MeMag - Me Magazine

Yesterday was an unusually peaceful day. No real arguing at all. I went with the girls to the open air market where we bought the usual stack of movies. Mine always end up being dubbed into Spanish or in some original language I don’t speak, with only Spanish subtitles. I also always buy a few titles that I have at home but want to watch with the girls, forgetting that they aren’t interested in movie advice from outsiders. Or rather, E15 isn’t. And she is the one who decides what M and her will watch.

Watching anything with the both of them is of course completely impossible, because of their endless chatter and E15’s tendency to just skip whichever part she doesn’t feel like seeing. I cannot join in in any discussion, because if I speak I will only get shushed at. So they watch their movies together in M’s room, and I watch mine in my room. The ones that work, that is. Buying original movies has turned out to be cheaper than buying the copied ones at the market. At least the originals work. But there are very few of those to chose from.

In the evening we went to a Norwegian woman’s house where I had another boiled fish dinner, which was great except for the pieces of fish. There was also a cake the size of the Colosseum. I decided that it would be inhuman of me to leave the hostess with a ton of leftover cake that she herself would have to eat. So I gulped down what I could in the name of humanity and brotherly love.

Like the last time, E15 giggled everytime she heard me speak Norwegian. She did however, after seeing some photos of rugged people with knives in their belts and listening to a few anecdotes declare that Norwegians seemed to have a cool style and that she would like to visit there some day. I myself was again invited to spend some time in the north of my native country during the summer. It sounds like a good idea. At the moment, anything involving quiet empty landscapes with no one arguing seems inviting.

This morning I finally returned to the world of Spanish classes after taking three weeks off. Seems like I have forgotten pretty much everything. I will try one more class in a few days and if things still seem hopeless I won’t bother to take any more. I just have too many other things on my mind to learn a new language. It always seems like I’m taking two steps forward and then one and a half back. I definitely speak less Spanish now than I did three weeks ago. Once I return to Norway it will all fade away quickly anyway.

At my regular café the waiters were frantically aiming to please today. It was almost impossible to eat in peace. Constantly someone was standing by my side asking if everything was too my liking. They were all a new bunch of waiters too, yet they all shook my hand and welcomed me back. It was so good to see me again and so on. I wonder if my double has been around there leaving huge tips or something. Still, it is nice to feel welcome. And the food there is excellent.

Arriving home, E15 casually asked me how she would go about heating a dry old spring roll left over from a chinese takeout dinner. M doesn’t believe in plastic wrap so everything pretty much goes stale after a few hours. She leaves things all over the kitchen and I wrap it all up afterwards and put it into the refrigerator. She then complains that there is too much food in there. E15 was so calm when she asked me this that I looked around, thinking that she was talking to someone else.

In the evening I made some tiny pancakes made from yoghurt and honey which were pretty good. I’m nervous about doing dishes and cooking now, expecting M to barge in at any moment, yelling at me for having the light turned on or using water. So the pancakes provided a quick hit and run bout at the stove thereby satisfying my compulsive need to cook without embarking on any great culinary endeavors.

M tried some and declared that they were fantastic and that I was a master chef etc. I don’t think she really wanted any. Most likely it was a verbal peace offering. Which in any case was nice.

A plate of Portugese-Norwegian Bacalao. Surprisingly good

From work, M sent me a message saying that we were invited to the annual Festival del Picor at two of her friends’ house. It is a food party where everyone makes a couple of things and then brings it. Usually they have strange traditions around this event. For instance, it typically needs to be something you have invented yourself. They’ve also had meetings where they have some sort of game or market, selling food to each other. I don’t know how that works exactly. M told me she brought slices of apple decorated with ketchup last year. I’m sure that was a roaring success. But this year, apparently, the dishes need not be your own inventions.

She also said that E15 wanted to be closer to me but didn’t know how. So before I went for another grocery-shopping spree, I went into her mother’s rom where E15 was sitting making red and black ornaments on a notepad. She didn’t seem the least bit interested in getting closer to anyone. I tried explaining about the food festival but she seemed anxious and had no idea what I was talking about. Even if she does attend it every year. I later learned that she had thought I said Festival del Picos, which means Festival of Dicks. Sometimes I feel that everything I try to say in Spanish here is misread as something pornographic. But in this case, I did pronounce it correctly. I have no idea why people here always seem to assume that I’m talking about sex.

At the supermarket I spent the usual abundance of time trying to find things like Allspice and Baking Soda, none of which exist here. I bought some metal trays for baking muffins but they turned out to be slightly too big to fit into the oven. Instead of going in, they stuck halfway, badly scratching the shiny black coating of the new oven. I also bought Pancetta, a kind of Bacon before remembering that most everyone except me are vegetarian. More money wasted.

On the way I met the man who owns the cat that wants to explore my room. He was worried since the cat had vanished. We had a long conversation about the cat. I don’t know how it is that I come across people from time to time who understand everything I say and who speak clear sentences themselves that I comprehend completely. At home everything I hear sound like Swahili and nobody ever gets a word of what I say.

Using a mix of Spanish and hand gestures, I suggested to the man that he put up a little board or something on the thin ledge the cat uses to escape. For some reason that had never occurred to him before. He first explained to me that cats have a natural instinct to explore. Like I had never heard of cats before. I thought that if he has a natural instinct to keep a wild animal as a pet, then he should try not letting it out onto the ledge that leads to freedom.

Later in the day I would see him on the veranda, scouting the neighborhood for his lost feline. He looked worried. On the way I also saw the girls who has a friend who is my double. From a distance. They smiled and waved at me. For a little while I felt like I belonged in the neighborhood, finally having people to say hello to when I pass them. Feelings like that however, never last very long.

Just aftered I entered the apartment, E15 put on the new Star Wars DVD quite loud. I thought maybe it was a hint that she wanted to watch it with me. She knows that I love Star Wars. But when I went into her mother’s room where the TV is, she had placed herself across the bed sideways, apparently in an attempt to make sure there was no free sitting space available. She did not look at me. I stood by the door for a while watching. Then I left.

Later in the evening she put on the same movie again and then went into her own room leaving it running in the other. I asked her in my porn-safe sign language if I could watch it and she nodded yes. She didn’t seem to want to watch it again herself though.

M came home and started doing things in the kitchen. A little later I heard voices downstairs and went to investigate. The table was set with various store-bought stale cakes and tea and biscuits. I didn’t know who our guest was and what was the occasion. Only halfway through the meal did I remember that she had told me that a friend was coming over to show us photos from her trip to Easter Island.

E15 went to the cinema instead. M told me that the girl was going there with a boy, but I suspect that she was only trying to scare me. Latins assume that a father will instantly be furious if he learns that his daughter is going to the movies on a date unchaperoned. Before going we all sat and talked for a while. E15 asked her mother several times what I had said, but she wouldn’t translate. M then corrected me for eating some of the cookies she had insisted that I try only a few minutes earlier. They were intended for the slideshow upstairs later and I should know better than to eat any of them now.

M and our guest went to walk E15 to the bus. They don’t let girls go around by themselves here. While they were out I did the dishes but didn’t have time to finish all of it before they returned. The four cups were left. M came into the kitchen and promptly turned off the running water as I was using it, giving me a lecture about how we couldn’t afford to waste water. I don’t see how she herself manages to do dishes without using water, but it is her apartment. What can I say? I think it was more to demonstrate to her girl friend that only she knows her way around the kitchen and that a man like me should keep out.

We watched the Easter Island photos on the TV in M’s room. They were on a CDrom. M naturally hogged the remote, therby deciding the talking speed of the other womans presentation. Every other photo, M pressed the wrong buttons and zoomed and skipped in all directions. I waited for the right moment so as not to ashame her in front of her guest and then suggested that maybe our guest would want to control the slideshow herself. “What did he say?”, the woman asked. “Nothing”, M answered holding on to the remote. “He is just being stupid.”

