A Shark in Shallow Water

Must Dash? Really?

2010-04-16T11:34:00.000-04:00

Due to recent events our building was without gas and therefore hot water for nearly two weeks. This made showering quite difficult. I'm way too cowardly to take a cold shower. Using a variety of containers and a kettleful of boiling water showering was pretty much achieved, albeit quite time consuming.

One task I purposely neglected was shaving. Men hate shaving at the best of times. I'm lucky that I don't need to do it everyday. I like shaving in the shower. The constant hot water is great for softening the bristle and I feel that I'm saving time by multitasking. A rarity for a man.

I've always found facial hair bizarre. I don't know why men wear it and I don't know why (a small number of) women find it appealing. Obviously, some people would look strange without the beards and moustaches that have become their trademark. Imagine ZZ Top without their beards. Not all them in the group have beards, by the way. The drummer, ironically named Frank Beard, doesn't bother.

I think if you're going to sport whiskers then the full combo should employed, beard and moustache. An unaccompanied beard doesn't do men any favours although it never impeded Abe Lincoln and half of the Amish community. Perhaps they too felt that a caterpillar under your nose was just too darned ridiculous. I just can't get my head around having just a moustache. Why would you want a strip of hair on your upper-lip?

Dali, of course, wore his 'tache with flair but Stalin and Einstein cultivated monsters on their labium superius oris which undoubtedly made eating soup a very unhygienic experience. Stars of the silent screen, Oliver Hardy and Charlie Chaplin, tried to perfect the toothbrush moustache when around about 1939, it just went out of fashion for no apparent reason!

I know, I know it's hard to think of Magnum P.I. or Frida Kahlo without their most striking feature.

In Western society, I think we subconsciously associate beards with scholarly people. We're probably more likely to believe words uttered by a bearded 'expert' rather than a fresh-faced one.
It's common to see young men wearing a full beard or the abhorrent poorly cousin commonly referred to as the goatee. Question: Why are goatee wears the most annoying people on the planet?

The moustache however tends to be reserved for men in their forties and beyond but a worrying trend in Santiago at the moment is the number of young men wearing moustaches. And only moustaches! They look absolutely ridiculous. Of course, this is not a total surprise. Looking ridiculous is a national pastime here. Mullets are worn with pride. There is also this trend for many males to have rats tails randomly extend from their head.

There are not ~~any~~ very many famous Chilean sportsmen and certainly not any women. One guy in the public eye at the moment is Tomás González. Late last year, little Tommy was on TV lamenting the fact that due to a lack of funding he may not be able to go to London in 2012 and compete. (Note: when Chileans say 'compete' they mean show up and perform abysmally). Within days, the Mullet Millionaire, Farkas, gave the lad millions of pesos worth of training equipment.

Tommy G was born in 1985. His speciality is artistic gymnastics. To be fair to the fella he has a couple of medals and he is probably Chile's only hope of winning anything in the next Olympics. Now in his mid-twenties Tomás has decided to wear a moustache.

What drove Tommy the Tumbler to take this drastic decision may never be known until we get our hands on his eager anticipated autobiography. At press conferences tension is palpable as journalists tip-toe around the elephant in the room.

Aside from the East German Women's Shot Putting team c.1980, Olympians aren't really known for their facial hair. Perhaps Gonzaléz is a lot cleverer than we I give him credit for. He knows that he won't make his fortune from his sporting endeavours. He equally knows that Chileans, while obsessed with celebrity, are not very competitive and just having a Chilean on the world stage is a gold medal. After all, Chile is a country where mediocrity is not only encouraged but rewarded. Chileans don't expect or demand high standards in any facet of life and therefore are never disappointed. Could this be solution to bring about world peace? Maybe the world be a better place if all used the Chilean perspective. Back to Tommy. Having a shtick is what it's all about and Tomás' shtick is his 'tache. It's not important that you don't know his name because isn't he that Olympic gymnast? Oh yes! Lider, Ripley, Banco de Chile et al will be queueing up to get that kid with the moustache to front their campaigns.

According to recently released figures, crimes against taste and decency are at an all time high in Santiago. Experts say that Chile could soon overtake Germany and possibly even Canada if the current trend continues. Hair abuse features quite heavily in the report. As well as the moustache and mullet epidemic among the male population, females have been accused of not shaving their forearms. This latter crime has seen the biggest rise in complaints.

Other crimes highlight were stoopid sunglasses syndrome (male & female) and muffin tops (fat Chilean females in hipster jeans).

Support groups and charities say that the solution is to catch the crime at its source rather than punishing individual perpetrators. Suggestions range from closing down barber shops known to service mullets and implementing a compulsory weight to hip size scale for jeans retailers to use. Critics say that these measures will only push the activities underground and that those committing a crime against fashion should be hit with on the spot fines and possibly a custodial sentence.

Whatever measures are taken it needs the backing of the government and it needs to be soon.

Could all the dead people please take one step forward?

2010-03-05T17:01:00.001-03:00

It's all so surreal. Did it happen? Was it a bad, yet terribly exciting, dream? Oh no! I've just switched on the TV and they're still talking about it. I officially have terremoto fatigue. It's been almost a week since The Quake that Shook Chile as it's being lazily dubbed by bloggers.

In Santiago there is very little evidence that such an event occurred. Yesterday morning a student took me on a tour of his 3 storey, city centre, office building. The inside walls visibly bore the scars of the the big shake. Cracks ripped through the plasterwork which he assured me were purely superficial.

Now that we are in March, the city should be back to it's normal congested self. Congested by people as well as traffic. It's not. Fantastic!! The metro has been practically empty every morning. I was able to do my Jumping Jacks no problem at all. So, where are the people? Are they MIA? Have they not been able to get back from their holiday destinations? Have they all left to do some humanitarian work? No, no and hahahaha!

One verb you soon learn here if you haven't already got it in your vocabulary is aprovechar and its pronominal counterpart aprovecharse. Chileans love to, and will try to aprovecharse at every given opportunity. It's true that many areas of the city are without water, gas, electricity or a combination of all three. I, myself, am without gas and therefore hot water and the ability to cook food. The bone-idle natives it seems are using the current situation to have a few more days off work.

The weekend of the quake I watched the various news channels and browsed various websites getting much needed information. On the whole, the journalism was pretty good across the Chilean, American and British networks. I was amazed at how much airtime CNN International was giving the story. Not once in 48 hours did it relent. As the hours ticked by and the fatalities plateaued, the CNN International journalists were visibly disappointed by the unwillingness of that number to climb. The newsreaders read the number through gritted teeth while inwardly saying: Die motherfuckers! Die! I came in on my day off for this? It's not even four figures yet. I bet the number is bigger over on Fox.

Aside from my gas problem (!), Monday morning started off pretty normally. I skipped off to my 8.00am class bidding a cheerful buen día! to the conserje. He grunted back in kind. That morning I brought my camera. I thought it would be a good idea to take a few snaps of the damage. Although the sun was still rising, there was enough light to see everything. Unfortunately (or perhaps, fortunately), I arrived at my destination devoid of evidence. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Sure, there were signs of devastation and destruction but that's Santiago's natural demeanor. I took a different route home but alas to no avail. I do know that a steeple fell off a church in Providencia, and that part of the motorway that encompasses the city collapsed and in the suburb of Maipú some apartment blocks subsided. I think something similar happened in Ñuñoa.

If you watch the post-weekend news on Chilean TV you would think Santiago is a war zone. The international networks have got bored with it now preferring to make fleeting references to the looting and general breakdown of social order. Of course, the real problems are down south but a sceptic like me though, has problems believing what he's being told about Concepción et al if they are so far off the money about Santiago.

TVN is a fairly respectable network here. They have a pretty good news service each morning until about 8.00am. Then the magazine show Buenos Días a Todo takes over. On Tuesday morning they interviewed a fat Chilean housewife crying that she didn't have enough bread or milk while in the background locals are ransacking a Lider supermarket. The show then leads into commercial by showing some slo-mo footage of the devastation (read: crumpled shacks) and people weeping into their hands. And if that didn't do enough to tug the heartstrings, they overdub it with some heartfelt music a la Platoon. The commercials come on. First up, a happy-slappy housewife telling you that Lider (the same supermarket that was being relieved of its stock by looters) has all you need for your kids going back to school. She practically does cartwheels down the aisles telling other housewives on the way of the great offers and at the end everyone leaves the supermarket with big toothy smiles (and official receipts!)

Looting is a major problem down south. It wouldn't have happened to such an extent had the limp, left government given the order sooner to put the army on the street. Without a doubt, had the earthquake happened a fortnight later, Piñera would not have been obstructed by a bunch of headless chickens holding on to power. I'm a great fan of Bachelet but the one black mark against her presidency will be her inability to maintain social order especially around 11th September (the anniversary of the Coup d'Etat that brought Pinochet to power).

I fully understand the reluctance of the incumbent government to put soldiers on the street but I totally disagree with it. A democratically elected leader giving the order is completely different from a dictator sending out the army to execute whomever disagrees with him.

Nobody is more disappointed in Bachelet than me. She has not displayed the leadership qualities that are required in such a situation. She has spoken without confidence in her own words and has been on the verge of tears during radio and TV interviews. Chileans, however, do cry at the drop of a hat.

Had this occurred in my homeland I would fully expect an inquiry into why the government were so slow to act and why the hell the airport was taken out of commission so easily.

