On Rain and Flight

I love storms: when the raindrops lash against the windowpanes and drum on the roof, when lightning splits the sky and thunder reverberates in your chest, when the wind tosses trees branches into a frenzy and howls a fierce melody. I love hiking in a drizzle, the forest quiet except the drips of water filtering through. I love a muddy singletrack, wheels flinging grime at you as you slide through corners and splash through rivulets, when you have to turn the hose on yourself before stepping inside after. I love the dripping silence as the first rays of sun shine through the cracks in the clouds and illuminate the nourished earth. That celestial watering can imbues new life, even in the city. Here in Chile, where storm drains have yet to make an appearance, the rainwater trickles down from the hills into fjords we must ford (ha!) on the way to school before they pound into the ocean. We earth-bound humans know nothing of the ocean or the sky, but we constantly try to break the ties to earth and gravity. That’s why I ski, bike, climb, windsurf: to fly faster, jump higher, to test the boundaries of our existence.

Why are mountains so addicting?

It’s so easy to get caught up in the stream of society and have its currents obscure your values. However, when I head into the mountains, the realization of the extent of my insignificance sweeps aside the veil to reveal what is really important to me. Summiting peaks is a way to simplify, the problems and solutions are clear. It’s a way to unite your awareness to your frame that is usually so dissociated. It’s a way to test yourself, your endurance, to push your body to the limits with the power of your mind. It’s a purely personal achievement, people have been there before and will do so again, but you did it with your own two feet (and occasionally hands and knees when it gets rough). I love the feeling of being totally self-reliant, none of the technology and comfort that numbs us present, only the confidence that I can survive with the just the gear in my pack. The risk that we assume as we trek the spines of giants is what makes it worth it, what makes it fun, what makes you return (i.e. skiing a straightline-into-cliffdrop, running out the rope on a PG13 climb in Moab, sending a steep line near a cliff biking). For me, leaving the mountains at the end of an adventure is the hardest part. I’d much rather squirrel away into the wilderness than return to face the city mentality of materials, money, gossip, politics… The summit of a mountain is where I feel whole, strong, and confident, the rugged beauty surrounding and nothing but me and some badass mountain goats for miles around.

Book Tax

In the states, walking into a bookstore is similar to perusing artisanal cheeses (you just want a wheelbarrow-full and you devour your purchase within a few days). However in Chile, where a novel could easily run you $50, buying a book is more of a life decision, like what skis to ride or how many pounds of dried mangoes you really need. There’s a standard 19% tax on books here, with an extra 6% added on imports from countries without free trade agreements. Chile is the only country in the western hemisphere that doesn’t exclude books from their VATs. In my opinion, books are one of the obvious fundamentals of education. It’s such an easy and cheap way to spread knowledge among all people. Even Pinochet realized this during his regime when he essentially censored the Chilean culture with mass media control: burning books, closing publishing houses, and adding this tax on knowledge. Even now people are still hawking used books on the streets alongside copper jewelry and handmade pottery. Though the government is obviously part of it, I think that there’s also a fused mindset of the leftovers from Pinochet with the more current technology-driven craze. Bookstores are hard to find (and used bookstores even harder) because there’s such a small demand for hard copies. Without the tax, books would be more affordable for the average Chilean, increasing the demand and spread of bookstores, and augmenting the knowledge and power that the population holds. Not a bad idea...

Chilenismos

I've heard that once you can speak chilean, you've mastered the spanish language. I can't validate that qualifier yet, but Chileans do speak ridiculously fast, rolling the words off their tongues so fast they often leave off the last few letters (which doesn't help me) or substitute them for -ai or -ito (which really doesn't help me). They also have entire books of words specific to their country, "chilenismos", that probably come from the native languages (but could just be made up, Shakespeare-style). 

