One trip, several publishable works. A tale of travel writing prolifery.

As I peruse my yearly budget and see where the bulk of my money has gone this year, I can't help but notice a giant chunk of it went to visiting New Zealand. I don't hold a grudge against the country, certainly its location in the effing middle of nowhere is a)not its fault and b) part of the grand appeal. Also, since I live in a really cheap apartment and my idea of a night on the town often includes a giant sandwich, like this one for about $5 US (#NG), my giant chunk might not be your giant chunk. Certainly, I recommend New Zealand as a travel destination. It's incredibly clean, beautiful, organized, and it's in the southern hemisphere so it's opposite landia, weather wise for most of you. Don't curse the winter, run away from it!


Red Hot Pokers, Otago Peninsula, New Zealand's South Island

When I tell people that part of what I do for a living is write about travel, they imagine that I'm some kind of expert travel writing ninja, with various magazines knocking down my door sending me hither and yon. These are the people that don't know me. The people that do know me listen to me excitedly talk about how there's an article here or there with my name on it, and consequently, enough money in my Paypal account to go out for a couple more $5 sandwiches, putty knife optional. I am open to the door knocking-on (but not so much knocking down), and imagine that at some point, as my trajectory improves, that will happen. For now I translate and edit a lot, and do a bunch of other stuff for a bunch of online outlets from the comfort of my sunny apartment and possibly wearing kelly green crocs.

But I wanted to show some of you what has come so far out of my trip to New Zealand, because it's the first time I've gone on a big trip since starting travel writing, at least with the goal of selling stories.

Pre-trip

Before the trip I was writing for a couple of different outlets, and ended up accidentally doing some research on volcanoes for NZ, which turned into a story on something different, volcanoes in the Americas. I also started researching a generalized story on winetasting in lesser-known spots, and ended up learning a bit about NZ's wine industry, though in the end the story turned into winetasting in South America.


A story that I wrote that actually published info I'd found about New Zealand came next with this one on glaciers in the southern hemisphere (on MatadorNetwork), and certainly that got my New Zealand wheels spinning a bit.

Mid-trip

While I was away, one of the editors at Matador wrote a little piece on my trip, which pictures a cyclist who could be me, but is not, amid many, many sheep, which was a frequent occurence on the actual trip.

Post-trip

When I came back I was inspired by the glowworms to write a piece on glowing organisms for Bootsnall, and then pitched a story to MatadorSports on riding a penny farthing, which turned into this high-riding piece (haha, so funny!).

A couple of months later I had my first ever "they-contact-you (me)" experience, when
Pam from Nerdseyeview asked me to write a story on the great pedability of New Zealand for AvidTrips. And then I pitched my first ever photo essay to MatadorTrips, and like magic, up went a photo essay on pedaling around the South Island of New Zealand.

And while the NZ trip certainly took a big bite out of 2010's financials, it was also really good writing fodder. And if I can keep traveling to my dream destinations and writing about and taking pictures of them, I feel like I've won the life lottery. But a little door-knocking wouldn't be bad. AFAR, WEND, other four-letter hipster magazines I might be missing, are you listening?

(and the answer is, of course they're not, as a freelancer you have to make your own work, so pardon me while I wind up and pitch). Got any of your own tales?

Is that a putty knife, or are you making me a Chilean sandwich?

You may think, being a person of a certain age, and by that I mean nothing more than that you find my blog mildly entertaining, which puts you in your twenties and up, for the most part, that you know kitchens.

You've been in kitchens, you've seen what they contain, you know how to use some (if not all) of the implements contained therein.

Believe me, I thought the same. But when I came to Chile, I discovered four major departures. 1. The sponge is made of foam 2. there is no vegetable peeler, 3. the can opener looks like a medieval weapon (see the one from 1855, still in use in Chile)and 4. stovetop toasters (like the one here, sold vintage on this toaster site, the "square, nonelectric" one!

The sponges I bring from home when I can (though I just discovered they are available in the shangri-la of supermarkets. The vegetable peeler is remedied by bowing out of all peeling tasks that are not in my kitchen, lest the resulting potatoes show up the size of malshaped (misshapen?) dice. The can opener I just walk away from, or have someone else use, for the most part, though I have on occasion used the stab-n-rock (as I like to call it). In my kitchen I have that wacky thing with the whatsis you turn. And though I seriously injured myself in Feb. of last year with the mandoline, so far my can opener has taken no prisoners.