The next morning I was ready commence the cooking for the Festival del Picor as we had agreed upon when M entered the kitchen and said “no! I have to wash clothes!” So that was that. There was no free space anywhere since M had used every plate, cup and piece of cutlery in the house for the girls Saturday breakfast in bed. Now everything was spread over the entire kitchen with no way to clean it up with the sink being used for washing. I had calculated how much time I would need for two separate doughs to rise and for four different trays to go into the small oven for a half hour each. There would not be time now.

I gave up. After a short argument with M where she once again accused me of having blocked the sink (the sink that she has told me has always been blocked as long as they have lived here, about seven years). She had been at with the plunger, like we both do every day, and some grains of coffee had come up. I don’t think she really is stupid enough to believe that those few grains had taken a time machine back into the past to block the sink. More likely she is trying to wind me up in front of the dinner so that I will hopefully have an anger outburst in front of her friends. Thereby showing everyone what a monster I am and what a victim she is.

Instead of having a huge fight I went for a walk. I spent most of the day downtown, walking off most of my anger. When I returned M hugged me and gave me one of her Spanglish song lyric speaches. Oh my love, I hunger for your touch, I think it was. She then asked me for the fifth time if she could carry some of the old food I have cooked earlier to the gastronomical party. I said no again, and she looked shocked. She then repeated the question, saying that she didn’t think I had understood what she had said. I camly said that no, I did not want her to carry some dry old leftovers to a gourmet party and tell everyone that I had made it. She rolled her eyes and left.

I will not go to this affair anyway, since I don’t want to fight with her in front of E15 and the other guests. I don’t think that I will be able to hold back my anger if she does her usual thing of ridiculing me in front of everyone. My own parents argued loudly in front of me all day every day for as long as I can remember. Maybe that is why I dislike confrontations now.

When you are in a really bad mood there is nothing that helps more than a good Elvis impersonator. This one didn’t appear to know a word of English but the footwork was phenomenal

One of E15’s friends stayed over tonight. Her parents have sold their house before finding a new one. Now they have to move out but they have nowhere to go. Great planning. Being a charitable person by nature, I have offered her one of the big cardboard boxes that M keeps in her chaotic storage room. M saves everything. Especially plastic bags. Since everything here comes in an individual plastic bag, the house is in danger of being taken over by them. Buy two cartons of milk and you can be sure you get a separate bag for each one. M even turns the dirty ones inside out and then saves them. Even the pastic wrapper from toast bread she saves. I sneak out from time to time and throw bags full of other bags into the recycle container across the parking lot.

Planning to have a go at baking bread I set out trying to find various spices and things to add to the dough. Of course I didn’t succeed in finding any of it but went ahead baking anyway. Four hours later I had produced two lovely anvils. It was supposed to be soft Italian Focaccia bread, filled with Ricotta cheese, swiss chard and fried onions, but I never found anything resembling chard so I used a local variety of spinach instead. The filling was great, except for the onions and the fact that most of it escaped through gaping holes in the sides. That woman who invented Kevlar would have been dead envious by the crust.

As I came home with my shopping, I managed yet again to go into the wrong building. This time I noticed my mistake before trying to open someone elses door because when I tried to find apartment 409, it wasn’t there. I guess the other building is shorter because the numbers ended on 408. I snuck out again, hoping that no one would see me. After three months here I should know the way home, but apparently I don’t.

The neighbor’s cat is back. It tried to get into my room today. I leaped up and tried to make it go away by making scary faces and snarling sounds. It looked at me like it was thinking “God, what a moron.” In the end it got bored and went away. But I’m sure I will find it in my bed some day soon. I’m very allergic to those animals. If it gets into my room I may have some nights of itching and coughing.

E15 has been remarkably different ever since that last day in Los Molles. Except maybe for yesterday when she dressed up as some kind of psychotic Dorothy (Wizard of Oz) in a childlike checkered dress with pigtails and a doll in one hand and a kitchen knife in the other. But overall there has been less childish behavior and teenage rebellion. She seems older somehow. Even her voice is different, deeper and calmer with an air of self-reliance. She will be 16 in 6 weeks time. I think I will set up a weblog for her as a birthday present, with her own domain name. It would be intensely cool for a teenager in Chile to have something like that.

The next morning I left another note with a silly drawing for E15 and headed downtown to find the only bank that will give me money. Afterwards I visited the embassy and had lunch with one of the Norwegians. I then went shopping for a gift for E15 without finding anything interesting. Then a haircut.

As I was almost back at the apartment, two girls approached me and asked if they could take a photo of me. They explained that they had a friend who looked exactly like me. Feeling somewhat sceptical, I asked if they had a photo of their friend. They had. It was a photo of me! Or it could have been, had the person in it not been sitting on a strange bed or couch, petting a brown dog. I have never seen that dog before, but apart from that I had no way of telling that it wasn’t me. Very spooky. Even the clothes were identical. I tried to ask if it was possible to get a copy of it, but failed to make them understand. I should have tried harder. Or at least found out the guy’s name. So far the single most surreal thing I have experienced while staying here.

In the afternoon, as I was trying for a second time to bake the Ricotta-filled bread, M called and asked if I was going with E15 to meet her at the Jumbo supermarket to buy school notebooks and things for E15’s upcoming schoolyear. I said that I better not since I was sure that she didn’t want to travel all that way with me.

A little later M sent me a message saying that E15 had asked her to ask me to come with her, and that the girl was afraid to invite me herself. M then told me to bring some money. Was the story about E15 wanting me to go with her true or was M just after some financial support? In either case I went, walking silently beside a nervous looking E15 all the way to the Metro and then all the way to the supermarket. It seemed like a very long walk.

Once we met up with her mother, E15 quickly lightened up. We managed to spend two hours in the huge market. E15 hunted for a long time, trying, I discovered, to find Nutella for me, since I had said at some point longe ago that I love that stuff. Very sweet of her. I gave her money to buy a Star Wars DVD since everyone should have Star Wars DVDs. It is a basic human right. besides I had been wanting to get her something today anyway.

M commanded her to hug me but she refused. She said she didn’t know how to. M then hugged me to demonstrate how it was done. When E15 finally gave me a hug, she didn’t let go for maybe a minute. We stood like that, quiet in the dairy section. Time stood still.

Upon returning home, I finished the bread baking, this time with a much better result. M said that E15 had wanted to have a go at the failed loafs last night but was afraid to without permission. So tonight I took a photo of the finished product with the digital camera and then went to her room, silently showing it to her. She pointed downstairs, her face miming a question. I nodded. Together we went downstairs and I said she could try some if she wanted.

She seemed to like it and tried to start a conversation about the content. But at that point something got stuck in my windpipe and I initiated a five minute coughing attack. She waited for a while while I was standing bent over, tears flowing from my eyes. She then patted me on my shoulder in sympathy and left. I always end up looking like a complete idiot whenever I have a chance to get to know her.

Later, sitting in her room across the hall, she suddenly sent me a link to an online photolog with the photos from her trip to Brazil. M has been at her for a month, trying to get to see them. But always the answer has been no. I felt privileged.

Second attempt at the bread rolls. I thought they were fantastic but E15 only did eat the one and M didn’t even want to try them

Small shot: First attempt. I will be selling these to NASA for use as heat-resistant plates on the space shuttle

The drive back to Santiago seemed shorter than when we went the other way. There was no arguing except for a bit of backseat driving from M. Quite a bit actually. Her mother kept a good steady speed all the way while the rest of us played word games and had fun. I didn’t do very well at the word games with my limited vocabulary and slow thinking. But it was nice to do something with the others.

The climate changes were an exact oposite of when we went the other way. It was grey and raining until we went into the tunnel. On the other side it was sunny and dry. And when we came out of the mountain pass it was suddenly burning hot. As was the apartment when we arrived home.

M refused to let me open any window even though we have been away for just over two weeks. So as not to let the hot air in. I tried to argue that the apartment needed some fresh air and that a draft would cool everything down. But M insisted that the inside was cooler than the outside and that opening any window would instanly turn everything steamingly hot. She said “I have lived in this country all my life, and you…” etc. Like we don’t have sunlight and wind and windows in other countries. I evacuated the apartment and went grocery shopping instead.

