Roadtrip to Mano del desierto

Apr16

Right now I am making my way back to North America, but last week, I fit in a few last-minute tourist trips: the first, a short road trip into the middle of the Atacama, about 75 kilometers from Antofagasta to see a bizarre statue in the middle of nowhere. The second, a weekend in San Pedro de Atacama for relaxation and some immersion in Altiplanic culture for a few days. Now it’s time to hop on a plane and go home to the United States. (But don’t worry… I’m going to keep blogging!)

Last Tuesday a few friends and I drove into the vast desert behind Antofagasta on the historic Pan-American Highway. The highway isn’t exactly well-travelled in these parts. We were one of the few cars on the road; mainly, just a few busses and trucks go up and down these remote desert stretches.

After driving for a while, out of the absolutely empty sandy landscape that looks exactly like Tatooine (sans Stormtroopers and droids), suddenly a human hand rises as if by magic out of the barren desert.

Our traveling companion, a little Westie named Snowy, instantly hopped out of the car to investigate the strange sculpture. We wandered into the blazing heat and took a few pictures before a couple of semi trucks pulled up, spoiling our view.

I also ran out into the desert for a few photos in the vast nothingness, which I later posted on Twitter. A few people mentioned that the desert had shrunk me. It does appear to be something out of a Lewis Carroll novel, doesn’t it?

I have not found much information about the Chilean artist who constructed the statue in 1992, Mario Irarrázabal, other than that he liked to sculpt human figures. I’d like to find out why he chose this location, where so few people can witness it. As it stands, it really is not much more than a vaguely interesting stop for bored truckers and a blank canvas for graffiti. Perhaps, as well, a reminder of how small and isolated we all are in such a vast landscape.

Autumn wanderings in northern Chile

Apr2

Autumn has descended in northern Chile… which really doesn’t mean much in a place that, for all intents and purposes, has no real seasons, other than the sun is setting earlier and the nights are cooler and more likely to be overcast.

I hope you all had a wonderful weekend. Sunday was yet another holiday spent away from home, but until a teleportation device is invented that would transfer me effortlessly between various countries on the continent, we made the best of it on our own.

Chile is by and large a Catholic country, like most of the rest of Latin America, although there are many other religions and denominations represented within the borders. Nonetheless, Friday was a holiday, and earlier in the week I went to the cathedral in the city center to see an Easter orchestra and choir performance.

Lately my adventures have been mainly relegated between the pages of books; still working away at my master’s program. This has left very little time free for explorations and side trips. I did manage to visit a Peruvian restaurant a few weeks ago, and had some fantastic fried fish (corvina, a light white fish native to the waters off the coast of Peru and Chile). It was fried in a very light batter and topped with a simple tomato, onion and cilantro salsa, served on a bed of sautéed potatoes. How can you ever go wrong with a version of fish and chips?

And, as always, I’m still enjoying the scenery.

March: when summer slips into “autumn”

Mar6

The packed public beach in February

I’ve enjoyed writing about my trip to Buenos Aires in January so much that I have completely neglected to write about Chile over the past few weeks. Now that we are in March, it’s already nearly the end of summer and the start of another school year for Chileans (and my husband, a university professor). Of course, since we are more or less on the Tropic of Capricorn, I find “summer” to be a loose term. In this area of Chile, the weather never dips below 50F (15 C) any time of year, and if you ask me, winter is characterized by “slightly less intense sun” vs. the “deadly intense sun” of summer. Needless to say, I certainly do not feel in the mood to start sipping hot cocoa or wearing suede boots and tights around town now that we have reached the Southern Hemisphere equivalent of September in the north, as the shift into fall is virtually unnoticeable save for a few more clouds at night that have me grabbing for a light sweater after 9pm.

Public beach, Antofagasta, on the weekend before back-to-school

So how was my summer vacation? I can hardly say. Buenos Aires seems like a long time ago now, although that truly did feel like summer to go away and enjoy a change of scenery for the week. As for the weeks after, I have to admit that I have been busy and focused enough with schoolwork for my master’s program back in Canada that it almost doesn’t matter that I am physically located Chile.