Here are the most important… 

-caña - hungover

-chela - beer

-chicha - hard cider 

-cola de mono - aguardiente liquor, cinnamon, sugar, and coffee 

-concho - youngest child or last drop

-copete - a drink

-drunk - curado, cocido, botado, tomado, doblado, copeteado

-empinar - chug

-fanschop - beer and Fanta

-jote - red wine and coke

-michelada - beer salt and lemon

-pipeño - cheap wine

-schop - tap beer

-terremoto (earthquake) the second one you drink is a replica (aftershock) - white wine, pineapple ice cream, and pisco

-tintero - red wine lover

Here are some Chilenismos with different definitions depending on how you use them...

-bomba - gas station or babe

-callampa - worth nothing or bowl cut

-caluga - abs or caramel

-choco - slab of wood or short person

-durazno - apeach or dimwitted

-ladrillo - a large book or unlikable person

-loro - a chatterbox or booger

-papa - a potato chip or hole in clothes or a secret

-parte - a traffic ticket or a baptism invitation

-pato - a duck or a kiss

-rajarse - to get lucky or to pick up the tab

-tuto - a chicken thigh or a baby blanket

Here are some other Chilenismos...

-bacán - cool, dope, awesome 

-cachipún - rock paper scissors

-carrete- party (carretear - to party)

-catchai - do you understand

-enchufarse - to rejoin conversation after spacing out

-fanta - slang for red head

-flaco - slang for buddy

-flojear - to loaf around

-fome- boring (fomingo = Sunday)

-fresco - sassy

-frutilla - strawberry

-gallito - frog in your throat

-girafa - tall person

-gringolandia -USA

-lana - hippylike, laidback

-lapa - piggyback 

-lolosaurio - old guy who thinks he’s young

-mechoneo - prank done on first year college kids

-paco - police (not to their faces though)

-palta - avocado

-po - this word has an inverse relationship (overuse without any meaning whatsoever)

-pololo - boyfriend or an informal job ha

-tacataca- fooseball

-weón- duuuude

The Driest Place On Earth

The Atacama gets 4 inches of rain every 1.000 years… Never have I ever drank so much water. Sweat evaporates instantly, the harsh desert air snatching all moisture from skin and tongues. Even in late winter both chapstick and sunscreen are revered to slow the desert's leeching. The landscape is unearthly, no animals or insects or plants. The most water around for hundreds of kilometers resides within you, a negligible vitality wandering among towering stacks of sand and mud and salt.

Overlooking some salty lunar landscapes in la Valle de la Luna.

 Hostel life. Adventurers from around the world settling briefly to share their stories, laughter, and wine before taking flight around the next corner.

 Salt canyon adventures. The rock looks twisted and melted and crumbling.

 Salt and sand blown and eroded for kilometers into massive spikes and ridges and dunes.

 Desert days.

 Laguna Cejar, a ridiculously high salt concentration making for some easy floating. It was about 20 degrees colder than it looks.

 Un de los Ojos de Salar. Two deep pockets of sweet water in the literal middle of nowhere.

 Pisco sunsets with the crew.

 Getting charged by goats.

 The view is always better from the top!

 Pukara del Quitor ruins.

 Stars over San Pedro.

Aviones, Trenes, y Automóviles

The roads here are more cutthroat than NASCAR. The micro (bus) drivers have a reckless adherence to never coming to a complete stop on their route. It’s a constant race to hustle customers, exchange tickets for money, and evade pedestrians/stray dogs/missing pieces of road/other cars, all while shifting manually with one hand and perpetually leaning on the horn with the other. I'm pretty sure that the micros here were the inspiration for J.K. Rowling’s Knight bus (based on their flexibility in driving both on roads and sidewalks). For the more nomadic partygoers, some micros also transform at sundown into blacklight-illuminated discotecas, although it’s definitely an ab workout trying to stay in your seat as both people and their baggage are tossed in your face with each jolt. Somehow though, naturals at micro transit exist: the fearless girls applying mascara while rattling around corners at 70 km/hr. For a smoother ride, there’s the metro system as well, where we're often joined for a few stops by "musicians" (mostly high school rappers and vagabond recorder-players, but there are a few legitimate guitar-riff slayers). The metro is also "street-dog approved" by the few perritos that slink on, maybe to avoid other dog-gang territory?