So I thought I understood Chilean kitchens pretty well, and you probably think you could identify most of the implements found in one, and also in most restaurants you'd care to enter.

Enter, the putty knife. This, it turns out can be used to move around meat (or mash up cheese as though it were play-doh) on the grill, scrape the same, or pile unthinkable amounts of avocado, mayonnaise or other delicious toppings to your gargantuan sandwich.

Behold, the mega sandwiches.



A closeup of (not my) sandwich, note the meat. Churrasco Italiano, beef, mayonnaise, avocado, tomatoes)


And presumably, Francisco.



And we weren't the only ones. Here in Viña, at Sandiwchería Sibaritico, 5 Norte 147. Sal de Frutas (local alka-seltzer) sold separately.



No one seemed to mind the putty knife, but it always does seem worth mentioning.

Lights/Luces at La Moneda, Visual Spectacular

Qué quieres que te diga? (What do you want me to say, literally, "what do you want that I tell you (fun with the subjunctive, included!)" Santiago has a lot of really great public spectaculars. Like really, really great. Pequeña Gigante great.

We are tremendously lucky to have all kinds of gorgeous and crowd-gathering things here, and the bicentennial celebrations exceeded my expectations, particularly with this light show where they used the Moneda's (presidential palace #NG) southern face as its canvas. Most of what was really cool about the event was about watching things move, appear, disappear, protrude and retract, all convincingly done with light, but here are some pictures of what the night was like to give you an idea.

I went with a friend, and we stood on Paseo Bulnes, which is a great place to buy a jackknife, a rifle, or any other assorted implements of destruction, or to play with the wicked high ISO settings on your camera.



And to say there was a crowd would be a terrible understatement. Tens of thousands of people were there, and this was the second night we tried to go. We had tried to attend on the kickoff night, but we couldn't get anywhere near the building.



Here's one of the views we had.



and another, which reminded me of this building I saw in Oamaru, New Zealand.



and of course it ended with fireworks, of which I took a few photos, again enjoying the camera settings, and cursing the lack of a tripod.





At various times, the Moneda was "turned into" a greek temple, a garden, an underwater scene, the backdrop for four emerging moai (giant stone heads from Easter Island)

I loathe mob scenes with all my heart, and Chile does a terrible job of keeping people safe, moving pedestrian traffic and crowd control, which always freaks me out, but this was actually quite well worth it. In fact, I'd say it was one of the coolest visual effects presentation I've ever seen. If you have the patience (and some dramamine), you can check out some of the youtube videos posted on this site.

Next up: boats and planes, or the military shows its stuff in Viña. Patience my adoring fans, patience.

BTW, if you sometimes wish you'd known about this stuff before it was over, and you hadn't noticed over there in the sidebar, I'm a twittering fool, follow me at @bearshapedspher for more up to date details and whatnot.

What's your second last name? A tale of nomenclature and identity in Chile

I have gone on and on about my name, my first name (always misspelled), my medical name (señora Barbara) and other nomenclature-related things, but I don't think we've ever explored my last name.

Smith, or esmeet, as I should pronounce it, so that we're all clear about what's going on, tends not to be a problem. People can either spell it on their own, or respond quickly to my "EH-say, EM-ay, EE, TAY, AH-chay). What truly worries people is my lack of a second last name.

Segundo apellido, they say (second last name). No tengo, I say. And they look up at me, perhaps expecting to see just half of someone, or perhaps a person who looks like they might have hatched out of an egg, since the second last name I'm missing is my mother's. It's not that I don't have one, of course (hey Mamaj!), but we don't use that last name, and anyway, at this point my mother and I have the same last name anyway. And believe me, I don't want my last name to be Smith-Smith, both because it sounds like I have a stutter and because mostly it's illegitimate children who are not recognized by their fathers that get the repeated (in this case mother's) last name.

Somewhere along the way I was told to put NN, for ningún nombre/ ninguno (no name/none, not sure here ) in the case where I was asked for a second last name. In general this works just fine, though people still give me the fish eye for not having two last names, and occasionally say "Allá no usan los dos nombres?" (They don't use both names over there?)