Almost … but not quite. I am still appreciating Chile’s long, endless stretches of rocky coastline that provide great viewing, Instagram material, and space to focus on while daydreaming (or in my case, procrastinating).

I think many people back home have the impression that I go to the beach to hang out there a lot, but it’s worth noting that most of the coastline here is very rocky and impossible to actually “go to” save for a few public beach areas once cleared by the city and filled in with sand, which are overcrowded with people, stray dogs and food vendors all day long throughout the summer. Also, let’s just say that the photos I post online of the beach don’t have the ability to capture smells… if they did, I’m afraid most viewers back home would understand another reason why I don’t go to the beach too often.

Instead of going to the beach, I simply have gazed at it a lot over the past few weeks. And that’s nothing to complain about.

In February, most Chileans had at least a week or two off of work, many even longer, and students enjoyed their summer holidays. Chileans reserve the month for quality time with family. Many flock out of Chile’s industrial, mining and business cities like Antofagasta to the more picturesque oceanside escapes in other parts of the country to rest on more tranquil beaches and enjoy endless asados, or barbecues, with extended family.

This week was the first week back to school for students and most families have now returned home and to work, refreshed and relaxed after the restful month.

Families walking (and riding 4-wheeled multi-rider bikes of sorts) along the coastline

It’s such an ingrained part of the culture for young and old to take a stretch of time off in February that Chilean acquaintances I have seen this week seem absolutely devastated when I tell them that my husband and I didn’t leave the city at all in February and haven’t seen friends and family during this almost sacred time. I can’t emphasize how sad the look that they give me is. Of course, they don’t understand that unlike them, I have absolutely no cultural way of connecting of “February” with “vacation”. Not to mention, North Americans never take a whole month off of work in the summer to see friends and family. The Canada Day weekend or 4th of July weekend is the closest we can relate to this tradition, but those are usually just 2-3 day holidays for families, not month-long vacations. Still, the looks of devastation that flash across their faces when I tell them we took no time off to leave the city in February and see family give me pause. Why am I so nonchalant about never having had weeks at a time off in the summer to spend with my family 24/7, and they seem to think that that would be the end of the world to go without such a time?

Clouds at night herald in “autumn”

Primavera en Chile

Nov28

Cactus

Late spring is in full force here in northern Chile with intense sun and very hot afternoons. (Our proximity to the ocean and the strange current that keeps northern Chile relatively temperate keeps us cool at night, thankfully.) It’s hard to believe that it will once again be summer here in less than a month! Why, I was just enjoying summer only 4 months ago… ahh, the benefits of skipping hemispheres, I suppose.

Unfortunately the warm, dry environment hasn’t kept me healthy. I am still recovering from a stubborn cold after having been under the weather for a few weeks now, so I will keep this post simple with a few photos of flowers in full bloom and some of the breathtaking sunsets we have been enjoying over the past few weeks of spring.

In a few days I will be flying down south to explore Santiago and Chile’s central valley (aka. wine country!) for the very first time. I look forward to updating you from a different part of Chile very soon!

Andean musicians practice the guitar and flute on the beach

Sunset over the city

Sunset over the Pacific (the city recently obstructed my view with new lamp posts!)

Bougainvillaeas form an arch over the sidewalk

On the absence of rain

Nov20

The Atacama Desert near San Pedro de Atacama

Let me start off by saying that I realize it may be poor psychology for me to write a post about the absence of something that no one really loves much this time of year, anyways: rain. But it’s been on my mind, perhaps because it is (American) Thanksgiving this week and I am thinking of everyone in sweaters and fall boots, in front of a warm fire, digging into delicious, comforting warm meals with loved ones (or some variation thereof), and I am feeling very, very left out because not only am I far away but with the incessant sun and long, hot afternoons, the last meal I really feel like eating right now is a big turkey, stuffing and decadent pies. I’ll just take some ice cream, thanks…

Rain might also be on my mind because I haven’t seen it since the night of July 25th, in Nova Scotia, Canada. About 4 months ago. And if you had been in Chile for two years, as my husband has, you wouldn’t have seen it since early July… 2011. Yes, that is 1 year and 4 months ago.

