Centro Cultural Palacio La Moneda

Inaugurated in 2006 by ex-president Ricardo Lagos, the Centro Cultural Palacio La Moneda is a contemporary art museum located partly underneath the national governmental palace and the Plaza de la Ciudadanía; that offers the Chilean public access to the often exclusive palace as well as the promotion of the understanding and appreciation of national and international heritage though visual/audiovisual means.

After a day and night of exhausting rain, we awoke to a fresh fall of snow atop the nearby Andes Mountains. As the sun finally made an appearance, we headed into centro to visit the “Arte en América” exhibition at this mysterious museum I had been intending to check out.

For $1000 pesos ($2.50) we were able to see an array of modern and contemporary pieces dating from the 20^th century, some of which seemed extremely avant-garde for their time. An American artist created each of the 200 pieces, ie. an individual from the Americas (North America, South American and the Caribbean), from the collection belonging to the ‘Banco Interaméricano de Desarrollo’ and ‘La Organización de los Estados Americanos’.

Each artist instilled in his artwork a sense of his country’s identity, whether they faced dictatorships (Venezuela), communism (Cuba), slavery (El Salvador), poverty (Brazil) or even the fight for women’s rights (Chile). Each country seemed to be represented, from Mexico to the Honduras to Argentina and the USA.

The purpose of the exhibition was to reinforce the ‘American identity’ so that a common thread could string people together to achieve a better coexistence between neighbours within a neighbourhood and within each continent. Chile alone has 285 thousand immigrants; one quarter of them originating from Peru.

I picked up a few interesting facts from the exhibition’s brochure like that women are the household bosses in 31.5% of Chilean family homes, meaning that these women are the principal support for their family. Studies have shown that in the rest of Latin America, these kinds of households have better chances of surviving poverty.

Also, did you know that in Latin America and the Caribbean 47 million hectors of forest are destroyed each year? That’s more than half the entire territory of Chile!

The exhibition was an interesting insight into the Latino art heritage, especially as I had previously only been exposed to US art history at school. Afterwards, we ventured through centro and settled for lunch as a very cute café, canopied by trees in a very quiet city-centre street. We had a delicious organic menú del día followed by a tasty coffee. As we sat out the front in the Parisian-like patio, I couldn’t help but feel that the café was the perfect follow-up to a very cultural morning.

Now it is time for you to reflect on the question: what are you doing to promote equality in your community?

Parque Natural Aguas de Ramón

One sunny Saturday morning my lovely Chilean, a friend and I decided to go hiking in Los Andes so close by to Santiago city. We caught a lift to the base of the sector cordillerano at the end of La Reina, where we paid $1500 pesos to climb up the mountainside.

The beginning part of the track wasn't very charming but the further up we got, the more we gained a great view of Santiago, despite the impending smog. The looming Gran Torre Costanera, already the tallest tower in Santiago although it is still under construction, looked completely abstract as it quite distinctly towered over the rest of the city. The tower is due to have 70 storeys and be an estimated 300 metres tall. From our angle it even looked bigger than Cerro San Cristobal in the background.

We clambered on, past a stray horse eating from the scrubs budding with cotton-like flowers, building up a sweat as we continued to climb on and on. All of a sudden those familiar South America cactus sprouted up along the hillside; that constant reminder of which mountain range you are exploring. The terrain looked dry and yellowing but as we began our decent down to the Estero San Ramón, a forest-like canopy began to emerge.

Down by the river we found people sun-baking along the rocks. A 30-metre waterfall kept the fresh, flow of cool water constant and the urge to jump right in overcame me, but unfortunately it is forbidden to swim. We crossed the wooden, planked bridge and checked out the ecological toilets, sitting high on stints with giant barrels of compost underneath them.

Now on the other side of the bank, we began the ascent again, dodging the horse poop smothering the track. We came to another wooden, pranked bridge, although this time it wobbled as we crossed. It was the real-deal adventure bridge, the kind you see in Indiana Jones.