Now there are reports that the death toll may not even be close to the 800 currently being reported. It may only be a quarter of that. This should of course be good news but it still begs the question.........how stoopid can one nation be?

A perennial optimist, I can only see the silver lining and let's face it, a devastating earthquake was the best thing that could have happened to the aesthetically challenged Concepción and the only dead people should be the looters

Off the Sphincter Scale

2010-02-28T10:36:00.001-03:00

I took a walk through the rubble strewn streets of my neighbourhood. I encountered people huddled in doorways and on street kerbs with their blankets. Some people had outstretched hands looking for a few pesos to help alleviate their sad situation. It was starting to get dark but children's voices could still be heard. Dogs barked wildly only to be outshouted by the screams of ambulance and fire engine sirens. Breezes caught debris and rubbish and it blew what it could about the streets. It's a desperate time and Santiago is a desperate city.

Yes, my neighbourhood is a shithole. That was Friday. Then to make matters worse, we have an earthquake!

The vast majority of Santiago is a complete eyesore. And, again. I'm talking pre-Earthquake 8.8. Post-quake, it's a little difficult to discern what is actual damage and what is just the natural state of this ugly city.

I went to bed late. So when the room shook at 3.30 Saturday morning I had only been asleep about 90 minutes. I'm a very light sleeper; it's my ninja training. I've been woken by tremors before. So when I first woke, I contemplated riding it out. That decision was soon scrapped as the shaking escalated and wine glasses crashed to the floor. My instincts told me to stand in a doorway. I chose my apartment door. What I didn't choose, or rather what I forgot to do was put some clothes on! It's still summer and well, I like to sleep naked. Steady ladies!

My apartment is so small that most things are in reaching distance. I grabbed some pants. Although the electricity had long deserted us, the building's back up generator still allowed all the corridors to be lit. 30 metres down the hallway, standing in the doorway directly opposite mine was a young Chilean woman crying and hanging on for dear life. It was only then that I realised the magnitude of the quake. Her end of the building was visibly swaying. She was terrified and alone. Her boyfriend was in Venezuela.

Conflicting reports put the quake at anything between 90 seconds and two minutes. It felt like more. Foolishly, I had expected that to be the end of it. After all, when there's a tremor, that's it. It wasn't. Aftershocks or replicas as they call them here, continued. It's a strange sensation when the rumbles begin and everything in your body tenses up.

It was the middle of the night and there was no electricity. There was water and gas though. I found some candles and a transistor radio and did what any well trained individual would do in such a situation.....I made a cup of tea.

Luckily, I had used my doorway as protection. The quake had been strong enough to contort doorways. Those who had opened their doors during the quake could not now close them and those that were not opened were jammed shut.

Well, that was the quake through my weary eyes. Coming soon: observations.

Heads and Tales

2010-02-12T16:23:00.001-03:00

The Japanese call it fat finger syndrome. It has nothing to do with sumo wrestling but rather the keying errors made by financial traders under severe stress. A trader's number pad will have the usual keys 0-9 and also a couple of extra ones for 00 and 000. These extra keys are an invaluable aid in reducing keystrokes and completing transactions quickly in the frenetic environment of a trading floor. Numbers, especially when dealing in yen, can run to 15+ figures. Unfortunately, these two extra keys, 00 & 000, are located beside one another on the keypad. Imagine you want to purchase 100 shares of company X. The price is right and you want to make a quick purchase before the price changes. You pump the keypad twice, 1 & 00, and hit enter. Unfortunately you don't quite make a clean contact with the 00 key and you inadvertently hit the 000 key as well!! You are now the proud owner of 100,000 shares in company X. The financial tickers on Bloomberg, CNN, et al are awash with the news that company X has been taken over by an unknown Far East buyer.

It's an easy mistake to make you mumble to yourself as you sit on the kerb holding a box of your things that had once populated your desk on the 45th floor of Makushita Towers. And anyway, the mistake was easily rectified the next day.

We are human. It would be quite easy to hit an adjacent key instead of or as well as the intended key.

Maybe you are a woman and you met an old friend for lunch. The next day you get an email from her:

Hey Jane, It was great to see again. By the way, I really loved your vag.

V is beside B on a QWERTY keyboard!

Perhaps things went really well last night with a girl you've been seeing. You took her a Chinese restaurant but the food wasn't great. Nevertheless, you walked her home and she invited you in for coffee. You leave a couple of hours later walking on air and the next day you send her a quick email:

Hi Sweetie, I just want to say that last night was great but I didn't think much of the fuck.

Damn D and F neighbours!

Who is Gregorio Iniguez? Señor Iniguez is the ex-general manger of the Chilean mint. A cushy job, I'd say. There can't be that much to it really. You don't design the notes & coins and you don't actually make them either. That's all done by other people. Your day is pretty much practising your golf putting technique in your office and grooming youngsters on the Internet. So, when a technician brings you some samples to inspect and sign off you do it in a matter of minutes. After all, you know these notes and coins like the back of your hand.

But what do you look for when you're inspecting coins? Well, aside from that the correct monetary value is inscribed, you'd probably check things like the date, the emblems and the name of the country. Unfortunately, for the now defunct general manger, he did not check the latter on a batch of 50 peso coins. Instead of saying REPUBLICA DE CHILE around the circumference, it says REPUBLICA DE CHIIE

As yet, I can't find any reports of this in the Chilean press but it's being reported by American and British media outlets........so it must be true.

What's bizarre about the whole incident is that:

the guy who actually made the mistake, head franker Pedro Urzúa was not fired.
the coins have been in circulation since 2008 but was only discovered late last year.
the coins are not going to be taken out of circulation.

It could've been worse, I suppose. They could've mistyped the name of the currency. Imagine asking for 50 pedos.

How can you tell when a Chilean is lying?

2010-01-28T12:59:00.002-03:00

Their lips are moving.

Harsh? Perhaps. Untrue? I'm afraid not. The opinion of a belligerent Gringo? Well, yes. But also of the Chileans themselves. Chileans just don't trust Chileans.

There are fewer unpatriotic places in the world than Chile. People here don't puff out their chests and proudly proclaim who they are. Sure, they go nuts when the national football team does well but they go equally nuts when their own league team does well. That's more of a football thing. And of course you won't find a sober native during the Fiestas Patrias. That's more of a beer thing.

Some Chileans are almost embarrassed to call themselves Chilean. Obviously, they can't deny it if they were born here and willingly carry Chilean passports and ID cards. This is more evident in the affluent parts of Santiago. Many of them would not consider themselves Chilean and reading the telephone directory they may have a point when you see the glut of Germanic and English surnames. It's a class thing too.

Chileans have a reputation and the stereotype is not flattering. What stereotype is? The reason why the Chilean stereotype is so tragic is that they have bestowed it on themselves.

Usually stereotypes are gifts from your neighbours. For example, the US might refer to their northern neighbours as a bunch of plaid wearing moose-humpers who can't stop apologising. Conversely, a Canadian might refer to the southerners as a crowd of inbred, gun toting, pick up truck driving warmongers.

Discussing stereotypes in class makes great fodder for discussion. It's also really interesting. I always make sure that I phrase my question correctly. I ask that what a typical Chilean is according to Chileans and not what other nations think it is. The results are shocking. The students struggle to find the English translations for perezoso, de poca confianza and ladrón. What? You're a bunch of lazy, untrustworthy thieves?

I certainly concur with the lazy tag. Untrustworthy? I'm not sure but they do try to cheat in tests and the men are extremely unfaithful to their wives/girlfriends.

The thief tag I struggle to comprehend as I don't have any empirical evidence. Sure, there are pickpockets who prey on the idiots who let themselves get robbed but that is not unique to Santiago.

Shoplifting is obviously a major problem here. All stores employ security guards. Even the pharmacies have security guards. Some supermarkets keep their toiletries under lock and key. If you want a pack of disposable razors you need to hunt down a broom pushing gimp that isn't fiddling with their mobile phone to help you.

Perhaps you buy your toiletries monthly. In that case, you would go to PreUnic. These are large toiletry discount stores. The trouble is, despite the floors being full of merchandise, the stuff you really want is all behind the counter. In PreUnic somebody 'attends' to you. You find the person in a uniform who looks the least miserable to be there and she gets you what you need. This may require her going all over the store and coming back each time with an algo más?. While this personal service is not totally unappreciated, I could do it myself in half the time. But it's not a personal service, it's a security measure. This system is also employed in large stationery and electronic stores. It's infuriating that Chileans seem to be thieving bastards. If it's not bolted down, it's as good as gone.

The vast majority of apartment blocks have conserjes. Visitors are often announced and then have to sign in. Good security? Well they don't have to prove who they are.

At a recent residents' meeting there was a lot of dissatisfaction surrounding the laundry facilities in the building. It was felt that there weren't enough machines for the number of residents. To wash (& dry) your clothes in my building you go to reception buy your tokens and get the key. This is the only key. The next person can only use the facilities when the key has been returned. A wash takes 32 minutes and an average drying session is one hour. The conserje gives you two hours to do what you need to do. When I pointed out at the meeting that the solution is not more machines but rather leaving the door open all the time they were at first puzzled.

Look guys, a wash takes 32 minutes. That means that people only have to wait a maximum of 32 minutes and not two hours.

They laughed me down.

What's so funny.

What about security, they asked.

Security? What can happen? Someone takes your boxer shorts?