The next day was wonderful since I finally had things to do. There were tons of e-mails to read and answer. And things to create in the kitchen. I prepared three different types of Empanadas and even spent some time with E15 as she was in there mixing strange things for her many inbetween meal snacks. I tried to say this and that in Spanish and failed mid-sentence every time. She nearly died laughing. Always glad to provide some entertainment to people around me.

Throughout the evening there was a bit more togetherness than before. Things were more relaxed than usual when we ate. E15 suddenly said that if I didn’t get married soon she would be very angry. What an odd thing to say. M thought maybe she wanted some siblings, but it seems that she just doesn’t want me to be alone once I go back to Norway.

Another early morning. After getting up I stood for a long time at the living room window, looking out onto the empty village in the morning light. Since most people in Los Molles are up half the night barbecuing and playing incredibly cheesy latin pop music, hardly anyone is seen outside until noon, at which time everyone has breakfast and then head to the beach to squeeze in a couple of hours of sunbathing before lunch. Other, more eccentric characters, such as M’s mother, start every day by washing the outside walls of the house.

She seems a lot less interested in getting to know me after her many failed attempts at turning me into pet, wagging my tail at any sign of food. M is also like that. If she cannot dominate you, she behaves like you have deeply wounded her. My role is to be the bad guy. The one they can unite and blame. A role I plan to retire from quite soon through the help of Lufthansa. Although I have had many wonderful experiences here, I cannot see myself returning to live with these people.

Being cynical for a second, I have to say that besides the feeling of not having a place here, I have really used these people up. They no longer offer many surprises and there is never any change or new input. No new ideas or thoughts ever surface. No new discoveries or fascinations. No newfound hobbies or interests. They play the same records over and over again and watch the same videos. It feels like I have seen just about all of them there is to see. From now on I expect mostly reruns. Same jokes, same stories, same exact behavior. It is just simpy boring. Not that I am any more fun myself. But I feel trapped here. Everything is standing still and it feels like it’s time to move on.

Well… that was what I was thinking during the first half of the day. And then suddenly everything changed. Since this was our last day here, I decided to have another go at lunching with the women. So while they were away at the beach, I waited around the house until they came back and the usual huge lunch arrangements were prepared. We all sat down and they talked, but this time I asked what E15 had said after she had made some comment. She usually does that when I say things. “What did he say?”, she asks her mother who sometimes answers and sometimes not. Usually she appears to get a strongly abbreviated version with all the punchlines and finer details shaved off.

So I kept doing the same thing. “What did she say?”, I asked. Several times. And M filled me in. The older women seemed somewhat puzzled that I would be so interested in what the kid said. But E15 soon started making small comments directly to me, or about me. After lunch M and I wanted coffee and E15 and her grandma and aunt got up to do something else. But seeing that M and I were still seated at the table, E15 came back and said that she had changed her mind and would want coffee as well. We ended up sitting there for almost half an hour, which is close to eternity in hyperactive teenage time. A bit like dog years really. You multiply by about seven.

Afterwards, M testingly slipped away from the table and E15 and I were left there alone. She didn’t rush up to leave. Instead she kept tinkering with a puzzle game where you are supposed to piece together different triangles and squares and such in order to make various pictures. It’s the kind of game you only find time for when in a holiday home somewhere. A place where there is little to do.

A bit like an IQ test, the shapes you are to build seem very basic but can be difficult to do. She pushed the game over to me and I tried to build a fish and a rabbit and things like that while her impatient quick hands moved a few of the pieces in place for me. We even managed a few fumbled phrases. Mostly just mumbling but it was communication, albeit on a hushed primitive level.

Then there was a card game outside. Feeling more confident and patient I decided to join in this time. We played for a long time. I even remembered the rules. This time nobody seemed upset by anyone taking more than a microsecond to think. It was all suddenly perfectly harmonious, like a completely different family. No aggression or arguing. No sore losers. Maybe they’ve had a sit down and talked things through when I wasn’t there or something. I don’t know.

Being the card game winner, I was awarded the prize of going out to buy a pie or other dessert. I was a bit against buying a readymade cake, but E15 commented that since I wouldn’t bake because of her, we had no other choice. She definitely heard what I said to M that night about her selfish pie consumption. M said that women may forgive but they never forget. I will be hearing about that pie episode for years, I’m sure.

M’s sister drove us to The Swiss Pirate. It turns out that the guy bakes different incredible cakes and pies and sells them cheap. Fresh and homemade. I also bought a loaf of his bread this time. Typical that I only discover the only good place to shop and eat just when we are leaving.

As we were driving back home, I discovered red spots on the pear cake that I hadn’t noticed in the dim light inside. Strawberry! E15’s worst enemy. I almost panicked thinking that all the days progress would now be ruined by me coming home with a nasty strawberry cake. But it wasn’t. She tried to eat a slice but she found it horrible and had to sit and watch us eat instead. She was depressed for a little while, but quickly got over it. I had four big slices and it will probably take me longer to get over that.

Then she and her grandmother ran out the door to go and watch the sunset over the ocean from the high cliffs. M and I followed a minute later, but never did find them. Instead M found a potential new career as a stunt woman when she tried to walk down a very steep path behind me so that I could take some photos before the last light went.

I heard the sound of feet sliding on gravel behind me, then a thump and an ouch. When I turned I saw a rolling ball with legs sticking out heading downhill to the side. Like in a cartoon fall, she just kept rolling for a while. “I’m ok”, M moaned somewhere from withing the bushes and cacti. “Keep going before you lose the light!” Dutiful to the end.

It took her a while to limp out of there but she seemed ok, except for a bump under one of her eyes and some bruises here and there that she didn’t want to show me. She later told me that she had only been afraid she would to lose one of her new 16.000 peso sandals. That’s about $30. M is always worried about money. If I go out of the room to use the bathroom or something, the light will sometimes mysteriously have been turned off when I return.

When we returned home, M and E15 came with me to the feria to buy ugly cheap souvernirs. We had a good time. I looked at snowglobes and pink transparent dolphins with glittering lights inside and E15 looked at pellet pistols and posters of various attractive men, such as Axl Rose. What can I say… We both have tacky taste. Afterwards E15 massacred all the metal ducks in the shooting gallery.

Every cloud has a silver lining

Small shots: 1.Shooting defenseless metal ducks and paper targets. 2.Taca-Tacas being played on the beach at night

Once more I managed to get up before M’s mother and had a quick light breakfast, standing up by the kitchen counter. After an hour or more of reading outside in the fresh morning air, I went back inside where the old woman was waiting inside the door, ready to force-feed me on the entire content of the refrigerator. I politely smiled and said that I had eaten breakfast earlier. Her response to this was “do you want eggs?”

I later announced that today I would take a Norwegian lunch, a piece of bread with some cheese or jam at around 11:30. Nobody could understand why, but it seemed to be accepted with silent dissatisfaction. M suggested that I go out for a sandwich to one of the local cafés. She was far from sure that they would serve such a thing as a sandwich, but suggested that I try. I did.

After visiting several local restaurants it started to become clear that sandwiches do not exist in Los Molles. The closest I got was when I went into The Swiss Pirate, a local restaurant allegedly run by a man so eccentric that no one can stand eating there. He once nearly chased M’s family from the premises after they asked him for Coca Cola.

Upon nervously entering the restaurant, I found the pirate himself, back turned to me, hopping around on one foot while trying to get his other into a worn out army boot. He had long unruly hair, a grey beard and a largely oversized Hawaiian shirt. He really looked like a pirate. At the corner of his mouth, an unlit cigarette was bobbing up and down at the rythm of his jumps. After managing to get the boot on he sat down, seemingly exhausted by the ordeal.

Turning his attention to me, he explained that they didn’t have sandwiches but that he could fix me a coffee or something else. I said that I would be back for a coffee or something else another day. As I was leaving, I saw a huge pile of loafs of baked dark brown bread by the door. Having lived on white bread with a soft white crust for three months, the tall square European bread looked heavenly. But I didn’t dare ask the scary man if any of it was for sale.