The barren desert hills behind the city of Antofagasta

Years ago, when I was commuting to work in freezing rain in Quebec in late November, I could have never imagined a life without rain (and would have certainly thought it was a wonderful concept at the time). Growing up in the green woods of Michigan and the rich, rainy landscapes of Montreal in the St. Lawrence River Valley, it’s inconceivable that any place on earth could exist – much less people – sans precipitation.

And yet, when I tell people back home that it has not rained for over a year in Antofagasta, Chile, I am not sure they really believe me. They’re not alone: a quick search for the Atacama desert on Google brought me to an article where, in the comments section, visitors were convinced that it was impossible for the Atacama desert to be so dry, that the article must be mistaken, and surely it rains in the Atacama, but maybe the soil just drains it out quickly…

… but I can personally attest to the fact that it simply does not rain here.

Desert near San Pedro de Atacama

Not a drop. In the somethingodd months I’ve been here, I haven’t felt a speck of moisture fall out of the air.

On their website, NASA clearly agrees: they state that there are some parts of the Atacama that have never received rain since people started keeping track of that kind of thing; in other words, rain hasn’t fallen for centuries in areas of the desert. Other areas may get a tiny, tiny bit; the average rainfall is something around 1 millimetre (0.04 inch).

NASA and Wikipedia explain how I could be living on an ocean but never see rain: in a nutshell, it’s a combination of factors, including the fact that the Andes mountains block clouds that are formed to the east, over the Amazon rainforest, from travelling west to us; meanwhile, a costal mountain range forms a barrier from moisture reaching into the desert from over the ocean to the west. The Humbolt current of the Pacific, which gives us a relatively mild climate year-round, causes rain to form and fall offshore (and I can attest to this: nearly every night, a “shelf” of clouds hangs over the ocean in the distance, and sometimes I am pretty sure I can even see rain, it just never comes onshore).

A “shelf” of clouds is visible almost every night far out over the ocean. These, allegedly, have rain. (And yes, that’s the moon, I took this a few nights ago.)

People, however, are adaptable creatures and have survived (and thrived) in this desert for ages. There are pockets of groundwater sprinkled in isolated areas of the desert, providing oases for small communities to flourish. San Pedro de Atacama is a place where pre-Hispanic civilization once lived, and nearby towns (though still hours away by car) have remained for millennia. Quinoa, berries, various foliage and llama once (and still do) provided sustenance for the groups that lived this dry inland region. Back along the Pacific coast, where most cities and small villages are located, today, Antofagasta has some grass, flowers and trees, though people are employed to water and care for these plants every day. It’s incredible how much money, effort and time goes into keeping such greenery alive! The expansive network of hills behind the city, however, are absolutely barren.

A blossoming cactus (somebody waters this one!)

On another level, it poses some aesthetic challenges for the city. After over a year with no rain, the area underneath garbage cans on the sidewalks has grown black and sticky, and plants along the sidewalk are caked with a thick layer of dust and grime. Inside my apartment, I face a daily battle against dust everywhere: on my computer keyboard, on my desk and table, the floors, on books and shelves and every little corner possible.

It is a difficult climate to be transplanted into, despite all of our modern conveniences to ease things along. Being from a cold, rainy climate – and even, I think, having genetics that can be traced back to the rainy lands of Ireland and Scotland – contribute to my discomfort, especially at this extremely bright, hot, dry time of year. There are mental difficulties, too: I grew up finding the sound of rain and wind comforting, and not seeing it hit my window from time to time is disconcerting. My dreams have often been filled with thoughts of rain. Although I don’t miss walking or driving in it, I miss seeing it and even feeling it.