Exactly, they said in unison.

No, thanks. I'd rather walk.

2009-12-26T14:53:00.002-03:00

I imagine the Gates of Heaven to be God and his clipboard. I imagine this clipboard to have a special sheet at the back titled 'Don't Bother. Just Send Straight to Hell'. It's a short list. After all, everyone deserves the opportunity to plead their case. There are some groups, however, that won't be listened to. Wedged in between paedophiles and reality TV stars are Santiago taxi drivers.

Never use a taxi if it can be avoided. Taxis are cheap and plentiful here but the drivers are basically unscrupulous con men.....especially the older grandpa types. The transport system is quite extensive here and the metro is quick and cheap. If you live here, you should be using public transport the vast majority of the time anyway. Taxi drivers here eyeball Gringos the same way a cheetah does a gazelle.

If you must use a taxi, then follow my Rules of Engagement:

Get in the back.
Immediately check the taxi for two things:

The meter starts at $200
The receipt machine is working, i.e. has paper in it. It may be a good idea to inform the driver that you'll be expecting a boleta at the end of the trip. This little snippet of information gives the driver a heads up that you are perhaps not one to be meddled with.

If either of these things are not as they seem, stop the cab, get out and get another one.
Beforehand, have a general idea of the route you want to go. Make yourself aware of the main thoroughfare you should be using.
If your final destination is a little obscure don't tell the driver. Give him the name of the main junction that you want to go to.
As a Gringo, they will feign ignorance of the route. If you're as lucky as me to have a very detailed, pocket-sized A-Z, this is the moment to whip it out.
If the driver starts talking to you it's not because he is being nice. He is sussing you out and probably trying to lure you into a false sense of security. Talk to him by all means but never laugh or smile. This is a sign of weakness on your part and he WILL try to rip you off.
Keep your mind on the job.....getting to your destination. Do not allow the driver to distract you. Phrases in Spanish like 'Was that blah, blah we just passed?' and 'Turn right at the next set of lights' will let the driver know that your mind is on one thing only.
If you are travelling with luggage make sure you have everything by your side and you are outside the cab. This puts you in a stronger position if there you think you should be contesting the fare.
Don't tip the driver unless he does something extra like carry all your stuff to and/or from the cab. Round up to the nearest $100 by all means but leave it at that.
Ask for and insist on a boleta.

Common con tricks used by taxi drivers here are:

Telling you a metro station is closed so he can take you to your final destination.
Similarly, blah, blah road is closed because of an accident. This allows him to take a longer and more lucrative route
The $5000 note shuffle. This is where your fare is about $2500 - $3500. You hand over a $5000 note and quick as a flash he shows you that you only gave him a $2000 note. You apologise and proffer another $5000 note (and probably foolishly tip him). He gets away with this because you always pay the driver over his right shoulder. In his lap (out your line of vision) he swaps the notes at lightening speed. The deftness he displays leaves you doubting yourself and believing him. This trick is usually played on green Gringos who have just arrived at the airport and changed a load of money leaving them with a pocketful of foreign looking bills.
Charging you extra for using the motorway. The big ring road around Santiago is a toll road. There aren't toll booths. Vehicles accumulate charges via a little box installed in the car. When you pass through a charge zone, the box beeps and a toll is added to the drivers account which they pay at the end of the month. Taxi drivers here will try to pass this cost onto passengers. They cannot. It is illegal to do so.
Charging you for drop-offs. At night when you and your buddies share a cab home, as people get out they give money to whomever will be last out of the cab. The driver will try to insist on the money be given to him so that he can reset the meter. Tell him that he's full of crap and to get a move on. A no-nonsense approach is the only way to deal with these parasites and Chileans in general.

Sont les mots qui vont tres bien ensemble.......

2009-12-13T14:09:00.004-03:00

Today is one of the saddest days in Chile's history. I say one of because the worst is yet to come. Today we begin our farewell to one of the greatest players in Chilean history since Bernardo O'Higgins, the Irishman who liberated Chile from the Spanish.

Depending on which one you read, polls put Michelle Bachelet's popularity rating as high as 80%. Amazing when you think that she's been in power for four years and she's a woman. Unfortunately, due to Chile's ridiculous law that she can't run for a consecutive term, she will not be president for the next four years at least. I won't purport to know the intricacies of the policies she introduced or the effect of them. One thing I can say is that she has highlighted the inequalities between the sexes and worked tirelessly to rectify that imbalance in machista Chile. She has played her part by building and trying to maintain a cabinet of 50% women.

Obviously her work is nowhere near complete. And while her labours may not have yet borne fruit, the green shoots of change are evident. Four years is a short time to change a mentality that is so ingrained in a culture. Besides she has had other side projects to work on such as forging trade relations with China, trying to get Chile into the OECD and getting the country through a global recession.

Ms. Bachelet is exactly the type of person you would want to run your country. Being a woman, she doesn't suffer from that macho bullshit you get from male politicians but she's not nearly as hysterical as a Hiliary Clinton say. She's separated - no happy families bullshit for cameras, only honesty. She doesn't do religion, only she makes the decisions - Hallelujah. She has been a working parent all her life and she's a pediatrician. She speaks at least five languages. When she speaks, you listen. She doesn't use maxims or sound bites. She doesn't care if you like her or not. She's intelligent, compassionate and fair.

So, what are the world saying about current events in Chile?
An excellent article in The Guardian laments the departure of Bachelet and talks about the legacy she leaves in her wake. The BBC gives a run down on the candidates and expects the toothy one, Piñera, to win. The Irish Times goes on to say that despite Bachelet's popularity, it is doubtful much of it will be transferred to her party colleague, Frei. This is also mentioned in The New York Times but the main thrust of their article is the disillusionment amongst the youth labelled the Children of Democracy. While there is nothing new about 18 to 21 year olds being nonchalant about politics, the statistic of only 9.2% of 18 to 29 year olds being registered to vote is shocking. In Chile it is not compulsory to be registered to vote. It is, however, compulsory to vote if you are registered.

On a personal note, two of my private students are young professionals. Both are registered to vote and therefore must* turn up at the ballot. They are also disillusioned. To articulate their frustration one will vote for all candidates on the ballot and the other will hand in a blank ballot. Both ballots will be rendered spoilt.
*A registered voter can opt out of voting but only after providing a satisfactory excuse to the local police station.

In Australia, where there is a substantial Chilean community, The Sydney Morning Herald, via British and French media sources, looks at Pinochet's favourite grandson who is looking to keep the name and values of his grandfather alive. The original article is from The Sunday Telegraph. It makes very interesting reading. Rodrigo García Pinochet is not running for president, merely parliament.

From the motherland, the article in El País is hardly worth reading. While always a worthy news source, the article is as sterile as the BBC and Irish Times pieces.

Perhaps, the worst article comes from Al Jazeera's English language website. A year's supply of empanadas goes to the person who can spot the very obvious mistake in the article, assuming of course that they haven't rectified it in the meantime.

I would like to see another four years of Bachelet. I would like to see if she can further the the cause of women's rights in this country because I doubt the next incumbent will care.

It makes my skin crawl when I see and hear what the men in this country do and say to women and girls. I admire the female form greatly. I like to steal a glance at a shapely figure or a pretty face when I can. These simple things in life are free and harmless. Harmless because I don't make anybody feel uncomfortable. I don't make any comments for the world to hear. I don't whistle from across the street. I don't hang out a car window and make kissy-kissy sounds and nearly take out a cyclist in my endeavours to ruin a young Chilena's day. Outside Chile, if I got 'caught' with one of my split second glances, I would give a sheepish smile and turn a dark shade of red. Here, I would just feel sick to my stomach. I would feel that the woman of my 'affections' would just see me as another lecherous creep.

Would another four years of Bachelet have enough of an effect to trickle down to the Neanderthals and make them see women as subjects and not objects? Doubtful, but it may empower women to deal with these situations. For sure, another term would continue the introduction of new legislation to drag this country into the 21st century with regards to attitudes towards women. Domestic violence against women is a major problem here. Not only because it happens in the first place, but the way the authorities deal with it and the reluctance of victims to come forward.

It is doubtful a new president will be elected in the next 24 hours but there will be a new man at the helm at the end of January after a new round of elections on 17th January. That's when the tears will really start to flow.

Underachievers Apply Within.

2009-12-09T22:57:00.004-03:00

As I write this Colo Colo fans are making their way to Plaza Italia to celebrate being the Primera División Clasura Champions 2009. Buses are full to bursting point. Arms, legs and flags are vying for space to hang out the windows. The stores on my street have closed early and a helicopter is flying back and forth keeping an eye on proceedings. The obligatory car horns are being played with finesse and the beer bellied, tattooed hinchas are in full voice.

Fans of Los Albos are quite accustomed to such victory celebrations. In this decade alone, they have been champions seven times. It should be noted that the Chilean league has two seasons per year called the Apertura (Opening) and Clausura (Closing). It should also be noted that this is how it's done in most of Latin America. Therefore some countries have two champions per year. Some countries have a play-off between Apertura and Clausura winners to have an ultimate champion. Colo Colo have just won the Clausura. Confused? Well, wait! I haven't got to the ridiculous part yet.

In the Chilean First Division there are 18 teams. Everybody plays each other once, not home and away like a normal league. After that, the top eight teams play each other in a mini knockout tournament which is two-legged (home and away). Eventually you are left with two teams to battle it out over two games to be the 'bi-annual' champion.