Instead I decided to go back home and make myself a chicken sandwich there. This first took me to four different small local shops in order to find a ripe avocado and some fresh cilantro (coreander). The longer I spent hunting for lunch items, the hungrier I got and what had started as a humble slice of bread with cheese or jam was now growing into a huge overdecorated baguette in my mind. Two hours later I finally sunk my teeth into it and ended up over-eating once more. Ten minutes later, the women returned to prepare lunch. My idea of eating very little and very early had failed miserably.

Hearing that I had already eaten lunch, like I had said I would, M’s mother then started quizzing me on how I felt about having… lunch. Suddenly E15, annoyed by hearing all of this food peer-pressure, came to my rescue and said “seriously… why don’t you leave him alone with that food talk!” Grandma then protested that she had cooked a huge meat lunch just for me. And so on.

It was at least a positive move from E15’s side. She hasn’t spoken to me since the pie incident. I know she heard everything I said to M that day, because when her mother told her something I couldn’t make out the other day, I overheard E15 mumbling “why ask me? I’m just an egosentric bad person who don’t share with others.”

Tonight she reluctantly sat at the same table as me having dinner, first making sure that her mother was going to sit between us. M clearly wasn’t planning on eating anything but she sat down and nibbled at some salad functioning as a human buffer between the teenager and myself. M’s mother looked completely confused by the fact that I was eating some of the meat leftovers from her lunch yesterday. Although I did eat that yesterday as well and said that it tasted great, she remains convinced that I hate her cooking.

A boat that never made it back out to sea. Maybe this is how the Swiss Pirate ended up on these shores

This morning I managed to get up a lot earlier than anyone else which enabled me to have breakfast in peace without anyone fussing over me an suggesting what I should eat and in what order. Afterwards I had time to go for a quick morning photo trip but the light was still too bright even if the sun was low and behind some clouds.

We were scheduled to go on another short walk around noon. This time M assured me that we would only be gone for an hour or so, even if I hadn’t complained to her about the last short walk which turned out to be a full day’s bathing trip. Again I noticed towels and swimsutes being packed, articles I myself rarely find the use for on a short walk on dry land.

After a bit of walking we arrived on another one of those tiny rocky lagoon beaches that nobody goes to. It was a beautiful place. Still, as the women swam and talked and ran around having fun, I quickly started to feel bored. Trying to make peace with E15 I sat down next to her, not too close. She quickly made a trip to wash her hands or something and then seated herself on the other side of her mother.

Back home, another big lunch was being prepared. I managed to insult everyone again by not having watermelon while waiting for lunch. Again… I don’t eat big lunches and since I have diarrhea I do not want to gorge myself on semi-liquid foods. There have been moments these past days when I have been tempted to grab M’s mother, drag her into the bathroom and demonstrate for her what diarrhea is. Ok… let’s leave the diarrhea topic altogether.

We sat down and M’s mother handed me a plate of meat and mashed potatoes, squinting her eyes like in a western duel. “You better eat all of this and like it”, the eyes said. I did, making sure to stay away from the bread since I had insulted her the day before by eating too much of it, thereby indicating that the food was not to my liking.

M kept picking on E15 all through lunch, asking her to sit up straighter and even pushing and bending her into a proper position. Over and over she would do it. The girl couldn’t get a single fork of food into her mouth. At the same time M was ordering her not to mix salad with meat or something like that. I didn’t understand it. It seems like this may be another Chilean food myth. That if you mix a cold salad with hot meat, you will be sick. I put some salad on my plate too, next to the meat, and watched M’s mother’s disapproving eyes follow my every move.

E15 finally had enough and told her mother to leave her alone and focus on her own meal. The two older women then gasped in shock and M’s mother gave the girl a lecture on how to behave towards her elders. E15 stared silently at her plate. M and her mother then proceeded to discuss the girls bad behavior and how shamefully she behaved. After a long stint of that, M started again, asking E15 if she wanted more salad and then repeating the question several times when the answer was no thank you.

It seemed to me like she wanted to provoke another outburst. She wanted to show her mother how nice a mother she herself was and how impossible her job could be. As the elder women kept discussing E15 in her presence and even whispering things about her loud enough for anyone to hear, I was once more struck by how cruel these women can be to each other.

Watching them interact can be like watching a flock of chimpanzees. I see how the two elders gang up to mock the young female. She has now been temporarily banished from the community. Having first been chastised she has to sit alone, depressed, while the others make fun of her. Afterwards she will keep her distance for a while and then try to gain access back into the family by behaving sweetly and submissively. In a soft childlike voice she will attempt to initiate contact with her mother who will first coldly tell her to go away.

Then after repeated attempt, now being completely humiliated, she will be welcomed back in, cuddled in her mothers arms. Cynical social games. Building alliances, first turning on the weakest and then mothering her after she has been shown her rank in the pecking order.

Grandma wanted me to eat more even though I said I was full and that it was very good. She was not happy. Again M told her mother to leave me alone which only lead to more follow-up questions like if I wanted more of this and that instead. By then M was shouting that she should for God’s sake stop it. At this point E15 came back into the conversation and defended her grandmother, saying that she wasn’t pestering me but merely asking a simple question or two. It was a nerve wrecking nightmare of a meal. I have to find a way not to have more meals with these women.

After lunch the sun was starting to really burn. It was back to the playa for the women and back into the cooking magazines for me. Today I found another stack of them which gives me plenty to do, copying down recipes and such. Today I’ve read an article on how heat affects the proteins in eggs and the correct ways of mixing them with scalded milk to make custards that don’t curdle or form skins when cooling. Always good to know. My life is so exciting.

M has found a place for me where the fence to the huge park area is low enough for me to climb out should I decide to stay there longer than when the caretakers leave at 7pm. This is an attractive idea because of the evening photo light which is good between 8:30 and about 9. Still I won’t be able to get very far in that terrain without a car. But I could go in before 7pm and then find a good spot and sit and wait for the sun to go down. It would at least possibly get me one good photo of the landscape. And on the other hand, stumbling around on the prairie at dark trying to find the foot path and then scaling walls with all my camera gear… I don’t know. Better think on it till tomorrow.

The evening was a continuation of the rest of the day, more meals and the women arguing over me and what I should eat. I demonstratively made myself a simple slice of bread with cheese which must have been a pretty big blow for them and their plans to feed me a large late dinner with lots of meat and potatoes. I had earlier said that I didn’t want anything except some bread and cheese, and yet the food was there ready on the stove. M’s mother hovered around me for a while turning lights off and on all over and then asking me if the light was better for me now. I said that it was best the way it had been. I’m evil perhaps. I just get tired of having them control every little detail around me. It’s hospitality, I know. But you don’t feel very welcome when you are the cause of several loud arguments every day.

M continues to be very servile. I think her idea is to show her mother that she is a good woman who can take care of me. She often behaves like that when there are others around. Doing all the dishes and serving things left and right. While in reality I do more than my share of that stuff when we are alone. It bothers me a little that everyone probably thinks that all I do is to sit on my ass and get served meals all day. And yet if they knew the truth, it would probably be something they wouldn’t know how to deal with. A man doing dishes… how shameful. But after all, M is the one who has to live with her mother’s approval so it is perhaps best to give the impression that I am a good for nothing layabout. Which isn’t all that far from the truth anyway.

I wonder what it was like for M, coming home from a trip abroad, pregnant and without a man. How did people treat her? People are very strict and old-fashioned here. What stories if any did she tell about me? And how do these people see me now in light of what they have heard or imagined? She has on many an occasion seemed to try to make me angry in front of her friends when we have been out for dinner. And at the same time acting like the perfect wife herself.

Late in the evening I noticed that M and E15 had disappeared once more. I thought they had gone to bed early but M’s mother told me that they were out. I wonder why M has stopped telling me when they go out. This time they managed to slip out quietly. I went to bed. As I was getting ready to climb into the sack, M’s mother appeared in my doorway asking me what I had eaten. I told her that I had eaten two pieces of bread and she said that it was too little, complaining that she had wanted me to eat mashed potatoes before going to bed. At 00:22 in the morning.

