty years is not that on upon which I want to hold my childrens' hands and lead them down in the future. When they eat with their hands, I do not want it to be because an unseen corporate villain has determined this to be the most convenient way for them to consume their fat and salt-laden, nutrient deficient cheeseburger, but so that they can touch and feel that which nourishes them, so that they can grasp the concept of where their food comes from. When they run and play, as children do, I do not want them to feel that they always have to win, have to stamp out their competition, have to be the very best because that is the American way. I want to hear their laughter fill the air around them, see the smiles that light up their faces, watch them submit, completely, to the act of play without winners or losers. I do not want them to watch their friends' fathers, brothers, and uncles come home from senseless, soulless, oil-hungry wars in body bags and regard them as heroes, but know to that true heroism is demonstrated in simple, everyday acts, that the tenacity, patience, love and steadfastness required to help them mature are the characteristics of a true role model. I do not want to drive them to school in our SUV, nor reward their achievements with materialistic possessions, nor teach them that they are better or more worthy than anyone else because of the color of their skin, their passport, or their father's collar. I do not want them to be ignorant of the world around them, to turn a blind eye to injustice or suffering, to pledge their allegiance to a flag, a god or a political party. I do not want them to identify their country's cultural contributions in terms like Nike, Starbucks, Apple or Hollywood.

I do not want them to fear their government, but for their government to fear them. I want to hear their voices rise, in unison with that of their brothers and sisters, in song that transcends territorial, political, racial and socio-economic lines. I want them to know that once upon a time their country was the richest, the most powerful, the hand that pushed down all the rest, and that this position served only to rob their countrymen of insight, of prospect, of righteousness. Out of many, one? Oh yes. But not the one that terrorized, tyrannized and persecuted. Not the one that bullied, scratched and fought her way to the top, but whose inevitable fall from grace marked the beginning of a new era and ushered in a better life for one and for all.

I want them to walk down a new road, one they themselves will fashion and pave.

And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave.
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.