So, what's the problem? Well, Colo Colo (which is one-eighth owned by Piñera, by the way) actually finished fourth in the league with 28 points. First place was held by Universidad Católica with 38 points. As it turned out, it was these two teams which battled for the title in a two legged play-off. The second of which was this evening.

Colo Colo finished fourth in the league, but went on to be crowned champions. At first, this didn't sit well with me. Then I realised: Hey, this is Chile. This is the country where you don't strive to be the best. This is the country where just doing the bare minimum is rewarded.

Take the marking system here for example. For some bizarre reason, schools use a base number of 7. Where we (the rest of the world) would use a base of 10, students are given a pass by getting a 4/7. It is also not possible to get a 0/7. A zero would be marked as 1/7. I even worked in an institute which employed this crazy system.

So, why this ridiculous marking system? Well, firstly, a Chilean will never give 100% to anything he does. Why bother when minimum effort is enough and not frowned upon. The maximum you can expect from a Chilean is 70% effort. 7/10 therefore became the new maximum and henceforth exams were marked out of seven.

Of course, one could argue that moving the maximum like this would end up having a new maximum reconfigured every decade or so. Maybe so, but nobody yet has been able to supply me with a logical explanation as to why students are marked out of seven.

Dogs and Camels

2009-12-08T13:09:00.003-03:00

Sunglasses are essential during sunny weather. In Santiago, you need them pretty much all year round. While officially not summer here yet, the fact that there are more sunny days above 25°C than not, makes it summer in my book.

The hotter weather has a noticeable effect on the many aspects of Santiago life. Dogs are less mobile. Their scavenging activities are punctuated by lots of siestas, usually at the top of metro steps, the pavement or pretty much anywhere they damn well please. This makes them more nocturnal and bouts of barking at night more frequent.

Hot weather also means ice cream. Ice cream is another source of the junk food that Chileans gorge themselves on but more so in the summer. Buses and streets are abundant with leather-skinned flaites who take a break from drug dealing to scream heladoheladohelado followed by chirimoyafrutillamorapiña.

The third most notable effect is the increase in the amount of female flesh on display.
Female natives are quite conservative in comparison to their more extrovert Latina neighbours. They wear the Latina label with pride and are proud of their prudishness. They think Argentinian and Colombian women are nothing short of putas. Chilean women do not flirt with strangers (at least not while sober). Chilean women will not come up to you in a bar and just start talking. Having said that, if you go and talk to them, they won't tell you to get lost (at least not right away).

Chilenas, like all Latinas, are blessed with a serious amount of curvature. These gifts are more abundantly on display in the hotter weather. Chilenas, however, love their jeans. They generally wear them all year round except as office attire when they switch to pants.

Jeans and pants here are designed with the Latina anatomy in mind. A short walk through the clothing district of Patronato will expose you to the extra curvy mannequins on display. At first I thought this was hilarious how those dummies carried so much much junk in the trunk but it's entirely justified. Latinas are a curvy species.

Chilean women don't like wearing skirts or dresses even in the very warm weather. You will see them being worn but not as many as you'd think. I've queried this and the general consensus seems to be that they don't like the unnecessary attention they get if they reveal their legs. Strangely, though, they don't have a problem wearing figure hugging low cut tops or teeny weeny shirts which always look as if one of those buttons are on the point of flying off and popping an unsuspecting eyeball. Hence the sunglasses!!

Jeans and pants here do not leave much to the imagination. Walking behind a Chileana you will be amazed how far the gusset goes up. From behind, a Chilena looks as if her pants have been spray-painted onto her body. I'm not complaining. I've got blood in my veins and little gifts like that make my day go a little smoother but doesn't it hurt them?

If the pants are tight at the back then logic dictates that they must be tight at the front. Let me tell you, they are. As far as jeans are concerned, the effect is not as noticeable. The same, unfortunately, cannot be said of pants, trousers, slacks, whatever you call them.

I had never noticed this until a female colleague pointed it out. After all, as a man faced with a frontal view of a woman we are not looking below the waist. Shoes don't interest us, eyes do!

It's well known that us simple men are more attracted to the partially clad female form rather than the buck naked. We like to let our imaginations run wild. We like when it when a woman gives us a clue to what lies beneath rather than actually showing us. There are some clues, however, that a man does not need or want to receive. A man does not need to see pants so tight from the front that he can see your tonsils. Once my female colleague had pointed this out I was hooked. It's car crash TV, I can't stop looking now. It mildly disgusts me but yet fascinates me. Has nobody ever pointed this out to the Chilenas?

I never go out without my shades.

La Mala Education

2009-11-26T16:17:00.004-03:00

Education is very much on the agenda at the moment. Teachers have been on strike and there is an election next month. As I understand it, the teachers are angry because of a reneged agreement for pay increases dating back more than a decade. To be fair, education is pretty much on the agenda all year round. If the teachers aren't on strike, the students are. That's right, the students!! Striking is popular here. It generally consists of making a whole load of noise and breaking stuff.

If you work for a language school here in Santiago, quite often the students are there at their employers' behest. That's right, their bosses pay for them to be taught English. Sweet. You would think!

Rather than seizing this golden opportunity to possess the two most important languages in the world and thus increasing their employability and promotion prospects, they see it as a chore. Chilean employees generally do what their boss says, but only by expending the minimum effort required. They transfer this trait to the classroom (and all facets of life to be frank.) That's why it is such a joy to get your own private students.

A Gringo sets himself up for brickbats when he criticises the standard of education in a second world country. One only has to walk around the comunas to see all the 'universities' on offer. Also, students in secondary schools encounter a huge variety of subjects before being released onto the unsuspecting world. The Chilean government offers scholarships to study English and to embark on further education abroad. There seems to be a great appetite for learning. Bus shelters, billboards, metro displays are inundated with adverts for universities. I'm not saying that the ubiquitous nature of such adverts suggests that everyone has the same opportunity to avail of them. They probably don't, but it's not totally out of reach.

People blame their social standing for the lack of opportunities and thus the quality of education available to them. This may be true. Social class in Chile is a big issue. People don't care what your qualifications are but rather about where you studied. For example the 'C' in my CELTA qualification stands for Cambridge, as in Cambridge University. Students are fascinated by this. I have never set foot on a single Cambridge University campus.

Many people here study at night university. It seems to be the way to go. Work during the day and go to school at night. I, myself am a product of a similar system. Going to university here is a time consuming process. Degrees here take longer to get than in the first world. There are a couple of reasons for this. Universities are privately owned and the bottom line is all important. Keeping your students for a couple of semesters longer fills the coffers. Also, Chileans are quite slow and über-lazy, they don't cachai too readily. You would then, expect graduates to be a little sharper having had this extra year. They're not.

The one paradox in the whole situation is the amount of tax levied on reading materials by the 'socialist' government. This is not an obstacle however. For a very reasonable fee you can completely disregard copyright law and have a book copied at a Max Huber.

So, there's lots of education and lots of students. Why then, do we not have a country full of whizz kids? The answer lies in the teaching methods employed all the way through to the tertiary level. Students are not taught in Chile, they are given information. It's a sad but very true fact of life here. For example if I write something on the board in class, it's immediately jotted down for fear of missing something vital that can learnt by rote. I learnt quickly not to write too much on the board.

This methodology does not allow children to experience any tacit learning. From the day you are born to your mid to late teens, a person acquires 95% of the life skills required to see out the final three quarters of their life. The three main players involved are the parents (or guardians), teachers and the individuals themselves.

You cannot sit a child down and teach them common sense. There are just too many permutations of the possible situations that could occur. As a parent, you guide them. You show them things that nobody else can or will. I remember my dad showing me how to change a tyre when I was eight. Obviously I wasn't strong enough to do it but as he did, I observed. 'If you ever remember one thing in life....', he started most of his 'grasshoppa' lessons with this phrase, '...remember to loosen the wheel nuts before you jack up the car.' He didn't just tell me this, he showed me why it was necessary. (Keeping the car on the ground stops the wheel from spinning.)
Lesson learnt: think things through.

You cannot just sit a teenager down and take him through the steps of Pythagoras' theorem and leave it at that. You extract knowledge already known and build upon it. Perhaps a little refresher on the properties of a triangle is required, but overall you make it seem that the kid has done it himself.
Lesson learnt: use what you have to get more.

This latter example is just not used in schools here.

As TEFL teachers we try to use the communicative method. We try to encourage our students to constantly produce language. We move onto the next grammar point by building upon knowledge already acquired. We constantly recycle grammar and vocabulary. We test, teach, test. We pull out the pieces of the jigsaw from our students' head and throw a couple more in. Sometimes they can fit them in, sometimes you need to turn the pieces the right way for them and sometimes you just go and stick that last bloody piece in for them.

This method of teaching is a revelation to the students. Uninitiated students expect you to come to class, draw a line down the middle of the board and use one side for English and one side for Spanish. I exaggerate to make a point. Students are fully aware that the translation method is not used by English language schools here but this is how they were taught English at school.

There is a distinct lack of logic and 'thinking outside the box' mentality in the classroom. That, along with the dreaded fear of making a mistake in front of your peers, impedes their learning process. These flaws are conceived in early childhood. This lack of logic is nurtured in the classroom and it blossoms in adult life in the real world. The by-products of this are a lack of consideration and basic tasks taking an age.