But the best part of the story is that another friend, for whom I shall shortly invent a pseudonym, (though she may later choose to identify herself) was also faced with the lack of a second last name, and chose the US-based answer to something when you don't have an answer, which is NA (not applicable).

And now, everywhere she goes in Chile, she's known as Samantha Gilbert Na. (except her name isn't Samantha Gilbert, of course, remember the pseudonym promise?). And then they look at her like she has two heads, because they're expecting someone who's at least partially Korean (which she's not). Or they think it's totally normal, and that her second last name is Na. Which is a fine last name, or the chorus of a song that's now stuck in your head.

na na na na na na na na

So what's your second last name? or alternatively, what's the song that's now stuck on repeat in your head-head?

Gearing up for Fiestas Patrias (Chilean national holiday)

It's bicentennial madness over here in Santiago, madness I tell you. I nearly got pushed off the road by a bus full of pretend huasos (people dressed up like cowboys) singing and clapping and dancing the cueca, the supermarkets are jammed, people were trying to buy alcohol (in vast quantities) at nine this morning, Chilean flags are flying everywhere,a nd I just got buzzed (in my apartment) by three giant military helicopters (no telephoto, just an open window and camera at the ready).



Tomorrow begins the official holiday for the 18th of September "fiestas patrias," but you wouldn't know it. Everything is in various states of shutting down already, and we'll spend the next four days celebrating our (their?) Chilenidad in various ways.

So far my preparations have consisted of:

taping a postcard-sized Chilean flag to my window
buying veggies on a Thursday rather than the weekend because I don't think my fería will be on.
asking people what their plans are for the holiday
telling people what my plans are for the holiday (mostly playing it by ear, also working)
and writing four posts for NileGuide about
the national holiday
drinks for fiestas patrias
games for fiestas patrias
and the cueca (which, btw, is what tighty-whities are called in Portuguese, but we try to hold our heads high, keep our clothes on and not worry too much about it.

I keep promising I'll write about the fondas (parties specific to the holiday), and maybe I will, though the likelihood of me actually going to any is very slim. I have this thing about crowds, you see... Which leads me to the next thing I'm going to do to celebrate, which is go to the kickoff of the "light show" at the Moneda tonight. If you're looking for me, I'll be with several dozen thousands of my best friends. Followed by the third birthday celebration in a week. Feliz cumpleaños already, people!

Have a great night. Photos sure to follow!

Reinventing your comfort foods

After blogging and commenting and talking about food availability in Chile, and eating pumpernickel bread with cream cheese and a marinated cucumber and red onion salad that reminds me of pickled herring, and the whole plate just kind of reminded me of childhood, I got to thinking more about comfort foods.

I guess if you've been mostly in the same place, your comfort foods change as you meet new people or try new dishes or revive old ones. You have the ones you grew up with, maybe mom's mac and cheese with buttered crumbs (this one seems to loom large in many people's gastronomic memories, though it's not something I grew up with), or lasagne, or ridiculously-shaped semi-burned hamburgers with drippy melted cheese on a bun that falls apart (again, extrapolating, not much of a meat eater).

And if you move around, you might have different comfort foods that make you smile depending on where you've been. The first time I remember reinventing a comfort food was during the six months I spend in Central America in the early 90s. It seemed like every time I moved to a new place, illness would strike. It is worth noting that I do not have a stomach made of gossamer fabric and delicate lace, but the different fauna wreaked havoc with my digestive system on more than one occasion on that trip, and at least one time it was my fault for drinking an ancient, putrid, dusty can of diet pepsi on the Mexico-Guatemala border in a room at a brothel that the proprietors let me and my friend Debbie have, where the door went neither all the way to the ceiling nor all the way to the floor.

But I digress. On that trip, I developed a bit of a fear unpredictable tummy issues, and a tremendous love for oranges (which I had never eaten much of before) and sleeves of saltine crackers spread with refried beans. I think I ate this nutritious never-fail combination dozens of times, and never got sick. To this day, I can buy some saltines (called "american" crackers here) and whip up (or buy) some refried beans and call it a meal.