A marine fog, which I have been told is called camanchaca, often hangs over the city and a nearby peninsula (just barely visible above the ocean in this photo).

On a less tangible scale, I have written before how time seems to flow differently here. I believe one reason for that is the simple lack of seasons. (To be fair, we might have two seasons: one when the sun is strong, and another when the sun is even stronger, but I hardly count that!) Seasons measure our progress through the year and punctuate our lives. Even weather does that: think of the memories you have of sunny, rainy, and snowy days. They all are distinct.

The fog, though it does not produce rain, helps bring some moisture into the desert which can then sustain some types of cacti, succulents and other grasses like these, which are inland in the high altitude Altiplano region near the Chile/Bolivia/Argentina border

P.S. Thankfully, the Internet always has a solution, and I recently found this: http://www.rainymood.com – it helps!

P.P.S. My next chance to see rain is in a couple of weeks, when I finally visit the central district of Chile! I’ll be stopping by Santiago, Concepción, Talca, and the surrounding wine country – an area that is absolutely greener than the Atacama desert – and look forward to sharing my findings (which hopefully include some rain, though my hopes are not high because it’s the dry season,) with you.

Describing the Tastes of Chile

Oct16

Limón de pica pie (pica lime pie) – like a key lime pie – one of my favourite treats.

I dealt with a bit of “blogging writers’ block” last week which is why I didn’t quite get a post together as usual last Friday. I had a few frustrating things happen, including the inability to get my hands on a book I need for my master’s research and some unexpected dinner guests, that took me away from the blogging world. But, everything has been solved, thanks to an acquaintance of a friend who can bring me the book I need and dinner guests who came, enjoyed my American barbecue-style chicken sandwiches, and left.

Anyways, speaking of food, during my writers’ block I turned to Twitter and asked what you want me to blog about. As it turns out, I have not been blogging enough about food!

You might remember a year ago when I was incredibly frustrated by the lack of spices, familiar ingredients and apple varieties available on the supermarket shelves. (Hey, I am from an apple-growing region… I miss the 100 varieties of apples we have there every fall.) Even though groceries have not changed much in Chile in a year, I certainly have. I have grown very accustomed to the ingredients available here; indeed, I enjoy many of them. I love that we get delicious avocados year-round, and wonderful, fresh, ripe mangoes for months – the likes of which we would never see in North America, where mangoes that have travelled long distances simply taste like a pine tree, instead of the sweet, peach-like flavour they have when freshly delivered down here from nearby Brasil.

Mangoes! This was taken in June, when they were in season.

I also am able to get my hands on enough things to make the foods I like: black beans and creamy cheeses for Mexican-style quesadillas, homemade pizza dough with portabella mushrooms and chorizo, imported chickpeas from Canada (!) for homemade hummus, steak and potatoes for my husband. (Filet mignon is surprisingly affordable here – yes, still pricey enough to merit reserving for an occasional treat, but affordable nonetheless – and I made it once using a recipe from Food Network’s Giada de Laurentis, which I later Tweeted about how much I liked and she replied to me personally, which I loved.)

Anyways, the thing is – the bad thing is, for the purposes of this blog – I have been cooking similar foods (just using local ingredients) that I might at home, which has meant I have tried fewer Chilean foods than I might have if, say, I had a Chilean mother or chef living with and cooking for me. So, I am hardly an expert.

Still, between dining out, dining at friends’ houses and simply talking to other people, I have pieced together a little knowledge of what is commonly consumed in this region. Cooking is, of course, a regional thing, and near the ocean shrimp and mussels are used in a lot of dishes. In fact, you can order steak or chicken at many restaurants with cream sauces that have little baby shrimps and mussels mixed in. Meanwhile, further inland, like near San Pedro, the cooking has more Andean influences, such as the use of grains like quinoa.

And, to my knowledge, there are not really celebrity chefs here of the likes of Jamie Oliver, Paula Deen or my favourite Tweeting chef, Giada, so I can’t direct you to a Chilean cooking show. (If I have any Chilean readers, I’d love to know if there’s a good Chilean chef somewhere out there? I think most Chileans would say their mother or grandmother is the best!)

