Harto

Some changes creep up on you.

I realized today that part of my conception of normalcy has shifted. Allow me two anecdotes to illustrate this point.

Jessie and I are planning a short backpacking trip for this weekend. The destination is the Valdivian Coastal Reserve, a nature preserve about 70 km from Valdivia owned by the World Wildlife Federation. The reserve has a website, but, as with so many Chilean websites, there isn't much useful information on it. Furthermore, the town that their headquarters is located in doesn't even appear on most maps (including google maps). Luckily, Don Oscar told us that the WWF has an office in Valdivia, we looked up the address online, and Don Oscar gave us directions on how to get there: 1. find an alley. 2. Follow it until you see a really big tree. 3. Turn left. So today we went to go find it. We found the alley, saw the tree, turned left, and arrived at a completely normal, and empty, house. After ringing the bell, knocking, and waiting, Jessie noticed a handwritten paper sign in one of the windows. The tape holding it up had failed, and the paper was doubled up, but it was written in sharpie, so you could sort of read it backwards and upside down through the back of the sign. Significantly, I was able to discern two things: WWF and another address number. This led us to another normal looking house although this time there was a WWF sticker in the corner of the garage door. Sure enough, this was the place. They didn't have any maps, or anything really, but they did give us the phone number of a park ranger who was able to answer our questions.

Anyways, the salient point of this rambling story is that at no point did any of this feel out of the ordinary. Life simply works this way. If you want to find something, you have to ask for directions... a lot. You have to follow the trail, sniff out clues, and always be prepared for things not to turn out as expected.

Later in the day, we went shopping for sleeping pads. On the way to the downtown area, we have to pass by the entrance to the university. Today, as we walked past, we first noticed a lot of carabineros (police) around the intersection in front of the university. Then we saw riot cops. Drawing even with the entrance, we saw about 80 encapuchados (protesters wearing hoods and masks to prevent photo identification) chucking rocks at a couple of guanacos (tanks that shoot streams of water), with a line of carabineros in riot armor behind the tanks to stop the protesters from taking control of the only bridge to the city. Just as we passed, the guanacos started launching tear gas bombs. All this taking place a scant 80 yards away, and our only reaction was "great; now we're going to sneeze all the way to the store".

I've never even seen a cop in riot gear in the States much less tanks in the street or tear gas canisters, but here I accept such scenes as daily life. It wasn't until some time afterwards that I realized how strange it is that I should be so unaffected by this and yet still struggle daily with the novelty of the language. Jadedness works in funny ways.

As promised, here are some photos. Most of them have nothing to do with the post subject and are included merely for the joy of having a camera again:

A protest march I snapped through a dirty bus window today.

Disc! (photo by Michael)

Jessie!

Don Oscar and Cecilia puzzle out something on the computer.

A lonely beach at Lago Caburgua. With a disc! And Jessie! (photo by Michael)