A sample of the small rocky beach

Small shot: The view from the edge of the plains. You climb down steep paths from this height onto different small beaches between the cliffs

Awaking earlier than usual, I had breakfast with M’s mother. Which was nice. She fusses so much around me though, that it’s difficult to actually get to eat anything. “Do you want some of this cheese? No? Are you sure? Are you absolutely sure?” That sort of thing annoys me tremendously. Although obviously well meant it goes on and on. And on.

After breakfast I went with her to the beach to buy fish from the local fishermen. They pull their small boats onto the sand and the locals gather around to buy various still jumping fish. We waited around for a good while until it became our turn and the fisherman picked out and cleaned a couple of fish for us. Buying anything in Chile is a ritual of patience. There is small-talking to be done and plenty of questions to answer. I always try to stay a little in the background, trying to look preoccupied so as to avoid questions directed at me.

When we came home I spent some time in my room writing and when I emerged, the house was empty. Again the lure of the beach had overpowered the women. I continued doing my various timekilling activities until they returned and lunch was to be served.

Many a time I have told M of my hatred of boiled fish. Tasteless dripping lumps of white jelly. I was raised on the stuff and truly despised every meal. M had assured me that boiled fish is a dish which does not appear on Chilean tables. Nevertheless, the lunch turned out to be boiled fish. I ate my portion and as boiled fish goes, it really wasn’t bad. Still I didn’t feel like having a second helping or an extra salad or a fish soup. I am done with this constant over-eating just to be polite.

M’s mother was visibly upset by the fact that I didn’t want more and that I didn’t eat the lettuce. I said that I was full but that it had been very good. M tried to come to my rescue and explained that I don’t eat much lettuce. “Then where do you get your vitamins?”, her mother wanted to ask. A question to which I didn’t really have an answer. I guess I don’t get them maybe. Now followed strings of questions. I was being interviewed on everything conserning life, food and leasure activities. Chileans love to interview people. I however do not like being interviewed in front of a captive silent audience.

M again came to my rescue, barking things at her mother like “leave him alone. He said he was full, why can’t you understand that?” Then she made fun of her mother, immitating her voice and various questions, expecting me to laugh along with her. It was all getting terribly uncomfortable.

They talked among themselves for a while and then announced that tomorrow we would be going to another town where I could have a huge lunch of something that I liked. I didn’t know what to say. I don’t want everyone to go on a day trip so that I can have a giant meal I do not want for lunch. And saying no means being difficult and insulting everyone again. As usual, this lunch had been one of the many occasions where being myself is deeply insulting to everyone around me.

After lunch I rested for a while in my room, sorting through various boring digital snapshots. When next I opened my door, the women were gone once more. I looked outside and saw that the towels were gone from the clothes line. All day I’ve been feeling earthquake tremors. As I did yesterday. And the day before. Whether they are real or imagined, they seem to symbolize my family life. I keep almost losing my balance. And no one else notices anything.

Just after the women returned I prepared for my daily evening photo trip. As I was leaving, M said “It’s ready!” “What?” “The other meal for you!” What other meal? For some reason M and her mother had cooked me an extra chicken and pasta dinner. This was about four hours after M had told her mother that I never touch pasta. Why another meal after I had explained once more that I don’t eat as big meals as they do? And why just for me? They are the ones who want to eat all the time. I will never understand how these people’s minds work. Nevertheless it was nice. And I do like pasta. I just don’t eat it very often.

I went for my evening walk anyway and a very friendly M said “no problem, the food will be waiting for you!” Her mother looked upset once more since I was going out. I didn’t care. There is only one hour each day with perfect photo light and therefore it is the only hour each day I need to be somewhere and do something.

Upon my return M reheated the food for me and said that she would treat me like a king every day for the remainder of my stay so that I will leave with a good last impression. I ate and enjoyed myself. Everything was great. Except of course for the diarrhea.

Most activities in Los Molles includes the sea. People fish for a living, serve fish for a living and fish as a hobby

Today we went to the nearby town of La Ligua to pick up M’s mother who was arriving in a bus from Santiago. Finally a chance to get to a bank. I was originally told that we would be here for a week and not two weeks and have long ago run out of money. Since I don’t want to ask M every time I want an ice cream or something, I prefer to have my own money. And there are no cash machines here.

After a half hour drive, we arrived in the small town and I went to the bank while M went to meet her mother. The deal was that they would wait for me there. After visiting a few local banks it was clear that my Visa was no good in this town. No money for me. As I was walking back towards the bus station, M called me and asked where I was. I told her that I was right around the corner. “Ok”, she said. “We will wait for you here.” One minute later I arrived at the station. No M. I looked and I looked. Finally I gave up and phoned her. As usual, she didn’t answer her phone. I looked some more. A minute later she phoned me again, asking where I was. “At the bus station, looking for you.” She laughed. “Oh no, dear, we are not at the bus station. Why don’t you meet us at the car. It will be easier for you.”

I bought postcards of various other parts of the country. They don’t have any local ones so they sell cards from anywhere else. Welcome to Valparaiso. That sort of thing. Completely different places. We then went to eat. I suggested that we’d try one of the few places that were packed with people and not any of the completely empty places. M did not agree that there was a connection between popularity and quality. So she walked us to another place that was completely empty. We sat down and studied the menu. The waiter came over and M immediately started complaining to him that his restaurant was “super expensive.” Not only that but they didn’t accept her card there and half of the fish dishes were off the menu.

M decided that we should leave and go to the place we were the last time. I pointed out that the dishes there were even more expensive but M said that it was a good restaurant and therefore not expensive at all. No fish at all on the menu. M was fine with that. No cards accepted. M was fine with that too. I had chicken like the last time, M had a salad and her mother had some local goo, -meat, vegetables, lots of corn… mashed into a kind of puré with a fried egg on top. I tried it and it was fairly disgusting. But the chicken was very good. A huge portion. M’s mother was very upset that I didn’t finish all of it. I tried though, and spent the rest of the day with an aching stomach.

La Ligua also has other attractions besides stingy banks and seafood restaurants without fish. There is a supermarket there, Supermercado Ramos, with it’s own musak radio show with people singing Supermercado Ramos-songs. Great stuff. Since I am on a cooking strike, I took one look at my long shopping list and then threw it in the trash just inside the door. I don’t need anything. Except maybe juice. Better also to keep the women happy by leaving their kitchen alone.

M seemed very angry as we were leaving, and my guess is that it was because I didn’t offer to pay for anything. But she was supposed to lend me some money before we went shopping, which she didn’t do. I will not beg her for it. In any case, almost all of the groceries were stuff for them. Diapers for her sisters kid. Wine. Stuff I won’t touch. Why should I care.

Since life in a house full of women is an ongoing game of social politics and alliance-building, I decided to treat M’s mother to an ice cream instead and let M be upset about whatever she wanted at her own leasure. It was a great ice cream. Mine was Tres Leches (three milks) which I suppose is a mix of cream, Manjar (caramelized condensed milk, a brown sweet highly addictive substance which I have found to be the perfect coffee sweetener) and something else. Dulce de Leche maybe. I don’t know what that is either, but I see it everywhere. Grandma’s was Lucuma which is a sweet fruit, very common here. With a playful smile, she offered me a lick from her cone. Which seemed a bit unusual to me.

In the evening I went for another walk with my camera thinking aggressive worried thoughts. Afterwards I stayed in my room writing postcards. I wrote to my parents that I miss them. I have never said anything that personal to them before. I suppose my experiences here are teaching me what it is like to be a parent who feels unloved. After La Ligua I realized that I had enjoyed the fact that E15 hadn’t come along for the trip. Since all I get is cold aversion, I don’t feel much enthusiasm for being around her anymore. And I find myself counting the days until I will be leaving.