We got this in a restaurant once. I can’t even really describe it… I suppose it’s like a Chilean poutine? It had French fries topped with chorizo, chicken, beef, and runny eggs that had been fried on one side. Not a health food.

I can’t really generalize the cuisine of a whole country. Chile is long, remember! And it’s like trying to sum up the food of the U.S.: how would you possibly generalize what New Yorkers, Californians, Texans and Michiganders eat in a day? Nonetheless, as per your request, I will attempt to. Also, I recommend Anthony Bourdain’s No Reservations episode on Chile from a few years ago, which I think was quite representative of a number of common foods in the country.

If I had to describe the food typically consumed in a day around here, I would say that northern Chileans start the day with a sandwich or some bread and jam, yogurt, fruit, tea and fruit juice. Then, they have their largest meal of the day between 1-3pm. This might consist of meat, rice, potatoes, a type of bread that is round and white and looks a bit like a hockey puck, and maybe a boiled vegetable like cauliflower. Here in Antofagasta, they might eat ceviche, which is slices of raw fish marinated in lime juice, or a seafood soup, which consists of a simple broth, some shrimp, mussels, squid, and cilantro. This can be commonly found downtown Antofagasta near the mercado or fish market, which are packed at lunchtime. Salad doesn’t seem as popular as it is in North America, and is definitely not what we know as salad: the only time I have been served salad by a Chilean, it was lettuce with a bit of lime juice and canola oil on top.

Next, there might be a snack around 5 or 6pm, although I don’t think this is too common. Sometimes, I observe couples or tables of friends enjoying a coffee or tea and a slice of pie or cake at this time, a habit that feels reminiscent of another era. Dinner is served at 10pm or so, and is usually light, consisting of something as simple as a sandwich – or, since we are in the era of fast food, a hamburger or hot dog or a choripan (chorizo in a hot dog bun).

Happy hour at bars usually runs from 9pm-midnight, as the nightclubs (or so I have been told, I’ve never actually been to one!) don’t get going until well after midnight!

Chilean empanada

Over the past year (and after numerous complaints), my friends and family back home still seem surprised that my favourite coffees and spicy foods are hard to find, despite the fact that some of the best coffee in the world is grown in neighbouring Peru. Several Chileans have told me they like the taste of their food without spices, confirming what I discovered on my own: case in point, one woman told me recently she can’t even stand the taste of a little cinnamon in something. Black pepper is rarely found on tables at restaurants.

And, again, coffee is simply…not that popular. Still. There is no culture around it – as hard as those of us in the northern hemisphere find it to believe. Although that might change in only a few years: I see tons of young Chileans lined up at Starbucks and Dunkin’ Donuts whenever I am in the Santiago airport, and there are coffee shops in grocery stores just like the Starbucks that seemed to creep into many grocery stores in the U.S. in recent years.

Hope you’ve enjoyed this culinary “journey.” Next week, I will describe three of my favourite Chilean dishes – including recipes!

Fiestas Patrias Week: Cueca and Kites

Sep21

I can’t believe it’s been a year since I first blogged about this holiday… but as of this week once again we have celebrated Fiestas Patrias in Chile, the national holiday commemorating the first governing body of Chile and the beginning of the Chilean independence process. The legal holiday is technically just the 18th and 19th of September, although this year most people stretched their holidays throughout this entire week. Universities and schools were closed all week long, and many people here in Antofagasta hit the roads (or the airport) last weekend, travelling to visit family and friends in other parts of Chile or even taking a vacation out of the country during this first week of spring.

Needless to say, for those of us left behind in the city things were quiet. I almost missed the rush hour traffic jams outside of my window. My husband and I didn’t exactly celebrate the holiday with the gusto of our Chilean counterparts out of necessity (my husband still has his PhD thesis to drill away on, so no week is ever a vacation in our house) … but, we managed to partake in a few holiday moments.