So, while I understand the reasons why Chileans are pretty stoopid, it doesn't alleviate the frustration I feel when they walk seven abreast at a snails pace or when they put the single box of matches I've just bought into a bag at the supermarket.

The Hand of Frog

2009-11-19T11:43:00.008-03:00

June 1986, Mexico City. It's quarter finals time in the greatest competition in the world......The World Cup. Two teams meet in the blistering heat to challenge for a coveted semi-final place. Four years earlier the countries were at war. It was Argentina v England. The eyes of the world were on them and the fans.

In 1979 Argentina were seriously considering invading Chile. For some reason they decided to change their plans and try to invade a little group of islands off the Argentinian coast called The Falklands (Las Malvinas). The Chileans breathed a sigh of relief. Unfortunately for the Argentinians, these sheep populated islands were (and still are) British territory. Long story short: after a little more than two months the Argies had their arses severely spanked and went home with their tails between their legs. Chile played it's part by providing intelligence to the British and offering support if things got out of hand. A beautiful friendship bloomed between Pinochet and Thatcher.

Back to Mexico. Recent events hyped up this game to epic proportions. Tabloid newspapers in both countries naturally equated the game to the war. In 1982 the British had the biggest and best trained military force in the world. In 1986 the Argentinians had Maradona.

Two remarkable things happened in this game and both involved the little fella. In the second half of the game we witnessed the greatest ever goal scored in the history of the competition (maybe the sport) and it hasn't been bettered. Maradona took the ball from his own half of the pitch, beat every English player in his way with his dazzling ball control and stuck the ball in the net. I never get tired looking at that goal. It was like he had the ball on a string. It was his and Argentina's second goal in the game.

At the time, however, this magnificent feat was not acknowledged, at least not by non-Argentinians due to events about five minutes earlier. Fans and viewers around the world were still in shock from what had happened a few minutes previously. Maradona's and Argentina's first goal.

I think by now everyone has heard of La Mano de Dios. This is where a 5'5" (cocaine fuelled) footballer out jumped a 6'2" goalkeeper to head the ball into the net. Every single player pitch saw what happened. Every single one of the 100,000+ fans in the stadium saw what happened. The 500,000,000 people watching on TV from Alaska to Auckland saw what happened. Unfortunately, the one person who really needed to see what happened, missed it. The man with the whistle, the referee. What are the chances, eh? Well about five hundred million to one, I suppose! The Hand of God is now part of English vernacular. It is used the describe very, very fortunate situations.

Argentina went on to win the game and then the competition. Pictures of Jesus were relegated by pictures of the boy in the bubble perm on the walls of Argentinians households. Sales of Chè t-shirts plummeted and sales of Diego shirts sky rocketed. To add insult to injury, the Mexicans erected a statue of Maradona outside the stadium to commemorate the second goal. (It really was a good goal!)

That was 23 years ago. Yesterday, fans around the world were reminded of this most infamous of incidents. The protagonists this time were France and Ireland. Diego Maradona was played by Thierry Henry. The location was Paris. This was the second game in a two game play-off. The prize: a place in the World Cup finals in South Africa next year.

The first game was in Dublin. France won 1-0. The second game was in Paris. Ireland scored. Over two games, the score was 1-1. There were no more goals in normal time. So, extra time had to be played. The gladiators had 30 minutes to sort this out or else it would go to a penalty shoot out.

The Irish were waning. Energy levels were low. Only fighting spirit kept them going. The French's superior fitness was beginning to show but the island folk were not letting up. Then in the 103rd minute fans and players were taken all the way back to Mexico. Thierry Henry received the ball. It wasn't a great pass from his team-mate. Whether it was instinct or downright cheating, the Frenchman controlled the ball using his hand with such deftness that one might have mistaken him for a Harlem Globetrotter. Henry didn't score but he passed to his buddy who did. There was still 17 minutes on the clock for the Irish to recover the situation. It didn't matter if there was 170 minutes on the clock. The Irish were deflated. They were apoplectic with the referee's decision to allow the goal. What was the point of trying to win the game when the man with the power is against you.

In Latin America, Thierry Henry (centre) is replaced with Kakà in the Gillette Ad.

The media around the world is buzzing with the incident. It even made it onto the Chilean news this morning. In France, journalists and ex-players are expressing their shame at being French. The Irish Justice Minister has demanded a replay. Everyone agrees a great wrong has been done. Strangely though, Thierry Henry is not the villain of the peace. FIFA, football's global governing body is. On their official website no mention is made of the incident in the match article bar only alluding to it as a great stroke of luck.

FIFA have long campaigned for 'fair play' in the game. They don't refer to countries or players by name when they criticise the amount of cheating in the game but everyone knows they are talking about countries like Argentina, Italy and Portugal as the most unsporting nations at both a national and international level.

So, why do FIFA not acknowledge this incident? Well firstly, an acknowledgement would put pressure on FIFA to do something. That could set a worrying precedent by overruling a referee allowing a goal. Secondly, it is far more attractive to have shiny France in the competition rather than the shabby Irish. FIFA had already 'rigged' the play-offs by seeding the teams when it became apparent that France may not qualify automatically.

Despite the lack of acknowledgement, FIFA have categorically stated that there will not be a replay and the result will stand. C'est la vie.

Spot the Difference

...I've got another puzzle for you.

2009-11-18T11:45:00.001-03:00

Today, I think I've probably seen the single most stoopidest thing in my life. Naturally a Chilean was involved. Well, the odds are against them. I like how New Yorkers pronounce 'stupid'. It gives it an extra resonance.

If you've lived in this city for any length of time, you can't help but notice how much cleaning goes on by the local authorities. They are pissing against the wind here as Chileans are litter bugs and they wouldn't think twice about tossing a wrapper on the ground regardless of who's watching. In and around the city centre and eastern suburbs their are armies of jump-suited pensioners with pans and brushes. When they aren't sweeping up they are watering concrete (that's a whole other rant).
Clean, clean, clean. Sweep, sweep, sweep. These industrious little, leather-skinned Oompa Loompas never seem to stop.

Santiago city centre is, to put it bluntly, a shit hole. I shudder to imagine what it would be like if the street technicians didn't do their thing (Washington DC, perhaps). It not easy maintaining Santiago's level of squalor but these guys and gals (the sweeping up profession is blind to gender) diligently go about their business.

My twice-weekly, early morning class in the city centre has me waiting for my student outside his place of work. Today, I got there ten minutes early. I amused myself by guessing what the level of crude comments thrown at passing ladies would be by the pot-bellied delivery men who were also killing time waiting on shop owners to open up. I was thrown off my game by a gentle Permiso. It was one of those nice street cleaning folk. Normally, I wouldn't think twice in this situation. Normally I'd give a si po, step out of the way and let him get on with it. This morning, however, I was distracted. Looking down where I had expected to see a sweeping brush or broom, I saw a mop! A mop? But we're outside. Perhaps, it was a new type of brush but new technology doesn't usually pass me by. Then I saw the bucket! 80% full with what could only be water. Black water. Was it paint? Evidently not. I moved out of his way and closed my gaping mouth.

He carried on down the pavement schlopping and mopping throwing buen día's at the delivery men who now seemed to be busying themselves with smoking cigarettes and scratching their genitals. My eyes stayed on him till he disappeared out of sight around the corner. I don't know how long my student was there.
'Teacher. Teacher? How long time are you waiting?'
- 'Um, not long', I mumbled.
'Is that good? How long time?'
- 'He-he was mopping the pavement.
'Sorry?'
- 'He was mopping the pavement.' I said snapping out of my daze.
'Pavement?'
- 'Pavement', I said, pointing downwards. 'Mopping', I demonstrated with the international mime for mopping (which is vastly different from the one for sweeping.
'Ahh, sí. Mopping. How much time is good o no?'

It's only a game.

2009-11-11T10:49:00.011-03:00

Events over the coming week or so will decide the last of the teams going to the World Cup. Some fans have nothing to worry about as their nations already know their fate. Teams already there include: Australia, Korea (North & South), England, Spain, the USA, Mexico, Brazil, Ghana and of course, Chile. In total, 32 nations will compete during the month of June next year in South Africa.

My tip is current European Champions, Spain. They are constantly feted as the best team never to have won the tournament. They have two of the best young players in the world, Fabregas and Torres. Both play in the English Premier League for Arsenal and Liverpool respectively.

My team has yet to qualify. They have a chance but I won't tempt fate by making a prediction just yet.

Football is, without doubt, the greatest game in the world. There are other ball sports that hijack the name but there is only one. In the US, the word describes a sport played by steroid-pumped homosexuals in motorcycle helmets wearing mascara. (Is all that ass touching really necessary?). The Australian version is the antithesis of its American cousin. It is a sport played by raving lunatics. The origins of which are steeped in Australia's penal colony history. It is the bastard child of rugby and football. In both instances, neither sport is played at a professional level outside it their respective countries.

To avoid confusion, the Americans call football, sah-kir. The great irony of course is that, in the American and Australian sporting namesakes, the players spend more time using their hands than their feet to play. They, however, insist on calling it football. Go figure! There’s nothing mysterious about the popularity of football around the world nor the rules of the game. Even the infamous offside rule can be explained to the dimmest of blonde Gringas by using my own self-devised shoe shop analogy. (Or you could just look at the official version from FIFA.) Perhaps that’ll be the subject of another post.

