Category Archives: City life

Exploring Córdoba, Argentina

Last week, my husband and I needed an escape. Quite simply, Chile is not our home and therefore like a good friend or relative that you have been spending far too much time with lately, sometimes you need to a bit of distance to recover.

Not ready to go back into the glorious madness that is Buenos Aires, and after learning that Peru – despite being close by – would require multiple flights, multiple days to acclimatize, tour guides and possibly elevation sickness, we opted for something simpler. We decided we wanted a few things: green trees, coffee (for me) and meat (for my husband), and some pretty things to look at. So, we hopped on a plane to Santiago, and after another quick 40 minute jaunt by air across the Andes mountains, we found ourselves amongst the glorious spring green landscape of Córdoba, Argentina – and in a city that met all of our needs for an escape.

Córdoba is quite literally in the middle of Argentina – and the middle of South America, for that matter. Nestled next to the foothills of the Sierra Chicas mountains, Córdoba is also a really, really old city. It was founded in 1573 and its first map dates back to 1577, and a lot of the architecture we saw in Córdoba had actually once appeared on that map. The Universidad nacional de Cordoba is the earliest university in Argentina, founded in 1613 by Jesuits, and I would also hazard to guess, probably one of the first universities in any of the Americas.

The remnants of this early settlement can still be seen in the downtown Jesuit block (Manzana Jesuítica), designated as a UNESCO World Heritage site. These Spanish colonial buildings are extremely well preserved and maintained and still are very functioning parts of the city landscape. They still house some university buildings, a secondary school, an order of nuns, and more. The residents of Córdoba use the cathedrals, stopping in to pray and to worship. It is truly a treasure when parts of a city that are so old are still so functional and integral to the everyday life of its residents.

Over the years, Córdoba has been an important center of the agricultural industry in Argentina (it is, after all, surrounded by tons of beautiful, rich soil), the meat industry, and later in the 20th century, it became a hub for the auto industry. Naturally, we sought out steak and were not disappointed. A restaurant called Alcorta served us a perfectly cooked steak with delicious potatoes con crema and roasted vegetables as a side. We enjoyed this all with a bottle of Argentina’s trademark red wine, Malbec, of course… and went back again another night for seconds.

We spent the better part of the four days we were there just walking. The city has a very pedestrian friendly center, with endless shops, plazas and malls. This expansive pedestrian area, with its historic Spanish colonial and trademark “French meets Italian meets Spanish colonial meets eclectic” Argentinean architecture, is also very functional – every day we saw tons of locals shopping and eating gelato in this area. The pedestrian area was almost completely shaded thanks to archways draped with soft green plants, and the sidewalks with marble accents gave it a lovely feel. This area though old and worn around its edges, is still charming, reasonably well maintained and very functional with tons of shops and very cute, affordable made-in-Argentina fashion boutiques and lovely, lovely leather shoes (that were actually too nice for me to buy – I have no where to wear them!). It was a pleasure to walk around there and people watch (I loved watching the women walking around in their impractical and highly fashionable footwear).

When we first arrived in Córdoba, it was a Sunday night so after checking into our hotel (with its well-maintained historical Spanish Colonial features and art gallery featuring local artists) we went to the city’s famous arts fair. There were endless booths selling very high quality art, glassware, jewelry, pottery and other decorations for the home. I loved the fused glass lamps and the handmade lanterns, although unfortunately those would have been impossible for me to get back in one piece in my luggage. I also loved all of the flowers, plants and handmade flower pots being sold (and bought by the locals), although again those would have been impractical to bring home. Instead, my husband bought me a beautiful pair of handmade glass earrings and I picked up a small mug and salt and pepper shakers made by a talented young potter. The eclectic atmosphere was really fun.

The rest of the days we walked, ate, had a coffee break in the afternoons, ate some more, walked some more… we loved ducking into all of the baroque cathedrals and exploring the endless little shopping malls tucked away in the downtown. I am saving some of my pictures of cathedrals for a future post. We also visited the town of Alta Gracia, just outside of Córdoba, and soaked in the lush green springtime countryside… which I am looking forward to sharing with you in next week’s post!

Overall, it is such a treat to find a city like Córdoba, a functional, “real” city – hardly a tourist in sight – and a place that truly makes use of and embraces its historical features in its day to day life. Needless to say, it was a very well appreciated escape from our everyday life.

