A Golden Age of Graffiti

It’s a lofty title, I know, but let me try and explain myself.  I chose my neighborhood, almost exclusively, because it had the best graffiti.  When wandering around looking for apartments, my wife and I found ourselves in Bellas Artes.  It’s like another world, or at least like another wing of a museum (imagine walking from the ice age exhibit with wooly mammoths and then taking a turn and seeing suits of armor… is this metaphor working for you?).  The big slap in the face is the vibrant neon coloring of the majority of the buildings, the large increase in the number of bars and clubs per capita, and some amazing graffiti.

It was a Sunday when we toured the area, so we didn’t get the chance to take advantage of the bars that afternoon.  Instead we admired the bug eyed monsters and beautiful scenes spray-painted on the shutters.  Most of street art is surreal in nature, often dark and cartoony, but there are some done with undeniable precision and realism.  It’s like the whole neighborhood went on an acid trip and woke up to a new décor. 

Whenever I walk around in this neighborhood, I have this distinct sense that I’m living in the early 90’s.  It’s not just the neon colors or the mullets (yes, many people are walking these streets with mullets but that’s a different issue), it’s the innocence of the graffiti.  Sure it’s strange, but it’s in no way offensive.  It’s fun and playful, like the early days of popular rap with Run DMC or Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince (please don’t judge).  The kind of rap you’d let your parents listen to.

Maybe it’s just my poor Spanish skill, but I didn’t find as many obscenities sprayed on the wall as in the United States.  The intention of the artist seems innocent expression and beautification.  Often, I even find old people admiring the walls, not shaking their heads and complaining about the youth of today, but smiling and appreciating.  I myself usually feel inspired and, sometimes, jealous.

I don’t know if the street art is commissioned or what, but the artists are far from secretive about their projects.  Even if it’s a solo project, people are stopping by and giving the artist snacks and refreshments.  The only thing the police do is pat the artist on the back.  The source of my jealousy is this; most places I’ve lived, I couldn’t even paint the inside of my apartment a different color, never mind try spray-painting the building.  Yet these free spirited bohemians seem to get to do whatever they want with, and while drinking free beer none the less! 

I don’t mean to give the impression that artists are free to repaint the city in any way they desire, I don’t mean to say that there aren’t still little scamps tagging the statues of historical figures, I don’t mean to say that there isn’t the occasional offensive phrase scribbled outside an abandoned factory.  What I mean is that, in Bellas Artes at least, many of the buildings have become tapestries and that no one seems to mind.  If you give people the freedom to do be as artistic as they want, sometimes it turns out pretty cool.

Stray Dogs

There sure are a lot of dogs here in Santiago.  Strays?  That’s a good question.  They don’t wear collars and seem to roam wherever they like without any restraint, but they are amazingly well kempt.  I’m not saying they’re salon fresh with a perm or anything like that, what I’m saying is that they aren’t disgusting.  Their ribs aren’t poking out and their coats aren’t filthy; were you to pet them you’d wash your hands before eating but you wouldn’t be grossed out.

I draw attention to this fact for a few reasons.  One is to point out how different this is from other cities I’ve travelled in South America.  Most places I’ve travelled have their fair share of strays but they look like strays.  I wouldn’t touch those poor dogs in Bolivia with the butt of an umbrella…mangy.  So, does the condition of strays point out some socioeconomic differences in the countries in South America?  Of the four countries I’ve travelled, I’d rank the condition of the strays in the following way (from worst to best condition):  Bolivia, Peru, Argentina, Chile.  It may seem obvious, but the difference is striking.

Also, strays are friendlier here.  The only dogs that have barked at me or tried to nip at my heels while I run in the park have owners, people who keep them on leashes and pat them on the head for keeping them safe.  These owned dogs feel it is their duty to chase anyone who comes close to their keeper (a.k.a. food vending machines).  The strays, on the other hand, seem free from these duties and are generally found sleeping in sunny spots on the street or in the park.  They may perk up if it seems like you have food or are going to step on them, but otherwise they seem oblivious to their human counterparts.