Meanwhile, In the living room, the women were playing Backgammon. Now that they know how the game works they no longer need me. I bet they have started to change the rules already to their liking. I overheard E15 saying that she did not want me to play with them. At least I have a nice room and the best bed in the house. If I had possessed a language here, I could have asked E15 to sit down with me and talk all of this through. Well… that is easy for me to say now. I probably wouldn’t have known how to in any case.

Interior sample from the restaurant in La Ligua

Small shot: At the restaurant, M’s mother ordered a glass of red wine

Today M’s sister pulled up in her car outside and M and E15 came walking out the door wearing beach clothes. “Bye”, M said. I was sitting on the patio outside having a cup of coffe. Apparently they were going to the beach. A little earlier, a young woman walking down the street, had stopped and picked some of M’s flowers over by the fence. Then she calmly walked on. I sat there gaping, not saying anything. Had she been aware of me sitting quietly in the garden? I was glad M hadn’t seen it or there would have been blood on the streets of Los Molles.

Waking up early I decided to explore Los Molles, look for potential photo locations and perhaps find the legendary internet café that not even the locals know the way to. I put on my many layers of clothing and went out into the cold morning drizzle. The sea was angry. Big waves had been crashing onto the beach all night, digging out a long trench along it. Now the tide was moving out and the entire coast was beginning to stink with algae. It is a sickening sewer-like smell that lasts for most of the day. M claims that the smell is from the sea lions who live on an island a few miles away, but that is just silly. It is algae.

I walked along the road leading out of the bay and then up a long steep staircase leading to an empty prairie wasteland riddled with garbage. Some horses were grazing not far away. Maybe if I was lucky, they would still be there if I came back in the evening light with my camera. They weren’t.

I then walked through the indigenous part of town, a few unpaved streets containing small shabby houses. An auto mechanic, two small stores, a small police station and an even smaller fire station named brigade no. 5, even though there is only one. I was quickly running out of town to explore. The road leads either out of town or back into it. I went back.

There I made myself a nice big lunch and dove back into the cooking and gardening magazines that make up most of the house’s reading material. I started copying recipes down in my notebook, page after page of award-winning blueberry muffins and other tarts. Just to have something to do. Once I return to Oslo, where I belong, I will not bake many cakes.

M, her sister, cousin, two brats and E15 (that’s three brats I guess) were going for a short walk through the wild landscape behind the fence. M asked if I would come. Which I did. This closer part of the fenced off coastline has less stunning locations than the one we had driven to earlier, but it was still a great experience. A vaste dry landscape which abbruptly ends in high cliffs above the sea. Like someone has just broken off the rest of the land.

The waves far below us shot water up through canals in the rocks, and at even intervals a geysir-like spray of white salt mist would shoot up from the ground accompanied by a roaring sound. These even intervals were even only until I was going past one of the vents. I wated for an outburst of water, then walked. Only to be soaked by another one. We were there for half an hour and that was the only double-wave there was.

Going down to a small rocky beach nearby, M’s sister made me carry her baby-carriage down a long steep rocky path. How annoying. Why do these women need to bring those things everywhere, even when they are climbing down a mountainside?

At the beach I discovered that the “short walk” was really something more. Which explained why M had brought no less than two bathing suits. Since the waves are big as houses, you can only swim in the rocky pools of sea water filled by the airborn spray from the waves below. Watching them splash around in the water I quickly became bored and decided to head back to the house by myself. E15 had already gone back to get some drinking water. Walking on the red dirt road through the immense landscape I saw her coming towards me, heading back to the beach. I smiled and nodded to her, but she just walked past me. I can picture the scene from a distance, the two of us as small black dots passing each other in the middle of a desert.

E15 shooting the ocean

Small shots: 1.The ocean surf below us when we went on our walk. 2.Water spraying up from the caves below us whenever a wave breaks. 3.People swimming in the rock pools

Awaking Sunday morning I found a colony of ants feasting on the crumbs of food on the top of the gas oven. I started scooping up ants and moving them outside without killing them. M showed up and was very disturbed by the uninvited guests. “This is something very bad when the ants appear inside the house”, she repeated over and over. Having grown up in a wooden house in Norway, I’m not all that shocked by a few ants. take away their food supply before they get too familiar with the new hunting ground and they go away. No big deal.

M however wanted answers. “What where they seeking?”, she demanded to know. I told her that they were obviously hunting for pieces of food. She was annoyed and wanted to know if they had been on the left or the right side of the stove. I knew that she was referring to the fact that I had used the right side when making the pancakes yesterday whereas she had used the left for her rice tortilla. There had been plenty of food remnants of various kinds all over the oven top, but I know that she wanted to find a person to blame. Fine. Let her blame me for there being ants in the coutryside then.

As she was scrubbing the kitchen and mumbling, I went outside for a smoke. In the grey morning drizzle, three horses were walking up the street by themselves, grazing on patches of grass on the outside of fences and inspecting the garbage cans for other edibles. A bit surreal. Outside our door we have a dog which really belongs to some neighbor. For the last four or five days however, it has moved into our garden and parked itself there. Nobody feeds it or anything. It just seems to like being here.

Being completely uninterested in dogs, I have ignored any attempts from the dog at socializing. Which of course means that the dog now thinks of me as it’s master. I treat it with cold indifference and the result is that when I go for a walk, the dog quietly follows me at my side. Chilean dogs are low maintenence animals. You don’t play with them, walk them or feed them and they never see the inside of a house.

We also have a cat that also really live somewhere else. At night it patrols the roof and patio hunting for rats. I have told M that if she stopped throwing food leftovers into the garden, then perhaps there would be less of a rat problem. She insists however that rats do not eat food leftovers. Birds do. Today M was dissecting a chicken which she intends to cook in the oven, throwing the guts and stuff into the garden. Where swarms of cannibalistic birds apparently will feast on it all. Having once been food poisoned from Salmonella, I am a bit worried that she pours the excess chicken juice into the same cold water with which she will wash the plates and glasses. M however claims that Salmonella doesn’t exist in South America. Perhaps she is right, I don’t know.

After the first days of failed attempts at socializing we now mostly keep to ourselves. M spent the day painting the garden wall and E15 did whatever it is she does. I waited until the sun was low and then went for another walk with my camera, as usual without any great results. At least it gives me a feeling of having something to do. when we return to Santiago I will try to go out more on my own and maybe meet other people besides M’s friends. As I was leaving the house with my camera, the two dogs… yes there are two now… leaped into action to follow me. They ran around me as I was walking down the road until they clumsily crashed into the spiked legs of my tripod. I heard a whine behind me. When I turned around the two dogs were standing there looking shocked as if I had just done something horrible to them on purpose. I left them there and walked on.

Horses in the mist, enjoying a morning snack from the garbage. When I went closer they moved away

Small shots: 1.Either Bobo or the other dog that also comes around every day. I can’t tell the difference. M says that the name Bobo doesn’t mean anything but the dictionary says ’simple’ or ’stupid’. 2.The lawn is riddled with breadcrumbs. M insists that Chilean rats don’t eat bread, which doesn’t surprise me given the quality of the stuff. 3.A chicken ready to go into the oven

Today M’s sister appeared at our door even though we were scheduled to visit her house a mere hour later. The reason, I suspect, was that I had promised to save her a slice of the very popular peach pie. And I had. A big slice. But… when I enthusiastically mentioned that I was going to serve her the pie, M dryly commented that the pie was gone. Who had taken it? M wouldn’t say. Which of course meant that her little baby had taken it and that she was covering up for her.

I was angry. I had explicably told E15 that the rest of the pie was for her aunt. “So what?”, she had said aggressively. “Just make another one!” I told her no and she obeyed. Until I wasn’t around that is. M also said “so what? It doesn’t matter.” I tried to explain that it mattered to me. M told me that E15 had said that I had given her a green light to go ahead and eat it since I was making two more pies. Which simply isn’t true. “My girl doesn’t lie!” a very upset M said. Which apparetly she does. I have never said anything that could even be misunderstood to mean anything like that. During the conversation, intense silence seemed to emerge from E15’s room next door. I knew she could hear the conversation. The question was how much of it she would understand.