You would think that comfort foods would be set in stone from childhood, but from what I can see from putting myself under the microscope, that's not necessarily the case. How about you? What's a comfort food you've developed for yourself, or that's come to you late in life, as a product of traveling or meeting new people or moving or marriage or whathaveyou?

Shangri-La, my gringo supermarket experience in Santiago

Yesterday on my way home from the dentist, which is uptown, in a part of Las Condes that has a bunch of office parks (and apparently dentists offices) I was riding my bike back home, when I stopped into Shangri-La, or as you may know it, the supermarket.

It is always rumored that up in the hinterlands (and to be honest, this is not that hinterlandy, it's only about six miles from my house, but it a totally different social strata than where I live), there are gringo food products. Now, for the most part, I am perfectly satisfied with the products I can find close to my house, though in the two weeks I've been looking, I haven't found any decent mustard. Chileans think it should be sweet. Ick.

But on the whole, I eat what my local supermarket (NG) and feria sell, and I am happy. There are gringos who are probably less and more happy than I am with the food selections, and you can be sure that more than one of us has some secret nibbles stashed away in our suitcases when we arrive back in Chilito. But then there are things you can't bring back, or didn't know you'd want, or ran out of.

And that's where Shangri-La comes in. I was riding down Manquehue, towards Los Militares, when I saw the first sign (all photos taken on the sly and with my phone, it's not that the photo class I'm taking is wreaking havoc on my ability to focus):



The store was spacious, had a pretty complete and good-looking take out sections, salads, soups, sushi, sandwiches, other s food that slips my mind at the moment. But I wasn't hungry, so onward I soldiered.

The first thing I came across that gave me pause I did not take a picture of, but for dramatic effect, I will now take a pause. Ready? Pumpernickel bread. Fresh, black bread, which was sliced before my very eyes in a metal cage with a tiny saw that measured each slice at 10 mm, because heaven forbid I should have 11 mm slices. I have not eaten pumpernickel bread in years, and it's one of the few foods I remember my grandmother serving, and wow. Pumpernickel. It's in the freezer as we speak. Not quite molassesy enough, but close, very close!

Bread well-bagged and under-arm, I meandered further, and came across a product which gringos laud the appearance of so fondly that it reminds me of my BIL's frequent joke "We have a friend in cheeses" (sorry, didn't mean to offend). At any rate, behold the golden chalice of Shangri-La:

Cheddar cheese in Chile. I didn't even know it was possible.


I zigged and zagged throughout the store, sneakily taking photos, lest I get snapped at (no photos in the supermarkets in Chile, sad but true). And I found the following:

Haagen Dazs ice cream (hope you're flush, because it's about $8.25 a pint!)


Maple Syrup, for just $26.00 for 12.5 ounces. Practically a bargain, but hey! maple syrup!


Sara Lee frozen poundcake, which I'm sure is extra moist and delicious after traveling an additional 5,000 miles to get here.


American Frozen Pizza, at $14-$17.00 a pop, you can be sure to impress your friends. BTW, we have frozen pizza in Chile. It costs around $6-$8.


Boca Burgers


Some kind of fuel for the Chilean obese children's fire, frozen dinners, proving that the 80s really are coming back.


Snyder's of Hanover pretzels and two different "flavors" of Pam, nonstick spray


Terra Chips


and my personal favorite, and which I actually would have bought if I didn't already have a purchased-in-the-states supply under my sink, even if they are nearly $2.00 apiece:

scotchbright sponges


And then, just in case you'd forgotten you were in the nosebleed section of the city, they had these lovely uniforms for you to buy for your nana as she does whatever it is she does in your house and out on the town:



and shampoo for blonds! (though now that I look at this more carefully, I see it is conditioner. No worry, I'm sure the shampoo was around there somewhere)


There were also chocolate chips (but not a good brand), frozen waffles, frozen croissants, a bulk section where you pack your own dried fruit, dried morel mushrooms and other assorted ones, several varieties of bleu cheese. There was not interesting hand soap or OB tampons, where do you think you are?

And I bought some good mustard to go with my bread and a few other items (deodorant, birthday candles, I know, it's captivating!), and rode my bike home about six miles, passing no fewer than five other supermarkets en route. But none of them like Shangri-La.