We ate a couple of empanadas (the traditional Chilean ones of course, which are filled with meat, spices, onion, olives, hard boiled egg and raisins) and my husband had chicha, the traditional corn-based liqueur. (I personally preferred good ol’ Cabernet Sauvignon.) We sipped our drinks and munched on bread topped with pebre on the night of the 18th at a small, traditional-style Chilean restaurant. Though the restaurant was nearly empty when we were there, the restaurant owners had set up a lovely atmosphere with a live guitar player/singer and pianist, and the waiters and waitresses were dressed up in traditional Chilean attire. One fearless patron at the table next to us even danced the cueca, a traditional Chilean dance, with one of the waitresses.

The next day, the 19th, anyone who was still around town flocked to the oceanfront, where we flew kites! My husband and I both agree that this is a lost art in North America. Why do Americans pay hundreds of dollars on equipment to enjoy outdoor activities, anyways? We each bought kites at a whopping 1,500 Chilean pesos (about $3) each and had a bit of fun watching our kites against the crystal blue backdrop of the spring sky.

One year after arrival: The routine

Aug21

A wintry beach (with sea foam, not snow)

As you have probably noticed, I’ve fallen a little behind on my blogging duties lately. You may be wondering what adventures I’ve been having in Chile, or the spectacular landscapes I’ve been photographing, or the trials and errors I’ve been facing as I try to navigate life in a Spanish speaking world.

The answer is… I’ve really been doing nothing that unordinary. It’s been business as usual down here in the wintry month of August.

(And by wintry, I mean that it gets cloudy sometimes at the end of the day.)

Let’s go fly a kite… a popular winter activity

I know, I am in Chile. Everything should be so spectacular and “exotic,” right? But the fact is, I’ve grown so familiar with my surroundings – and in many ways, accepting of them as well – that I have managed to sink into some sort of standard, normal, dare I say – mundane, existence.

That’s not to say I’m not appreciating my surroundings. Last week, a stray dog “protected” me from the crashing waves of the Pacific (via profuse barking) and accompanied me on my walk of the beach. The moment on the beach was quite incredible, and that did not go unnoticed.

The adorable, sweet and – sadly – stray “perrito” (dog) at the beach who makes it his personal mission to save people from waves

I still face a fair number of challenges in daily life. But my Spanish is flowing more freely, and my Spanish comprehension is spectacular compared to the near-incomprehension I experienced last year. I have learned how to cook with the ingredients I can get here (and don’t miss most of the things that I was at first in shock about not having when I first arrived a year ago). Of course, the grocery store occassionally stocks kettle potato chips now, and I have filled in my spice cabinet with a few things I brought back from Canada (namely, allspice, Montreal Greek spices, and molasses to make brown sugar). Coffee beans are regularly toted back from Starbucks in the Santiago airport or, whenever possible (which is to say, whenever someone I know is coming back from a trip to Canada), independent roasters in Canada.

Chilean butterfly (that looks suspiciously like a North American butterfly)

Which just goes to prove, people can adapt to anything, and what seemed like the end of the world last year is no longer the end of the world. In fact, reflecting back on some of the things I used to think I need, I now see them as useless frivolities. Which isn’t to say I am not still frivolous. It’s just my interests and – perhaps more accurate – my “needs” have shifted.

(With that said, I still have some serious cravings for iced vanilla lattes from Starbucks and Montreal sesame bagels…but I’ve learned to improvise, and look forward to trips to Santiago or Argentina where cafes and pastries are more readily available. I also miss e-commerce, but my credit card does not.)

Last year, I was given the advice from a South African woman to “make the most of it” down here. I think I’ve learnt what she meant by that. And I think I’ve managed.

Still making the most of sunsets!

“Churros” a delight… with a view

May15

The churro cart. I only captured the waffle-on-a-stick part of the cart in this photo, though.