It’s not the end of the world or anything, but I think it is a shame that M thinks it is ok for our daughter to keep thinking of everything she comes across as hers. The child really is unbelievably selfish. As are most Chileans, it seems. People here are the kind of folks who would just throw their garbage into their neighbor’s yard. At the same time they complain about garbage floating everywhere. Somehow they don’t connect the two. That you cannot expect others to behave better towards you than you do towards them.

As a result I said to M that I wouldn’t cook any more pies and cakes and things like that. As long as E15 keeps eating everyone elses portions there is no point. I’m not her damn butler or personal chef. M probably thinks I’m being childish again. Perhaps I am. I just want to try to bestow a little knowledge of sharing and considering others. People here always seem to take the easy route and blame others for their problems. Often minorities or people with different ethnic backgrounds. “The others”… “Them”… the ones who are different. In Europe, we are mostly done with that sort of thinking now. At least in “intellectual” circles. It’s just not very good examples of creative thinking.

M’s family does seem eerily fascinated by nazis and the topic somehow keeps coming up in their conversations with me. I’d like to see how they would have responded if I made pleasant pro-Pinochet-banter with them. I didn’t think their last batch of nazi comments were all that amusing and I think I showed it. Don’t they get it? At the time E15 once more declared to me that she was a nazi and started doing nazi salutes at the dinner table. Everyone was fine with that. I’m sure she doesn’t really know what that means and mostly does it to see if she can piss me off, but I find it worrying that her family thinks it is ok.

And there have also been comments made by certain people very close to me against jews who are “all horrible people.” Very unpleasant apparently. And they all smoke too much too. It’s on that level, you see. I’m starting to see a pattern in all the people of german descendens here who now own the most successful businesses and who everyone looks up to. I have also heard a few historical “facts” that E15 has learned in school that are clearly just racist urban legends.

I cannot sit down with the girl and talk to her about it, because I have no language with which to discuss or explain things. That the Mapuche maid is not a dog… that it is possible to share pies with others… that even though she is blond, she is really just a mixed-race bastard like most of us and not very Germanic at all. She doesn’t wish to speak to me anyway. Also, why would she listen to me if what I say goes against what she learns in school or from her mother? How to teach someone the difference between right or wrong without speaking? It seems that at the moment, my only way of fighting for freedom, justice and a better world for everyone is to stop baking pies.

For some reason I appear to care about this teenager I don’t even know well. Maybe it is an illusion, because we are supposed to be good parents who love our children. Or maybe it is because she looks like me and that I have an instinctive preference for my own genetic material and the perseverance of it. I don’t know. Still, sometimes I have to say that I don’t really like her very much. So many times she displays signs of just not being a very good person. Other times she is cute and sweet in every way, but it is quite possible that it is just an act to get what she wants. Maybe both sides are acts. Who knows. I’m not sure if I care today. All of us have character flaws. Maybe I expect too much.

Since I have a very limited time and opportunity here to offer any kind of parenting advice, I have started to think about another more drastic route. I could stop sending money. M wants me to pay the school fees for E15’s private school for the remainding two years. But since much of what she seems to learn there is how much more superior she is to the “monkeys” working everyday jobs, then perhaps it is better to give her a cold shower of reality. Let her go to the horrible public school along with the scum of the streets. Maybe that will teach her a little something about real people. The downside is that it will be more difficult for her to get a career as anything more than a supermarket cashier. What is more important? To be a decent human being or a superior one?

Thinking about all of this I went for a long walk with my camera as the sun was setting. I have seen a tall hill overlooking the ocean with a statue of The Virgin Mary on top, but I didn’t know the way to go in order to reach the top. It seemed like one of the many small unnamed streets would probably lead to a path onto the hill. So I started walking down a street and then another. I overheard a small child behind me asking her mother what that man, me, was doing. “He is going to take a photo of The Virgin”, she answered. Hearing this I knew that I had found the right street. Another rare case where my limited Spanish actually has come to some use.

Allthough I had decided not to be the family chef anymore, I did complete my pancake plans for the evening since I had already prepared the batter. I tend to put a lot of sugar in pancakes and considering the Chileans’ sweet tooth, I had added a bit extra this time. Norwegian pancakes are for dessert, not breakfast or dinner. Nevertheless E15 insisted on having hers the way she has her normal pancakes, with tuna fish and avocado. Her mother said no, having just bought the tuna can with plans of using it tomorrow. But E15 simply said yes and opened it anyway.

So there she was, with her overly sweet thin dessert pancakes, adding thick layers of tuna in oil and guacamole. Fish with sugar. She didn’t seem to like it much and yet continued to eat the next one in the same manner. And the next. Afterwards she said she was sick. As was I just from having witnessed it.

The Pacific Ocean (detail)

I awoke early feeling a bit poorly. A cold was working it’s way through my body, starting in the chest and spreading upwards. By mid-day I would be sneezing buckets. As usual, the girls were planning a day at the beach which made me responsible for staying home and preparing for M’s dinner party. Moving at a slow speed I spent about five hours preparing a rather fantastic peach pie as well as some different dips and condiments to go with the bread M’s cousin was going to bake in the ashes of the fireplace outside.

When they returned from the waves, M behaved very maternally towards me, offering to cook me a meal and serve me some hot tea or coffee. I felt a little awkward. It’s only a cold after all. But she has never cooked anything just for me before and it seemed right to allow her to take care of me a little. E15 didn’t want to eat anything until she saw the finished chicken and rice meal M had prepared for me. At which time she wanted exactly the same which meant that M had to start over again from the beginning, making an exact copy of the first meal.

E15 was in a great mood today and didn’t seem to mind sitting at the same table as me, albeit at a safe distance. Usually she only approaches me when she needs a bottlecap opened. That is what my role as a father has amounted to so far. Just a human bottle opener. But I suppose it’s better than having no function at all. Just as long as those hard to open bottlecaps keep coming along, I have a place in my daughters life.

The evening gettogether went well. M’s big ever-smiling truckdriver cousin prepared a huge thick circle of bread, consisting, as far as I could see of flour, salt, hot water and ample ammounts of pig fat. I tried to bake some lighter pita breads as the idea was that we were to have a sort of culinary exchange. My bread pieces were a complete failure, but his huge bread tortilla was great. More and more relatives arrived to dig into the greasy goodness. I sat for a while listening to them laugh and tell stories I didn’t understand. Then I went to bed.

The next morning I awoke early and prepared breakfast for the women, now four of them since two girls had stayed over. Their house simply isn’t big enough to accomodate the huge ammount of relatives that keep showing up for a weekend out of the city. After a while I realized that nobody else were about to get up anytime soon. So I ate alone, leaving the table ready for the others should they ever decide to get up.

Later in the day E15 seemed more relaxed towards me, carefully testing boundaries making fun of me and my nervous behavior and the silly way I decorated my plate with the salad before eating it. She also ate a second helping of pie even though I said no and that we had to save a good size piece for her aunt and the kids. At the same time she remained respectful enough to ask permission to have a glass of juice from one of the many cartons I had bought. A little later she tried to psych me out by wearing her cruel face and staring at me for several minutes. Which worked rather well. I’m still afraid of that child but at least she seems to be less frightened of me.

In the evening M and I was watching a movie on the antique tv set and E15 appeared demanding a place in the two seater. Not wanting to sit next to me she made M move so that she could have the side. I still cannot relax enough to watch an entire movie from start to finish and got up after about a half hour. My cold was disappearing and I felt very sleepy.

A typical vacation home interior

Finally a day of rest. Nothing was planned except the usual half dozen meals. After breakfast, the women were going for a walk to the other end of the closest beach, which takes about two hours there and back. I wanted to save what little strength this tired body has for a later walk with my camera. So while they were away I stayed home, first shopping and then baking pies.