It is this kind of freedom that has led me to start, what I feel are, some genuine friendships with a few of the strays here.  Friendship may be too strong a term so let’s call it genuine friendliness.  When I was in Buenos Aires I remember one little mutt that my friend Hadley and I called “el perro mayor”, who didn’t seem like he had many years left in him.  After watching him get into a pretty nasty fight with a few larger dogs we took pity on him and patted the matted fur atop his little gray head.  He followed us home and we thought, how cute, let’s give him some food.  When we came down the steps with some salami and bread he wasn’t there.  We hunted him down where he lay in the midst of a group of drummers and tried to give him the food.  He looked at the bread with disgust, took the salami, and left us.  No recognition of friendship, no nod of thanks.  I felt cheap.

Here in Santiago there have been numerous dogs who recognize me and there have been no exchanges of food for these courtesies.  There’s the big German shepherd who is old and weary; hanging out in the Bellas Artes neighborhood.  I saw a business man step on him and offered him a place to sit next to my patio table.  He was grateful and put his head on my lap.  There’s the weird jackal looking dog that resides in the mountain park in Santa Lucia.  She always follows me about and has even led me to beautiful views.  I’ve gone to this park several times and she always comes up to me looking to be pet—no food involved.  There are others, my dog friends. 

To summarize my findings, apparently, the richer the country, the better shape their stray dogs seem to be in.  It isn’t quite that simple and there are, I’m sure, exceptions.  It should be the same with the treatment of the poor but then I think of the United States…Secondly, the more freedom dogs have the friendlier they are.  They aren’t confused by their place in a human hierarchy, desperately struggling to fit in by attacking people outside their immediate group.    The exceptions to this rule are the stuck up dogs in Buenos Aires who poop all over the streets and are snooty about their food.  You can draw your own conclusions from that.

My Landlord

When my wife and I arrived in Santiago, Chile we hit the ground running.  Literally running—well, walking quickly—down the streets on a Saturday toting everything we owned around with us as we looked for a hostel with openings.  That Saturday we were smelly and tired from a twenty four hour bus ride and sick to death of travelling after three months of homelessness.  We’d gone from Korea to Vietnam, from Vietnam to Britain, from Britain to Argentina, from Argentina to Peru, from Peru to Bolivia, and finally after a few more stops we were in our new home, Santiago, Chile.  We didn’t really have the time or money to move slowly and get used to the city, so after a good sleep we started apartment hunting the following day.

After exploring a number of neighborhoods, we found the place where we wanted to live.  It was an apartment in Bellas Artes, above a convenience store, and with enormous windows.  The bedroom juts out in a circular fashion giving it the appearance of a commercial property or, if you prefer, like the bridge of a starship.  When we called the number on the sign we had little hope of getting in touch with the landlord.  It was, after all, a Sunday and in Santiago everything seems to close on a Sunday.  According to Jose Miguel, our new landlord, “tiene suelta, muchas sueltas” meaning extremely lucky, to get a hold of him.  Apparently, he lives very far away but as he was visiting his girlfriend only a few blocks away, he was thrilled to show us the place.

He took our great timing as a sign from God.  In fact he went so far as to say that, “God has put you in my path.  You are my responsibility.”  It’s probably just coincidence but I had recently watched a horrible Heath Ledger film, The Four Feathers, while staying at a hotel.  In the film, a Muslim finds Heath after a long trek in the desert… Heath is near death.  Throughout the film the man helps Heath through thick and thin, even putting his life in great danger.  Why?  “God has put you in my path.   You are my responsibility,” he says this line a few times throughout the film.

Jose, our new protector and guardian, not only showed us the apartment but went on to explain many strange facts about Santiago: dangerous places, its orientation in regards to the mountains and the sea, the founders of the city, kids’ fashion these days, and food we should try.  Where this was quite nice, neither my wife nor I really asked or wanted this information.  He talked to us in a mixture of Spanish and English for about four hours.  I’m pretty sure he just wanted to practice his English.  “Oh, wine!” he said at one point with a mixture of delight and surprise when he saw an empty bottle in the corridor.

The next day we had decided to take the apartment.  We thought everything would be fairly simple; give the man some money, sign some papers—this was not the case.  After a long greeting (a few hours), he told us that it was too late to go to a notary but that he had a friend who would keep his office open for us.  He drove us to the other side of town (I’m not even sure it was still Santiago) and his good friend, the notary, was there to greet us.  They had already closed for the day and the whole team was on their way out, but as a special favor to our landlord, they stayed open.