By this time 2 and half hours had past and we were now descending the last part of the track. The park has a few tracks to offer, including a 7-hour track right to the peak but we decided to do that another day. As we made our way down, we saw the strangely erect, lonely palm tree blocking our view line. It wasn't a real Chilean white palm tree however. It was actually a telephone aerial so tall that it was disguised as a palm tree to look more in place with its landscape, although the antenna pointing out the top didn't really help its camouflage. Apparently these types of palms are all over Santiago so if you ever come across one, you will notice because although the natural types of these palms are native to Chile, these aerial do rather look out of place.

Once out of the park, we walked along the street checking out the mansions that bordered it. This area on top the hill has become the trendy place for the rich to build super, gigantic houses. There being no public transport, this area completely depends on cars so of course expensive vehicles also lined the street. At the bottom, we stopped for some yummy cheese-filled empanadas (the cheese being a delicacy from the region close to La Serena). Once back at home, however, completely exhausted by this stage, I passed out on my bed and slept the rest of the afternoon.

Cementerio General de Santiago

Right at the bottom of the cemetery we found the grave of my lovely Chilean's late grandfather. It wasn't too hard to find; it was the only square crib painted green amidst the other white cribs along the wall. We sat in front of it for a while in remembrance.

We continue on through the rows of tombs and fields of the unmarked graves of those who could not afford anything else. Surprisingly this half of the cemetery was full of life as complete families visited their ancestral graves on the weekend, bringing with them fresh flowers and other such decorations. If they were football fans, they almost camouflaged their ancestral grave with flags and other memorabilia from their favourite team.

Groups of delinquent kids lingered around in the dark areas, ready to pounce on any unsuspecting soul. I held onto my lovely Chilean's hand as we swiftly moved across to the other side of the cemetery.

It was almost as if we had crossed a threshold and all of a sudden the cemetery had become this beautiful, peaceful garden. The tombs became larger and more grandiose. The names of ex-presidents began to appear, the flower gardens became more cultivated. The architecture became an item in itself to visit. No longer were the seldom people in this area visiting the graves of their ancestors. Instead they came for the tranquillity and to admire the beauty of the graves, some mausoleums intimating Inca architecture or a Moroccan mosque, others impressively modern, almost as if they were pieces of art rather than houses of the dead.

Apparently Chilean independence leader, Bernardo O'Higgins set aside more than 85 hectares of land for the foundation of what would become the final resting place of all the ex-presidents including Salvador Allende but excluding Augusto Pinochet.

I ached to have a book to read silently in the setting sun or to have a picnic basket full of different cheeses as well as a bottle wine. It momentarily slipped my mind that I was in a cemetery, not the 'secret garden'. I guess this is a reflection of Santiago's socio-economic order - the vast contrast between the poor and the rich; between those who are educated to appreciate art and others who can barely afford to bother.

Lollapalooza

On Saturday, 2 April we rushed about the house trying to get everything ready for the day of the big music festival. I printed off my receipt from my Internet ticket purchase for my lovely Chilean, a friend of ours and myself. We then went to the bank to take out cash for the day and were about to hop on the bus when I realised I didn't have my ID (I didn't want to take my wallet to a festival). I literally ran back to the house, only to realise I didn't have my keys either.

On my ticket receipt it said then the ONLY way to receive our paper tickets was to visit the ticket booth on the day of the festival, which opened 2 hours before the festival and closed half an hour before the gates were to open, hence why we were rushing about like headless chickens. My lovely Chilean came running to my aid, opening the door for me and waiting as I grabbed my ID. We ran back to the bus stop where our friend was patiently waiting.

Now, there was only one bus that we could take from this particular bus stop and it just never came. The minutes were ticking by; we were running out of time. In the end we jumped on any bus but that too was taking too long. We got off and caught a taxi the rest of the way. Luckily it was close.

We arrived and it was absolutely packed with festival goers, all lining up to get inside. Still half an hour to spare before the festival was to begin, the Chilean audience, being the Chileans that they are, began to shout and chant and demand to be let in - no patience in this culture. We asked a nearby policeman were we were supposed to collect our tickets, for there didn't seem to be anyone else to ask. He merely informed us, without even looking us in the eye, that everyone, paper ticket or not, was to wait in these lines and so we did.