Free Movies in Santiago and much more for the Fiestas Patrias (National Holiday)

Not infrequently, I will complain about the lack of information about what's going on in Chile. Way too often I will discover something in the throes of happening or which has already taken place, but which I've failed to find out about. Not so this time! There's an incredible expo of free films at the Centro Cultural La Moneda (#NG) that you can read about in Spanish on the Centro Cultral's website here, but basically what you need to know is that from about 3 to about 8 from the 7th to 30th of September, there are free movies being shown in the basement theaters of this centrally-located spot. Show up early and grab a coffee at one of the two quiet (but strangely dark) cafés while you bide your time for your documentary or dramatic movie to start. It's unusual to see such a giant collection of Chilean movies being shown all together, and for cinephiles, Spanish practicers and people who're looking for something different, this is, as they say, top (say: tope)

However, this being Chile, it is currently nearly impossible to gain access to the Centro Cultural Palacio La Moneda. They are in the middle of revamping or redressing or re somethinging it, in addition to erecting a giant flagpole in front from which they will fly a Chilean flag of mythic proportions, which has a bunch of anti-military folk in a tizzy, believing that such a strong governmental presence is somehow anti-democratic (not sure I follow the logic here, but I hear all arguments). So what you need to do is go in from the Alameda side, but instead of walking down the fountain-lined ramps, go down the stairs to the parking lot and enter from there. Don't (like I did) run down the vehicle ramp, because there is a little pedestrian with a circle around him and a red line through him that tells you in a clear pictogram that no! this is not for you.

Other (hopefully) temporary preparations for the 18th include the closing of the main entrance into Quinta Normal, which led to me riding around in circles for many, many minutes, trying to get back out onto Matucana and back home, and the installation of bleachers outside of the Centro Cultural Las Condes (in El Golf) which seems to have also undergone a facelift in recent years.

I'm really looking foward to the upcoming and ongoing cultural deluge here in Santiago in the coming weeks, though I could probably do without the (likely) teargas on the 11th (demonstrations re: 1973 coup probable), and definite passing out of alchohol-reeking humans all over the street starting about the 16th.

Wholesome fun can also be had, at the Parque Ines de Suarez Fonda (Fiestas Patrias party), which is probably the most fome (boring) and family-oriented fonda, but still pretty fun, and especially good if you're skittish in crowds, where you can play with tops (trompos), cup and ball (emboque), climb the greased pole (palo ensebado), play rayuela (a game that's maybe a teeny bit like the Italian bocce) and perhaps fly kites (volantines), but it gets a little crowded in there, so you might prefer to do your kite-flying elsewhere. Parque O'Higgins is popular, but a bit more rough-and-tumble.



And of course, the military parade (parada militar) on the 19th is always a big draw.



But more on that later. Now go out and watch a movie. For free!

Traditional Chilean games for the National Holiday (ball in cup/emboque)

September is when Chile celebrates. The national holiday (fiestas patrias) falls on September 18th, and between having survived August (#NG), and the upcoming festivities which include traditional games, a whole lot of eating and drinking, kite flying and of course, the cueca (the national dance), there's a lot to get prepared for. And this year is the bicentennial, so there's even more to get prepared for.

And informed about:



Margaret at Cachando Chile told us a little about one of the little kids' games that turns into a big kid game on September 18th, with competitions to see who can knock down someone else's spinning top. They also make a competition out of our version of the kid's cup and ball game, this time perhaps more aptly named the stick and cap game, or as we call it in Chile, emboque.

Emboque is a game where a stick and a cap are attached by a string, and with a flick of the wrist, the player manages to land the cap atop the stick. In other Spanish-speaking countries it's called bolero, boliche, ticayo, capirucho or coca, and in France it's bilboquet, or so the internet tells me.



En route, it looks like this:



and in case you were wondering, he's not cheating, he's (successfully) executing the advanced version, which involves having the cap on the stick and whipping your wrist around so the cap flies off, flips and lands again. For this part you can hold the string.

I am fairly useless at the emboque, though I fare slightly better with the american ball and cup game. I don't consider this to be a great weakness on my part, and I like to think if I were Chilean I'd be better at it. Now where's that bouncy-ball paddle game when you need it? I could really win a prize with that one.