Life in northern Chile has been a bit slow over the past few weeks, not that I am complaining about that. People here are settling into late autumn (which really only means that the locals are wearing more black and dark colours and sweaters that look heavier than they are. Wardrobes here can’t change that much from season to season: daily highs still hover in the 70s/22C, not counting the still-strong sun here on the Tropic of Capricorn.)

I have mostly stayed put over the past few weeks, trying to figure out what to do with myself and gearing up to start a distance master’s degree program at a university in Canada. I’ll have to travel back to Canada in July for the short residency required by the program. Needless to say, I am looking forward to the trip, as it will take me to a new part of Canada: near Halifax, out in Nova Scotia. Stay tuned for future posts.

Churro preparation

Late last week my mom and brother told me they were going to my hometown’s Tulip Time festival to check out the activities (Dutch Klompen Dancing) and eat some junk food at the fair food stands. Even though I have never exactly gone nuts over fair food, I had a sudden craving for something greasy and fried.

Now that the summer heat has dissipated, I am spending more time outside again. On Sunday, families like to gather at the public beach. Children run around playing with toys in the sand and on the grass. Older children and young adults rollerblade and play ball. Parents (and grandparents) stroll arm-in-arm and walk their dogs. They eat ice cream and lay around on the sand all day.

During our stroll on Sunday, I was reminded of my fried food craving as we passed a churro stand at the beach. The woman at the stand was selling churros, waffles on a stick, slushie drinks and cotton candy. It’s about time I tried a churro, I thought, eyeing a picture of the donut-like pastry on the cart.

Even though they are fairly common in the U.S. and throughout Latin America, I’d never tried a churro. We wanted to order just one to taste, but the woman would only sell them in a dozen or half dozen. Such is life, right? I ordered six.

Fresh churros

We watched as the woman dropped a star-shaped long string of dough from a dispenser straight into a dark, bubbling vat of grease. She let it simmer for about a minute, poking it occasionally with two sticks to help it cook evenly. She then expertly lifted it up, let it drain for a moment (but not too long), and set it into a paper bowl and cut it into six pieces. She sprinkled a generous helping of finely ground sugar on top and presented them to us for the mere price of 800 pesos, or about $1.65.

We sat underneath a palm tree and watched the sun set while munching delightfully on a few of the tasty fried treats. They tasted to me like a really old fashioned cake donut. All I needed was a hot apple cider and it would have been the perfect autumn moment. That is, the perfect autumn moment with sand instead of dead leaves and palm trees instead of an apple orchard, and no corduroy pants and wool jacket required…

Our autumn view while eating the churros

The Diablada

May3

Tuesday, Labour Day, was a major public holiday here in Chile (along with many other countries around the world). The city of Antofagasta was taking advantage of most people being off work by offering a few activities, including a book fair and some special dance performances, in the center of the city. Always up for celebrating a holiday, I went with a group of friends to the center of the city where we had heard there would be a performance by dancers from the Carnaval de Ouro, a religious celebration in Oruro, Bolivia. The specific dance that they performed was the Diablada (the devil), which is proclaimed by UNESCO to be one of the Masterpieces of the Oral and Intangible Heritage of Humanity.

And what a colourful, bright, sparkling heritage it is: words and photos cannot do justice to the dance. Groups of dancers, all wearing spectacularly intricate costumes circled a central square. The story in the dance unfolded through each group of dancers and the costumed figures. There were several figures, or characters, involved in the dance, including a condor, an angel, and of course, devils.

The dance’s origins are disputed, though are likely to have been in Bolivia. Many aspects of the dance are said to be traditional to the Andean altiplano region.

The dancers were accompanied by a live band and the steps and movements were beautifully coordinated with the music. Groups of dancers stayed in line with each other, while figures such as the angels and demons swirled in and out between the formations of dancers in incredibly ornate costumes.

One of the first figures to appear in the dance, resembling an Andean condor

Not sure who this figure was – terrifying yet fascinating!

One of the devils with his ornate mask

Lines of dancers in masks *Photo courtesy of M.W.

An angel leads the final group of dancers *Photo courtesy of M.W.

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