The process took hours.  We were both interviewed regarding our occupation and place of origin and then the man drew up an eight page contract.  He went through every sentence with Jose trying to explain it to us in English.  I didn’t care.  I just wanted to leave.  We’d been with the man for six hours already, it was dark and I was hungry.  My Spanish isn’t that great and I was becoming exhausted.  “This line mean you pay me every month,” he said…I’M PRETTY AWARE OF THAT FACT, THANK YOU.

I don’t mean to be rude.   He is a sweet man that did, and continues to, go out of his way to help us.  That night he even took us to a huge department store where we could buy a duvet and some champagne to celebrate our new place.  He even bought us a bag of sweet caramel candy.  He invited us to go over to his place for wine and food sometime.  Why all the hospitality?  I guess because just like the Muslim man in The Four Feathers, he believed that God had put us in his way.  Given my belief system, I can’t really say I feel the same way.  I do, however, find myself constantly wondering if he saw the same film on HBO as I did.

First impressions of Santiago

I haven’t been in Chile for very long.  Well, at least it doesn’t feel like it’s been very long.  I’ve been here for about a month now and the most surprising thing for me is how similar it feels to the United States.  I’m not the only one who seems to feel this way either, three other expats, all from the U.S., made similar comments.  I suppose it’s the level of cleanliness and the fact that most of the buildings are fairly modern.  Also, people’s dress style seems to be pretty much the same.  In fact, if I took a picture of a busy city street here I think that you’d be hard pressed to distinguish it from somewhere in the States.

In Japan, I had a similar experience.  I was moving there from Vietnam and initially found Japan quite boring in comparison.  There were Starbucks and McDonalds, people drove cars, and most people were dressed conservatively in suits or skirts.  It took me a month or so to get over this and start to understand how drastically different the culture was to my own.  In the words of my friend Dave, “they may look the same as us, wearing suits and carrying around briefcases, but each one of those guys is batshit.” 

I don’t think that all Japanese people are necessarily crazy, but there is definitely a large culture gap that I came to understand and enjoy during my time there beyond the obvious bowing and the like.  A more experienced traveler now, I imagine it will be the same with Chile.  After travelling in Peru and Bolivia, Chile feels like moving back to the United States.  Right now the most pressing difference is that more people speak Spanish…not exactly an amazing insight on my part.  So, the following is going to be a brief rant about little differences I’ve come to notice so far.  Anyone reading this can feel free to laugh at my ignorance as I’m sure I will after a few months time here. 

The kissing on the cheek thing.  I almost got used to it in Argentina where it is custom for one to kiss another on the cheek in greeting, regardless of the other’s sex.  I remember my Australian friend Goo kissing me on the cheek when we first met; he’d been there for a while and it just seemed natural to him.  In Chile, however, men and women kiss each other on the cheek in greeting, but men just shake each other’s hand.  I believe this to be indicative of a chivalrous attitude towards women (or sexist depending on whom you talk to).  Further proof of this theory can be seen whenever my wife is carrying something.  We can’t go a block without someone offering to take her end of the couch or whatever heavy thing she might be carrying.  They all look at me as if I’m garbage for having put her in that position.

Diet.  In many metropolitan areas of the states people seem to be moving towards healthier lifestyles.  In general, people realize that mayonnaise and sugar are not healthy things.  I don’t know if people just don’t know or just don’t care but I’ve never seen mayo or sugar ingested in such great quantities as here (with the exception of my wife who eats mayo like it’s going out of style).  Like its neighbor, Argentina, I think the people here have much more reverence for food and drink.  A meal is a beautiful thing.  Wine is a delight.  Life is to be enjoyed.

Class Hierarchy.  Not everyone will agree with this one but I think that Chile is more classist than even Britain is.  There doesn’t seem to be much intermingling between the tiers of society and the differences can be noted just by the way a person dresses and speaks.  There’s such a great disparity in shops as well.  If I want to shop in a cheap department store for a mattress it will still cost me double that of a mattress that I purchase at the market on the other side of the river. 

Like I said, I’m new here and I don’t really understand these differences that well.  There are many more things I’ve already started to notice but that haven’t really sunk in yet.  I can’t make inferences about them yet and I’m sure that many of the conclusions I’ve made will be proven untrue in the future.  Still, the differences are there to be discovered—the wonder of a new country.