___________
#NG = transparency. This is a post that takes you to outside of bearshapedsphere, and that I'm paid to write, though it's still excellent and bearshapedspherey.

Can isn't can and other wanderings in Spanish grammar

Every now and then I like to talk about some pressing grammatical or pronunciation issue re: Spanish. Today is one of those days. You can blame the fact that I walked all the way from my house to the Recoleta cemetary (yes, we have a Recoleta cemetary, and may I say, it is a far sight more interesting than the one of the same name in Buenos Aires, photos forthcoming). And during that time, I thought about a conversation I had recently with a friend, in which she said, "El no puede ver a mi primo."

As an English speaker with a passing knowlege (or even perhaps a fairly deep knowlege) of Spanish, you might translate that as "he can't see my cousin." Imagine a situation where the person in question's line of sight is blocked by a pole or other obstruction, and as such, he has no visual line to the cousin, and poof, he can't see him. Demonios!

Now please erase the pole and the obstruction, and one of the aforementioned people. Because what you took to mean "he can't see my cousin" actually means what we would say in English "he can't be in the same room as my cousin" or "he can't stand the sight of my cousin."

Hmmm, the word poder (can, to be able) to mean something having nothing to do with actual ability. Interesting. (And in English we have a variation of that as well, you'll notice that both of the above approximations also use the word can).

Now consider another expression we use all the time, also with can.

I can swim!

The I can/I can't that we easily and mellifluously use in English has no place in Spanish. Well, it's not that it has no place, but it doesn't have the place it has in English.

I can swim (as in, I know how to swim, not as in, how will you get to the other side of the lake, "I can swim (there)", is expressed with saber, for "to know (how)"

Sé nadar.

not

Puedo nadar.

Here's a case in which we use our version of poder (but not podar, as that means to prune, as in to cut off part of a plant), can, yet in Spanish to use poder means something different, as in the case that someone offers you a lift in their boat to the opposite side of a lake, but you'd really rather hoof (fin?) it, so you tell them you can swim. To tell them that you're able, you'd say sé not puedo.

So there you have it. More proof that English to Spanish is not a one-to-one relationship, and further evidence (if you needed any) that it's frustrating when someone asks you completely out of context what a single word means. And also that listening to Beyonce does not prevent me from going on grammatical tangents while all the while overhearing whistles and hisses designed to inform me that, in case I was wondering, I'm female.

Happy Saturday!

Someone vandalized "my" graffiti!

There was a story here. Instead of static pictures of street art, or street art meeting its demise, I was going to show you street art in progress. I went out one beautiful weekend day, and found some graffiti hobbyists doing what they do. And I took a couple of pictures, and talked to them about the work they do, and where they have done it.

I couldn't quite catch what the mural was going to be of, and here's a picture I took before I got close to them.



Felipe, the guy whose face you can't see, says he has a website where he posts pictures of his work, and that you can hire him to do murals. The other guy was a bit quiet. I think Felipe does their PR. I gave them my info to get in touch, but so far they haven't, which does not surprise me.



And so in my mind, there was this story about process, about how something started gets finished, and there was going to be a picture of the completed mural, over there on the north side of the Alameda on Manuel Rodriguez, not far from Toesca. So I pedaled back one day with the specific goal of taking the after to my before, and found, instead, this.



"My" urban intervention (the graffiti) had been "intervened," a sort of vandalism of vandalism, if you will, by a sign by the group chacon, who I now realize I know nothing about, despite them plastering my neighborhood with similar signs, this one anti-government (as most of them are).

And so the story didn't go down the path I was expecting. It didn't go from progress to finished, it went from progress to interrupted. And I was disappointed at first, because I'd figured out in my head where it should go, and this definitley wasn't it. And then I had to resign myself and take another picture, because I always say I like my photographic subjects to just be, not to be hemmed in. And so it was.

And in other, unrelated graffiti news, I noticed this guy in my second visit to this wall, to the extreme right.



and it reminded me of this figure I snapped earlier this year in Laguna Zapallar.



And I love the way memory works, that you can see something that reminds you of something else, and now they're two things together instead of one, alone, even though they're separated by more than a hundred miles, and I have no way of knowing if the one from Laguna Zapallar is still there or might have been painted over or had a sign pasted on top.

Clickety click.