I actually managed to have a conversation with the woman at the vegetable stand about which fruits best suited for pie baking. I love it whenever my pigeon Spanish works. They have several sweet fruits I have never seen or heard of before. Since I love Papaya I would have liked to use that, but preparing them is difficult. You have to wear gloves since the juice of the outer peel is known to dissolve flesh. Not necessarily a quality you would want in a dessert. I setteled for two types of peach, one of which I have never seen before, and some apples.

The pies looked great but were a bit undercooked and didn’t taste very much. Naturally the Chileans, the greatest lovers of really bland food on the planet, loved them. So much that they forgot about their planned delicacy of peeled cactus buds. This is everyone’s favourite treat. It looks and tastes almost exactly like Kiwi, only a bit worse. Also the things are packed with tine seeds that are hard as rocks and stick in your teeth.

After a full day of cold shoulder treatment, E15 changed moods again and became very social and friendly. I was really planning on a walk with my camera but when they wanted to play cards, I decided that an opportunity to spend some time with my offspring was more important.

We all played cards, ate some more and for a while everything was fine. Until my mood worsened and I was the one being anti-social. All evening E15 was asking her mother the meaning of various English words. M quickly became tired of this and didn’t want to give any meaningful answers. Perhaps E15 wants to learn.

It’s difficult for me to understand how the kids here can have English in school for years without learning anything whatsoever. I was told earlier that they don’t write English in school here. They just repeat sentences without seeing how they are written or writing them themselves. After doing this for a few years they start from the beginning with written English. M claims that E15 knows a great deal of English but whenever she asks the meaning of a word it is always something basic like fish or dog. As far as I can tell, the girl understands no meaningful English whatsoever.

M continues to insist that there is no point in learning English. When E15 gets older, she can live for a while with their cousins in the States which will teach her fluid English in no time. But I suspect that if she did, they would all just speak Spanish every day anyway instead of diving into the linguistic unknown. I have the same situation here where I usually take the easy route and talk English with M instead of trying to start almost from scratch with Spanish.

The next day we went to a city nearby where they have impressive things like a small supermarket and even two banks, allthough one of them was closed and the cash machines in the other one didn’t work. We walked M’s mother to the bus stop where she bought a ticket back to Santiago. She will be returning early next week. Afterwards we walked around the small city while the girls argued about everything. As usual.

For some reason I was extremely hungry although it was only the middle of the day so we went to a restaurant and had huge Chilean lunches. In my case a fried chicken with french fries. No spices or anything. Just chicken and potatoes and grease. It was great. I must be going native. As always the waiter didn’t understand anything. I pointed to the chicken and said “chicken” and he answered “pork?” Nothing wrong with my pronounciation or anything. Waiters here are just either too stupid or too overworked and tired to understand anything. Or maybe they behave that way on purpose because I look foreign.

Returning home the girls quickly left for the beach. I went into the kitchen to experiment further on the pie and bread front, not exactly succeeding this time either. As I was finishing up and getting ready for that walk with my camera I never have the time for, M came home and announced that we were invited to her cousins’ place down the street. She said that I could take photos tomorrow. I responded that some social event would turn up then too and she protested. Less than two hours later I overheard her inviting people to come here tomorrow to cook something with me. So that is that.

At her cousins place it was a nice relaxed atmosphere. There was a bit of the usual deal with people asking M “does he understand Spanish? Where is he from?” etc… Since I was reduced to a two year old in the conversation, I acted accordingly and just played by myself in a corner. After a short while the girls started arguing again. E15 wanted to show her and one of her cousins a few photos in her digital camera, and M started dictating this and that and taking over with the usual result of E15 storming out of the room. M then apologized for her daughters behavior and said that she was so ashamed and so and so. But it was her fault really.

Strange red plants among the rocks, looking as if they are on the move to someplace else

On our third day at the beach we went on a grand family outing. The day started quietly with another nice breakfast with M, her mother and me. Then her sister with the hyperactive strange three year old arrived. The boy keeps saying things like “the music is upside-down.” When there is no music playing. I was already cold when I woke up and after breakfast I had a freezing cold shower because I couldn’t get the gas heater to work. After that I was really cold. I stole two of M’s sweaters and wore them inside my own. Still I was shivering.

Two pickup trucks were filled with over a dozen people and we drove just around the corner where there is a wall that seems to go on forever. M’s sister talked to a groundskeeper she knows and a gate was opened. Behind the wall was a completely unreal landscape. When the gate opened and the landscape behind it was revealed, it was like going through the gates of the great walls in either Jurassic Park or on King Kong’s island.

We drove through this new world for three quarters of an hour, through what looked like a mix of an African savanna and something out of a sci-fi western movie. Cacti and other more unidentifiable weird plants riddled the landscape. There was something that looked like an old railway line in the background with what looked like telegraph poles on a prairie. It is all privately owned, as far as the eye can see. Absolutely enormous. Some years ago, a family in Germany discovered that they had inherited this piece of land and promptly fenced it off. It really isn’t legal to fence of miles of beach property in Chile, but people do. Rich people.

Finally we landed on a deserted rocky beach with completely improbable rock formations, unearthly plants and the wildest sea I have ever seen, crashing huge waves onto the rocky beach. Pelicans were flying overhead like Pterodactyls. It was like being on another planet or inside a dinosaur era diorama at a museum. And did I have my good camera? Of course not. Faced with the overwhealming scenerey I was overtaken by melancholia and started slipping into another depression. As everyone else climbed rocks and swam in the puddles between the huge boulders, my mood was getting darker and darker. So I kept to myself for a few hours, contemplating my new life in Chile and wondering whether or not I should throw myself from one of the higher rocks into the roaring sea.

I didn’t. Everyone else had lunch but I was so nervous that I didn’t want to speak with M’s sister, who was making the sandwiches, and tell her what I wanted. I was also starting to feel a bit stressed by the fact that I’m too shy to just go behind a rock like everyone else can to take a leak. There was a full day ahead of me at the beach, miles from anything. And no way whatsoever to get back home. Eventually a very caring M brought me a sandwich she had saved from the starving masses. I ate it and felt better. I also had a Durazno Platano (”banana peach”) which looks exactly like a Nectarine, except that it is soft and tastes like a very sweet plum. Possibly the best fruit I’ve ever eaten.

I was coming back to life. About then the family decided to go to a different location called La Piscina (the swimming pool), where the sea fills large rock pools with swimmable water. We drove for another half hour and then walked along some dramatic ridges descending to the pools. Another spectacular view. Everyone else dove into the water and swam and enjoyed themselves. I watched from a distance, trying to get at least something of the scene into the digital camera. With disappointing results.

For the last few days, E15 has been avoiding me, always making sure that she isn’t seated next to me or in a room alone with me. This hasn’t exactly helped to improve my mood and my ability to merge smoothly into the family ranks. Still she is mostly in a good mood, being very sweet and maternal towards her tiny nephew. Towards the end of our safari, she wanted to climb up from a lower ledge as we were getting ready to leave. I could see that she had given up trying to find a foothold and before she had time to go back to get help from one of her relatives, I extended a silent hand. She took it and I hoisted her up. She hurried past me mumbling a low thank you.

Returning home, she sat down at the same table as me and we all played cards. She was in a great mood, singing, cheating and winning every hand. She is a phenomenal card player even without cheating and wins most hands easily. The ones she don’t win, her grandma does. As the girl murders the rest of us at cards, her mood gets more and more euphoric until she is almost manically happy.

A little later she wanted to go to a party at the house where all the relatives stay but M said no. So she went anyway, slamming the door in anger. After about an hour she was back, as happy and easy going as earlier. I was worried since it sounded like someone was walking on the roof just above my room. As I stood in the hallway discussing this with M, E15 came up to us and told me that I shouldn’t worry. There were rats. I guess the ceiling amplifies the sounds of their footsteps since it sounded like a grown man walking around up there. Carrying an axe.

Huge waves crashing on the rocks. The wide angle lens makes everything seem a bit flat and trivial. Which it wasn’t

Small shots: 1.Some of the vegetation found on the edges of the beach. 2.The view walking along a ridge to the natural water pools. 3.Privately owned land as far as the eye can see. The white spot is M’s sister’s car