The gates opened and the line moved fast. We got to the front and the girl checking tickets didn't know what to do with my receipt so she went to get help. The help then told us that the ticket booth was right around the other side of the park, Parque O'Higgins, so we went hurriedly off over there.

This is where the real story begins: as we were approaching, we noticed an extremely long line, mostly filled with foreigners speaking an array of languages with varying accents, notably North Americas, Brits, Aussies, Spanish, Argentineans and Brazilieros. We did what everyone else was doing; we joined the line - yes, that great big, long line that just never seemed to move. We took turns to investigate. Apparently we were supposed to line up in alphabetical order and with no signage or direction everyone had just joined the S-Z line (my line). It would have been fine if there weren’t only 3 PEOPLE working at the ticket booth, distributing tickets to thousands upon thousands of people. Great organisation Lollapalooza!

I ended up joining the incredibly short N-R line but even this didn't make much difference. Half an hour later I had moved only one step and the lines at the front had turned into more of a lump of people pushing and shoving to get their tickets. The police arrived to crowd control. The policeman in charge decided that all people in line S-Z should be in single file. Each police officer joined hands and created a man-barrier and the idea was that all S-Z people had to get behind them. If they couldn't, they had to move to the end of the line. How on earth they expected to get thousands of people into single file, I don't know. Everyone just kind of scrambled into position, most of the people at the front, were now way behind, people way behind were now at the front and people way, way behind didn't notice any hustle.

Then a truck arrived with metal barrier fences, which they positioned around the huddle around the ticket booth, as they had only demanded the S-Z line to get into single file, everyone else was let be. The official order was that everyone inside the bordered off zone must leave before anyone else was let inside. Luckily I was at the beginning of the line outside the blocked off zone, unluckily I waited 3 hours to get inside. Of course, being the polite foreigners that we were, no one kicked up a fuss. And to think the Chileans were on the verge of a riot just to be let into the venue!

Reinforcements arrived at the ticket booth, which meant that now 6 people were working, distributing tickets. Yet it wasn’t just as easy as distributing tickets, it seemed. First they had to check your receipt, then the had to check your ID and then you had to sign a document that legalised that we had officially received your tickets. This was all fine if you had a Chilean ID. Passports had to be thoroughly checked and if you didn't have a passport, we couldn't get your ticket.

I noticed one girl show a photocopy of her passport and they flatly refused to give her ticket to her. Photocopies have no value in Chile unless a notary signs them. Seriously, who is going to bring their valuable passport to a music festival, where basically anything can be stolen? Of course, these people had to wait around for confirmation of their identification, which took forever, and which meant that we were waiting for this process to finish before we were let in.

Eventually, 3 and half-hours since we had first arrived, I was let in and got my tickets very easily. We past all the crowd control vehicles, armed up to their teeth and entered the festival. They didn't check our bags for drugs; they didn't check our pockets for alcohol, nothing. Did I mention that this festival was alcohol free? It's the first time for this particular festival to come to Chile from the US and they couldn't get permission to have alcohol. If all goes well, they can apparently have alcohol next year. Hopefully, if this is the case, they will be better organised because although the name is US copyright, it was still organised by Chileans.

Inside, everything went smoothly for us. We saw all the acts we wanted to see, including Ben Harper, Empire of the Sun and Fat Boy Slim, plus a few more. Food and drink were outrageously expensive as to be expected at a music festival; being in Chile made no difference. And we went home half an hour early to beat the crowds. The next day my body ached from all the jumping around and dancing but I had a good memory of the day, despite the way it started.

We didn't get tickets to the next day of the two-day festival because it was way too expensive. Apparently they had been selling the tickets ‘2 for 1’ the week prior but we knew that more people were expected to come on the second day and we had to work on Monday so it just didn't seem worth it. We did, however, catch up on all the stories from the event such as the apparent rape of a girl on the first day and the collapse of a stage (inside a tiny dome) on the second day because the venue wasn't prepared for the amounts of spectators.

There is nothing more eye opening then going to a music festival in another country!