Football is the great leveller. It’s the only sport in the world that crosses the boundaries of nation, race, religion and class. Anybody can play it anywhere. You don’t even need a ball. A crushed cola can was good enough for me and my buddies in the school playground way back when.

I love football. Like a wine connoisseur who refuses to drink just any ol' bottle of plonk, I'm quite fussy about the standard of football I watch. The standard of Chilean league football is pathetic. The same could be said of Argentina and Brazil. However, they have the excuse that Europe poaches all the decent players for their leagues. Chile do not have this excuse to fall back on. Any Chilean players in European squads are peripheral to the main team.

I watched with great interest the Chilean campaign which lead to qualification and suffered thereafter many sleepless nights with the victory celebrations.

So, how did Chile qualify? For the matches they won, all credit goes to their (Argentinian) coach, Bielsa. He is a man manager. He made those players think they were better than they were. Another factor in their qualification is the poor performances by Argentina, Colombia, Bolivia, Venezuela and Peru. There were only 10 teams in the South American qualifying group. The top four qualified automatically. That’s a huge 40% chance. Look at Europe. From 53 teams, only 13 are guaranteed a spot. A mere 25%.

Commentators see Chile's progression to South Africa as the dawning of a new day which will inspire a change of mood in the country and perhaps a change in attitude to playing sport.

Chileans are not passionate about football (league or national team) despite what you hear or see. They are just very enthusiastic. League games here are poorly attended and those that do attend, do so on a tribal basis rather than watching the game. I’ve attended a classico. Full marks (7/7) to the fans for singing, shouting, unfurling banners and banging drums. What happens on the pitch is so dull that the entertainment on the terraces is far more interesting.

Chile must be the only South American country where you don’t see hoards of kids on the street or in the parks playing football. Chileans are bone-idle lazy. They have no interest in actively participating in sport. People blame the government for not providing facilities or promoting it enough. They blame the government for everything actually. What they need to do is get off their maraquetta asses and kick a ball with their kids.

Good luck to Chile in South Africa. They won’t get further than the group stages (ie after the obligatory three games they’ll be on the plane home) It won’t be a reflection of a new Chile. It won’t change anything. For 10 days the country will come to a standstill. After that, the Chileans will go back to their non-productive 45 hour weeks and hypochondriac habits.

Hammer Time

2009-11-08T12:17:00.009-03:00

If you were me you would've done the same. Wouldn't you?

I love Fridays. I have only one class to teach in the middle of the afternoon and that student comes to me. Friday is also feria day. Right now the prices are great. A kilo of fresh, ripe strawberries are only $500. Avocados and tomatoes are also dirt cheap. The feria is one of the highlights of my week. It stretches along three blocks and the atmosphere is great. Everyone calls you buddy, love and sir. Aside from my classroom, it's one of the few places in the whole of Santiago where I don't want to pound the bejaysus out of a native. And I love food.

It's also a place that reminds me how incomprehensible Chilean Spanish actually is. I can communicate with the stall holders easily enough, even obtaining discounts for buying in bulk. What I don't understand is the banter between the campesino stall holders which seems to form a great part of the atmosphere. Lately, however, our feria has been inundated with election campaigners.

So, my Friday was going pretty swimmingly.Got up early, did the laundry, planned my afternoon class, went to the feria, got back from feria, gorged on strawberries while watching the last two episodes of The Wire (Season three - WOW!!), did my class, played some poker online, watched the first episode of The Wire (Season four - what the hell is Snoop saying?), popped out for a six pack, came back and watched the sunset's light show on the Andes from my balcony. My lovely lady arrived home and I impressed her yet again with my culinary skills. She showed her appreciation by reminding me why Latinas rule.

At around midnight we were awoken from our peaceful slumber by a moron screaming something incomprehensible through a microphone. This was followed by high pitched screams. Kids? Bit late for kids, I thought, but it was the weekend. Then came the music. BOOM, BOOM, BOOM. The graphics equaliser was firmly set to AsMuchBassAsYouCanHandleMuthaFucka. It seemed that music served to punctuate whatever the moron on the microphone had to say. Not that it mattered, but it was impossible to understand what he was saying. It was like he had a mouthful full of cotton balls and a sock over the mike. It was too much. A call to the conserjería was in order.

Now, I know dealing with the conserje in our building is about as frustrating as a trio of chubby-ankled Gringas in Starbucks cackling at the top of their voices. 'Al tiro' was the reply. I waited. I have to admit, there was a noticeable dip in volume but this slowly crept up again. Another call to reception. 'Well, I told them', came the feeble excuse. I could picture the shoulder shrug. I put the phone down and resigned myself to the fact that the sensible Gringo will have to sort this out.

The apartment complex I live in consists of two buildings. A conservative estimate would say about 500 tenants. Were there other complaints? Was anybody else bothered by this? The answers were undoubtedly 'yes'. The problem is that Chileans try to avoid face to face confrontation. Once you bear your teeth to a Chilean, they back down. Chileans are sheep. None too clever and only act as a group.

It turns out that the noise was coming from the top of the smaller building in the complex. I went to investigate. By the time I'd reached the roof, the noise was unbearable. Were these people deaf? A lady immediately came to see me. I think the fingers in my ears told her what I wanted to say. We parted with her telling me that there was only 13 minutes left. I'm a decent guy. OK, I thought.

Now this wasn't my first encounter with a neighbour over a noise issue. I have a policy about how I deal with these situations. My neighbour two floors up can confirm this. The first time I visit you, soy caballero. The second time I visit you, no soy caballero. There is no third visit.

Again, there was a significant dip in the volume but just as I was draining my cup of tea....BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, screeeeeeeaaam! Mother of God, those poor kids! For some reason, I still assumed this was a kids birthday party. A second visit was in order. Obviously, in non-caballero mode, I needed to tool up. Since the encounter with my neighbour two floors up I have replaced my weapon of choice, a kitchen knife, with a hammer. It's only a prop. I was never intending to hurt another human being or Chilean for that matter.

Down the elevator I went. Crossed the courtyard. Up the elevator. Now, I had no intention of threatening any kids. My mind was firmly set on that moronic DJ whose auditory system had obviously collapsed some time ago. I got to my destination. It was very dark but the glow of the laptop betrayed him. With the hammer poised I screamed in his face in my worst Spanish: Turn it down or I start breaking stuff . I was so angry that I couldn't think of any more Spanish so I said it again in English. He turned it down a little. MORE. He looked across to the dance floor. My eyes followed. Where were the kids? I could only see mothers. Then, I looked a little closer. Despite the lack of light, I was able to make out the shape of a rather well toned black man's arse glowing from the copious amounts of baby oil that had been massaged in to it. It was a hen night. A batchelorette party. Jesus.

Two ladies came to speak to me. A little inebriated of course. The short dumpy one accused me of not knowing the rules of the complex and the rather more attractive one tried to reason with me. One of the strippers sidled up to see what the problem was. He was clothed. I explained that if there wasn't a significant reduction in the music that I'd have to call the cops. Smashing stuff up didn't seem like an option anymore, nor was it to begin with really. The gordita was still twittering on about something and really annoying me. To prove my intention I pulled out my mobile and called my lady and instructed her to call los pacos. It seemed to be the only option. On the roof we seemed to be going around in circles; As is the way with tipsy folk.

By the time, I'd reached my apartment the noise had ceased. Completely, it seemed. 15 minutes later we saw speakers and equipment being carried out. I thought that it would seem a little silly if the police were to come now. That's if they ever were. Nevertheless, the pacos were called off.

The next day there was a pre-scheduled residents' meeting. While we waited for latecomers, the conversation turned to the racket that had gone on the night before. One couple, who lived a few floors below the party, complained that they couldn't sleep. I asked them what they did about it. Called the conserje. And did that work? Unfortunately, no. Then what did you do. What can you do? (cue: shoulder shrug) Well, you could've.........a hand placed gently on my arm told me that now wasn't the time. I looked at her. Yeah, you're right, baby. Are we going to the supermarket after this?

Red October

2009-10-31T07:58:00.018-03:00

I was so close. The line was in sight and I dropped the baton. Although, I am disappointed, I'm consoled by the fact that my actions may have inspired others to do the same, but I doubt it.

I had almost cleared a whole calendar month without bawling at an idiotic Chilean. Not only did I fall off the wagon, I fell off and took out four of them in one fell swoop.

The main idea behind my blog is to vent my frustrations at what has to be the most idiotic, illogical, ignorant, indolent, inconsiderate race of people on the planet......Santiaguinos. I feel that if I can vent my ire on a keyboard rather than in the face of a native, then I'm less likely to go too far and actually inflict physical damage on the cretin. Let me tell you, it's not easy.

I love the metro. It's clean, efficient and value for money. It gets me from A to B in good time. It's not perfect, but by Santiago standards it's a Nobel Prize winner. Well, they are just giving them out to anybody these days. Most times it's fuller than a spinster's plate at a wedding but the metro company are always trying new initiatives to deal with this issue of overcrowding on the platforms and in and around the station.

On the green and blue lines they have a peak hour(s) system where the trains do not stop at every station. At some stations they block off the nearest entrance to a platform thus encouraging you to walk a couple of metres further. This leaves said entrance to function as an exit for people disembarking. The Tobalaba red line is an example of this. At Baquedano, they change the directions of escalators and switch on no entry signs. Platforms edges are patrolled by the yellow-jacketed men and women to ensure our safety, 'STAY BEHIND THE YELLOW LINE', and to chivvy us along when the door closing alarm sounds. They do this with good humour too. I like the yellow-jacketed folk. All in all, the metro company does a good job.