Eu Adoro a Cidade Brasileira

Together with my friend's mother, we walked from one end of the long Avenida Paulista to the other, starting at Brigadeiro metro. I loved taking photos of the strange architecture, the tiny house that once was the only building surrounded by forest and which now wallows in comparison to the skyscrapers, and how the random trees now look so out of place in this urban jungle. We visited bookstores and sunglasses shops, ate white cheese empanadas in one of the cafés and generally just had a fabulous time aimlessly walking around. Once back at home, my friend and I made pisco sour for my friend’s mother to try for the first time (I had brought the pisco from Chile).

She also took to me to see their old apartment in Bairro Santa Monica, way across town in the west. It took 2 buses and one hour to get there. It was a real insight into the socio-economic structure of São Paulo. We passed the stadium where carnival takes place each year in late February as well as the storage centre of the all the carnival decorations, including giant lions and other such parade carts. Once in the west, I noticed all the young children wandering the streets selling food and other knickknacks, completely void of parental supervision. We took another omnibus to Bairro Lapa to eat (queso, carne, pizza) pastel at my friend’s mother’s childhood favourite restaurant. I also tried bolinhos de bacalhau (codfish croquettes) and esfiha de camarão (a brazilian snack food with middle eastern origins and also member of the ‘flatbread pizza’ family).

I was also pleased to get the opportunity to visit the lovely Brazilians that hosted me last time I was in Brazil. They invited me to their place one evening and we had a grand time catching up on what we had been doing the past four years. The next evening, I spent with the son and his friends, eating Dominos Pizza and listening to them talking about the ‘magic’ card game, ipads and other technology in Portuguese. Not your typical adventurous, tourist evening in São Paulo.

My last evening, after having wandered around the shopping mall with my friend, drinking coffee and trying different chocolates, I ended up in the hospital where his mother works. My friend was having minor heart problems so I followed him from x-ray to doctor to electrical-wire testing. Apparently his heart muscle is growing too big because of all the intense exercise and supplements he takes. It was a very strange last night in a country I am very fond of.

PS. Everyone in Brazil seems to have braces on their teeth, from children to adults. It’s so weird! I guess Brazil is renowned for its plastic surgery so straightening the teeth to look better ties in with that...

Eu Gosto de Comida

The next few days I spent with my friend’s mother, who worked night shifts at the nearby hospital. She took me to the local park where we feed geese and sat on the benches outside the tiny library in the middle of the grounds, reading our books as the sun’s rays warmed the papers. The good weather didn’t last long, however, as it never does in the tropical heat. With dark, grey clouds fast approaching we collected our bicycles and started to head home but obviously not fast enough. Water came crashing down in buckets of cats and dogs. We found shelter in one of the shops along the street. While waiting for the rain to stop, we pathetically attempted to play darts.

It was quite common for it to rain while I was in São Paulo. Thunder and lightening would argue outside in the late afternoons while I took the time to relax and read my book inside.

My favourite past time was our frequent visits in the mornings to the street fruit and vegetable markets. The local area had at least one market on everyday, just in different locations. This meant that for my lunchtime dessert I received a platter of fresh, tropical fruits to choose from. And while at the markets sellers would offer us slices of their fruit to taste (I learnt fast to come with an empty stomach). We ate mangoes, grapes, pawpaw, pineapple, sour apples, watermelon, peach and lots of delicious lychees. I didn’t get to try any dragonfruit (pitaya) though, although apparently we have it in northern Australia.

Once our basket was bursting with fruit and vegetables, we would sit by the vehicle that sold freshly squeezed juices, using the engine as the power source to squeeze the fruits. Our favourite ingredient was sugarcane. The vendors of Chinese decent would shove long, bamboo-like stalks into the compressor, adding in your desired accompaniments such as lime, lemon, passionfruit, mint, etc. Once we asked for fresh coconut juice. The vendor stabbed a hole into the top of the coconut with his 'mean-looking' machete and stuck in a straw. Once we had finished the liquid he then sliced off the top entirely, handing us both pieces; one to eat and the smaller piece to scoop out the inside of the coconut. Genius!