You won't find many people singing the praises of this underground train network. People immediately point to the overcrowding issue. Whether they realise it or not, this is not the the fault of the train company. The metro has two thorns in its side.

One, the bus network. Due to it's inefficiencies and extremely poor layout, people are drawn to the metro. Quite often in Santiago you need a combination of both to complete your journey. This city almost has an integrated transport system. With the same piece of plastic, the Bip card, you can travel on metro and bus. For the price of a 'bip' you can complete one metro trip and board three buses in a ninety minute period. Unfortunately, the bus company is not very co-operative in their part of the bargain.

Routes are badly planned, leaving metro stations inundated with passengers and the buses themselves don't run on a timetable. For some reason, the bus drivers in this city drive like maniacs, competing with one another using bus stops and traffic lights as imaginary chequered flags. The days are long gone when these guys worked on commission for the number of fares they collected but the mentality to drive at breakneck speed has yet to catch up. Take the 401 for example, on the Alameda. Two, maybe three buses will arrive a couple of minutes apart. Bus number one will pick up the passengers, number two will pick up any stragglers and number three will just continue its barrage through the city. What happens now is that near empty buses career through the city.

The second and deepest thorn which is perilously close to a major organ is the people. It seems they take for granted the efforts made by the metro company to make their journey better. They completely ignore the 'Stand on the left, walk on the right' signs on escalators choosing to just stand on both sides. If an incoming train is not one that is going to stop at their station, they maintain their position on the platform not caring if the person behind them needs to board or not. They completely ignore announcements to allow disembarkation before boarding. If they only need to go a couple of stops, a Chilean will board the train but will not go further inside the carriage than is necessary for fear of missing their stop. This impedes the whole boarding process and sometimes leaves pockets of space inside the carriage while Chileans gather around the pole in the middle or at the sides of the door.

What bothers me most is that nobody complains or points out the blindingly obvious, even in a polite way. This usually calls for drastic action on the part of the sensible Gringo; A good, old fashioned bawling.

At times I use Chile and Santiago synonymously and refer to the people thereof. This is unfair as I don't have much empirical evidence to say that Chileans outside of Santiago are as moronic and ignorant as their big city counterparts. In my brief encounters with non-Santiaguinos, they are nicer and politer, but still not the sharpest tools in the shed.

Last Friday, after an early morning class with my investment banker English student, I jumped on the metro at Plaza de Armas. At that hour, Plaza de Armas is more a 'getting off' station than a getting on' station. Nice. It was one of the old trains with individual carriages so I positioned myself nicely, resting against the redundant inter-carriage door. We arrived at Bellas Artes and the carriage filled to halfway. There was still plenty of room for four teenagers to sit on the floor, on the 'Don't sit on the floor' sign, against the opposite door. I smelled trouble.

Next stop, Baquedano. The platform was quite full on arrival. It was 9.30am after all. More people scrambled to get on rather than get off and it was becoming a sardine situation. I wasn't in anybody's way. I stood where I was and nodded my head away to Pearl Jam's Even Flow. The youths remained seated sharing sets of headphones to listen to one another's music. Passengers stuck on the threshold had puzzled looks on their faces. From their point of view, there seemed to be room at the back. They couldn't see the kids sitting cross legged, oblivious to the situation. Ah, the next generation of morons. This country is in good hands.

Rather than saying to a complete stranger: Excuse me old chap, would you mind moving a bit further back so I can get on? They just continue to push.

The passengers who were the last wall of defence before the sitting teenagers maintained their ground. Rather than saying to complete strangers: Could you young whippersnappers please stand up and let these people on? They continue to resist. The pushing passengers don't understand what the obstruction is but the resisting passengers do. Nobody communicates with anybody.

Eventually, the Gringo who's listening to a classic grunge album screams at the kids '¡¡PÁRENSE!!' perhaps a little too loudly. In a split second, kids are upright, passengers are boarded, doors are shut and we're on our way.

People look at the Gringo like he has two heads. The kids look embarrassed. The Gringo seethes but is quietly satisfied. Eddie Vedder is growling.

New month, new slate.

Nice body, shame about the face.

2009-10-21T11:05:00.010-03:00

The most common question I get asked by my students (after we've covered the obligatory 'How much years have you?' and 'How long time you are in Chile?') is 'Do you like Chile?' During my first semester, my answers consisted of 'So far, yes, I like it'......cue five minute explanation of so far.

By the time the second semester had started and new classes had been added to my schedule, I found myself in a bit of a dilemma. I knew, that on meeting my new students, I would be asked that question again. This posed a problem. I had been living here for four to five months and already hated Santiago and the vast majority of its moronic inhabitants I had encountered on a day to day basis. What was I to do? I don't like lying when it means denying an opinion, nor did I want to offend my students. Then, in an inspired moment, I realised that they were asking about Chile. No problem, then. I'd been outside of Santiago. I'd visited Viña, Valparaiso, La Serena, Elqui Valley. I had an out. 'Chile? Oh yeah, it's a beautiful country. You guys are so lucky'.......cue five minute explanation that guy does not mean homosexual.

This country is pretty amazing and amazingly pretty. I believe it is quite unique in its natural borders. Is there another country on the planet that has a desert to the north, ice to the south, mountains to the east and an ocean to the west or variations thereof?

Since my arrival, I have visited several more places and I've not been disappointed. I heartily recommend places like Chiloé, Valdivia, Santa Cruz and the aforementioned Elqui Valley. Viña and Valpariaso are quite nice, the latter being a little overrated by best known chubby-ankled Gringa guidebooks. The Atacama desert is spectacular but unfortunately there's no escaping the CAGs which overrun San Pedro.

I've yet to meet anyone who actually likes Santiago to any great degree. The biggest vote of confidence I've heard is a 'Yeah, it's alright I suppose' and that's from a couple of CAGs that got knocked up by their pololos and are pretty much stuck here anyway. It is, without a doubt, the ugliest place I've ever lived in. Everyday my senses are violated in some way by its unwashed bus 'musicians', vile architecture and overbearing smog to name but a few. And then there's the guinda de la torta....the natives. That, I'll save for another posting.

My favourite bar none.

2009-10-11T13:37:00.017-03:00

For some people, just having cold beer available and some decent company is enough to give a bar their seal of approval. The former being in the control of the bar owners and the latter being the responsibility of the approver. For me, what is paramount to a customer's comfort is the quality of the staff. They need to be friendly, attentive and efficient. I don't think it's too much to ask for.

Yes, I know I'm in Santiago and finding a native possessing any one of those qualities in the hospitality industry is like trying to find a ham sandwich at a bar-mitzvah.

I have (far too many) years of experience on both sides of the taps and so I empathise with both camps. However, I am a fairly easy customer to deal with. I usually sit at the bar. I usually know what I want. I don't order off the menu. That, however, all counts for nothing.

Whether you're sitting there polishing your halo or picking the dirt out from between your toes, you are generally met with the same level of contempt. Rarely do bar staff/waiters appear in front of you waiting to know what it is that will slake your thirst. No. You must seek them out. And to make absolutely sure that you understand your part in this power struggle, they keep you waiting just a little bit longer.Eventually, they saunter over to where you are and you are greeted with a 'Si?'

One of the differences between English and Spanish is that the Latin based language is used more efficiently than it's wordier rival. At first this can seem at little brusque. Our mothers always taught us to say 'yes, please' and 'no, thank you'. Naturally, we transfer this habit to Spanish and our cover is blown immediately. 'Si, por favor' and 'no, gracias', while not incorrect, sound strange to the ears of native Spanish speakers. I might offer assistance to somebody with 'Would you like some help?'. In Spanish, a simple '¿Te ayudo?' suffices.

Like Chinese, Spanish is a tonal language. See what I mean by reading this explanation of the five different pronunciations of da in Chinese. Similarly, si, depending on how it's uttered by a Chilean, has a variety of meanings. In a bar situation it can mean all of: 'Hello. How are you? Sorry to keep you waiting. What can I get you?', but generally it means all of: 'Yeah, whadda want? I was texting my boy/girlfriend, you know. And by the way, this isn't my real job, so don't you dare think you are better than me, you Gringo piece of shit.'

Then, in what seems like a moment of enlightenment, they ask if you're going to eat. You say 'yes', they ask 'what?', you say you don't know yet, they wait, you tell them that if they go and get your drink that you will have your decision ready when they come back, they snort, you maintain eye contact, they stomp off, you read the menu.

Now, taking an order for one meal is not too difficult but sometimes there are decisions to be taken on the part of the customer. If it's a good ol' fashioned steak, you need to decide how you want it done. Then there's a decision regarding the agregados and finally there may be a choice of sauce available. Tending to a single customer, you wouldn't really need a pen and paper to write it down. As a waiter/waitress you could just keep repeating it to yourself until you got your hands on a scrap of paper to scribble it down and give it to the kitchen. However, when there's two or three people in the group, a notepad is essential. I've noticed that four is the tipping point. If there are four in your group, they come to your table, notice that it could pose a short term memory problem and go in search of an envelope to write down your order. Without that trusty envelope you can be guaranteed that somebody will get rice instead of fries or the a lo pobre will have onions on it when it was specifically ordered sin.

I often eat in bars here. Chile has some of the best produce in the world. The meat, fish, fruit and vegetables are of fantastic quality. The problem is that the chefs tend to be Chilean. The food they serve won't kill you. In fact, the food is usually cooked to a decent standard. What they don't understand is flavour. Seasoning, it seems, is the responsibility of the consumer. Yet, we don't get a share of the 10% tip that is so kindly calculated on our behalf and fully expected to be handed over.

Sitting at the bar in Santiago hasn't really taken off. People here sit at tables and bars aren't really designed with having customers so close in mind. You don't really see the locals standing with their favourite tipple in hand either. I find this bar culture interferes with the potential of meeting other people (read: women). I've gone into bars with Chileans and because there was nowhere to sit we had to go elsewhere. I suggested that we go in anyway and get some drinks. This was met with 'But how will they know where to bring the drinks?' and 'It's okay. Let's go to that place over there. They have tables available'.

It took me a while to find a decent bar in this town, but I did. On my first visit, I was meeting a colleague. I found him and sat down. Within seconds I was presented with a menu (without asking) and advised by the (gorgeous) waitress that she'd be back in a moment to see what I wanted. The bar was about fifty percent full and she was the only floor staff. She was buzzing around serving, smiling and checking on people. True to her word, she was back and I asked for a bottle of beer and said I wanted food too. She said that she'd get my drink while I selected something on the menu. (WHAT????) My beer arrived within a couple of minutes (WTF???) and I placed my order for some quesadillas. My buddy had a pizza. I reckon it takes about 20 minute to make a pizza. Our food arrived after about twenty-two minutes. (OKAY, WHAT'S GOING ON HERE?). The quesadillas were fantastic. Before I'd realised, I'd eaten half. (RIGHT, THIS ISN'T FUNNY ANYMORE). I went through my list of what had just happened.

- greeted by a waitress who is genuinely glad that I've decided to come to her establishment
- a cold beer in my hand within minutes
- the ability to look at the food menu while waiting on my beer to arrive
- regular check ins by the waitress
- food that actually has flavour and arrives on time

I needed answers. Had I just stepped into a portal that took me out of Santiago? Was my drink/food spiked? Was I dreaming? I grabbed my buddy by the lapels.
'WHERE THE HELL AM I? WHAT DID YOU PUT IN MY BEER, YOU SICK FUCK?'
He smiled and nodded knowingly. 'I've been where you are. It's weird right?'
I slowly lowered myself back into my seat.
'It sure is', I mumbled. 'Just tell me', I finally eeked out. 'I need to know'.
'Well', he said, 'the waitress is from California. In fact this place is owned by three Californians. She's actually one of the owners'.
'But, the food?'
'Mexican', he said in an obvious tone 'the chef is Mexican'.
My heart was racing. Inwardly, I was screaming hallelujah. I needed some air.
'Toilets. Where are the toilets?'
I got to the toilets, locked the door, shut the lid and sat down. After I'd finished sobbing, I fixed myself up and made my way back to my companion and our table. I wanted to hug him. I wanted to tell him how I would never forget this day. I just wanted to say thank you. I didn't do any of those things. The ball game had finished and he was reading his book. I just sat there watching the big screen and took victory sips from my bottle.
'Another?', asked the goddess in the apron.
'Sure. Why not?'

A year has passed since then, and I've been a regular visitor to Bar Basic, and as the business has expanded they've employed some locals. A risky move you would think but these young entrepreneurs have whipped them into shape. I've often wondered why they decided to call their bar Basic. I suppose I could just ask them. There's probably a lovely story behind it but I'd rather think the name is based on the fact that they concentrate on the basics. Those simple, yet important things that make a bar great.

Come on feel the noise.

2009-10-06T10:13:00.008-04:00

When you're living in a metropolitan area, noise is inevitable. There are all sorts of violations on your auditory system here in Santiago; Traffic, construction work, Super-Ocho sellers and New Yorkers to name but a few.
However, these are constants. You soon tune them out and carry on with your afternoon nap. It's the amount of superfluous noise I'm talking about. And Chileans love to make an unnecessary racket.

I'm also not talking about the one-beer-queers that burst into Feliz Cumpleaños every 10 minutes while your trying to watch a game in what is a designated Gringo bar anyway. That's quite annoying , especially when I throw them one of my well rehearsed dirty looks which doesn't pay off. Hey, they're in a bar having a drink. Who am I to wreck the buena onda?

No. I'm talking about the noise pollution in this city that the Chileans use as 'look at us, we're making some noise'.

Take the kids for example. If they aren't dry humping one another on park benches or metro platforms, they're playing music through their phones. Some of the more worldly-wise flick through the reggaeton classics with such abandon that no sooner are you ready for the second chorus, having mastered it first time round, then the next masterpiece is thrust upon us.
I can't blame the kids really, but a responsible adult should take hold of the situation and put a halt to this anti-social behaviour (as well as the dry humping).

Walking by a butcher's yesterday at a little after 9.00am (yes, I thought it a little strange for a Chilean enterprise to be open at such a convenient hour), I was subjected to a 4 foot high speaker in their doorway blaring out some sort of heartfelt ballad with the volume turned up to 11. To be fair, the volume was probably warranted. The song was at that crescendo part where you imagine the balladeer (or group of) grabbing an imaginary object with his outstretched hand, stabbing himself in the bosom and closing his eyes so tight that his cheeks meet his forehead. Think Backstreet Boys.
Well one thing's for sure. It certainly didn't make me want to go in there and ask for a kilo of chicken feet.

Then there's Dr. Simi (slogan: the same only cheaper). These guys sell generic versions of the more expensive, patented brands of drugs and medicines. There's a branch of theirs on Vicuña Mackenna near Baquedano which employs a similar marketing technique of the aforementioned butcher's, only this music tends to be a little funkier, but not necessarily better.

So, you've been working all day in your uncle's meat shop. You've gutted more than your fair share of poultry. The stench of rotting entrails and constant wailing of some lovelorn troubadour has taken it's toll and if Marco Antonio Solis has another verse left in him that vein in your temple is going to explode and make this place look like....ehm, a butcher's! So, you take a break to pop across to good ol' Dr Simi for a gross of Tapsin (or the same, only cheaper). Well, it's a frying pan into fire scenario, isn't it? Pop! Splat! Scream!

Going on strike here is no tip-toe through the tulips either. There are drums, whistles, kazoos, military style marching songs and loudspeakers. Those dour looking bank clerks you've had the misfortune to encounter while cashing your pay cheque are suddenly full of la joie de vivre and smiling, singing, shouting. Had they put as much effort into their customer relations (how hard is it to give a Buen Día a Cómo está? a Que tenga buen día ?) as they do to their banners, perhaps the bank wouldn't be making any redundancies.

The biggest violation of my right to a peaceful environment are the Transantiago buskers. Buses here get quite full but these guys manage to find enough elbow room to rape your ears with a couple of Andean tunes banged out on a guitar held together by scotch tape. Then they ask for money. Supposedly a bribe not to play an encore. I'm all for street performers but that's where they should stay, on the street. That way, I have the choice whether I want to listen or not. The bus company did try to ban these guys a few years back but they went on strike!!! The buskers that is! Their version of striking is a quite different from the common or garden variety I mentioned previously. Apparently they started attacking buses and drivers until eventually, as is the Chilean way, they gave in.

Fire engines and ambulances whizz along empty roads with their sirens blaring, football fans celebrate victories with car horns through the night, religious nuts carry paper mache Virgin Marys shoulder high accompanied by a brass and rhythm section who sound like they've exchanged instruments for the day.

Unnecessary, I say. Let's have some piece and quiet, I say. Easier said than done, I suppose.

Even as I write this, there are three Chileans having a 'conversation'. A conversation in this country is all parties talking at once while the competition to be heard slowly encourages the volume to increase. I can't complain, though. It is drowning out that god-awful Starbucks music.

Here's to the first of many.

2009-10-03T15:41:00.010-04:00

I've toyed with the idea over and over again about having a blog. For an opinionated individual, such as myself, it always seemed to be the natural progression. I've never been shy about putting forward an opinion and screaming that the Emperor is stark-bollock naked. An admirable trait I've always thought. After all, there is no worse scourge in our society than hypocrisy. Is there?
However, I have learnt along the way that there's a time and a place for such correct opinions.

One such opinion is that blogs are maintained by attention-seeking, egotistical individuals. So before I took my first steps into the blogosphere I had to make sure that I fitted into that category. Not fitting into that category would have inhibited this gift I am bestowing on the world simply because to join this club without the requisite traits would've rendered my original opinion wrong. And that would upset the natural order.

I imagine a large portion of my postings (read: rants) will be of my time here in Santiago and my encounters with the natives and their 'different' ways.
I arrived in Santiago about 18 months ago. The first thing you see when you exit the airport, after you navigate your way through the salivating taxi drivers is the breathtaking view of the Andes. It's then you know you've made the right decision to travel to the other side of the world on a one-way ticket to a country where you have only a rudimentary knowledge of the language.

I also think there'll be a mention or two of football (it's never called 'soccer') with a good measure of my pet hates. Do I care if people read my blog? Well, of course I do! After all, I'm an attention-seeking, egotistical individual.

Here's to a long and prosperous future of spleen venting.

Cheers.