A New Schedule

A cafe in the evening. San Antonio de Areco, Argentina

A few months ago, I wrote about how people seem to walk at a different pace in Chile. As time has gone by, I’ve come to realize that entire days also seem to follow a different pace here, and I have only recently realized how much my own perception of a day has changed.

As someone who grew up in the American Midwest, I was raised with the idea that adults have the following schedule: wake up at 6 am for work, leave for work by 7 or 7:30, be at your desk by 8. Take a 1/2 hour lunch at noon. Leave work around 6 (or later if you have a big project), eat a quick dinner at 6:30, relax or go about your evening activities (sports, hobbies, etc.,) and go to bed by 10 or 11 pm.

I, on the other hand, have had a startlingly different schedule in Chile. Most Chileans seem to wake up reasonably early and are at work by about 9 am, judging from the rush hour that usually lasts from 8-9 am. But that’s where the similarities with the North American lifestyle end.

Lunch time begins around 1pm and lasts until at least 3pm. At that time, most workers go home and students leave school (“commute” isn’t really a familiar term here; home is usually just a quick dash from school or work). Families eat a large meal together and have a chance to have a quick rest or nap. By 3 or 4 pm, everyone returns to work or school and the afternoon lasts until 7-8pm. Then, students and workers mosey on home and many look forward to beginning their “second day.”

An evening coffee, Chile

This next part of the day is the social part. From what I gather, it’s normal for people to go for a quick snack and maybe a coffee after work at around 7-8pm. The might meet up with friends for “happy hour” from 9pm-midnight. Shopping is also done at this time, from clothing shopping to grocery shopping (which is often completed with the entire family in tow). At some point during that 9-midnight time span, they will also have a light meal, which might be as simple as a sandwich. Then, they either go home and look forward to the next day… or, if it’s one of several nights of the week, particularly Friday or Saturday night, by around midnight, they go to their favourite club, restaurant or bar. Midnight is when the live music comes out and the nightlife gets started. I’ve heard that about 2 or 3 am is peak nightlife time on Fridays and Saturdays – I’ve never been out this late to confirm whether it’s true! I do know, however, that when my husband and I have gone for a walk on Saturday or Sunday mornings at 8 or 9 am, we have seen many people wandering home from their “night.”

Sure, some of this schedule has to do with the climate; much of Latin America is warm year-round, and summers are subject to intense heat during the day so it only makes sense to be at your most active after dark. However, Northern Chile is very temperate all year, so there’s not usually a great benefit to staying out all night, unless it’s the middle of summer. Even cities such as Buenos Aires – which follow the same schedule (I have discovered 11:30 pm is peak dinner time at restaurants there) – experience fairly cool temperatures at least in winter.

A cafe in Recoleta, Buenos Aires, Argentina in the evening

I have not had many troubles adjusting to this lifestyle, as I’ve always been a natural night owl. My husband, a very early morning type of person, is a different story.

Interestingly, last week, I came across this article in the New York Times dining blog about the tapas phenomenon in the U.S. (tapas is a type of dish originally from Spain consisting of small appetizer-like portions of food). The article mostly focused on the particular dining and tasting experience surrounding tapas and how the ritual transformed from an after work snack in the Spanish context to a full meal in the American context.

What caught my eye in this article was this quote: “On their home turf, tapas were meant as ballast for drinkers in bars, and to bridge the long gap between the Spanish siesta and dinner, which nobody in Spain seems to think about before at least 10 p.m. But in the United States, with its … insistence on a mere three meals a day, tapas has become dinner.”

Burning the midnight oil (candle) in a cafe in San Pedro de Atacama, Chile

It reminded me of how I’m like the tapas that has tried to adjust in an American context – no, not that I am a little cracker with a fig and piece of prosciutto on it – rather, I’m the fish out of water here, and I’ve been the one to adjust to a different culture’s schedule. In general, I have quite enjoyed it and think it will be a startling experience to have to fit back into a North American schedule someday. (I mean, happy hour at 5pm? Really?!)

The article also reminded me of a very pleasant experience I had in Buenos Aires in May. After a long day of walking, my travel companion and I settled in at a cafe in Recoleta. People of all ages were gathered at the cafe, which seemed to be the kind of place where they had been doing the same thing year after year for decades (but still managed to stay relevant). We ordered glasses of Malbec red wine (patrons were either drinking coffee or wine) and offered a menu filled with snack choices. The light “meal” we were about to enjoy is called a merienda, or what could be translated to afternoon tea. (In Spain, this would be when those tapas are served.) I picked out a plate that included a crispy baguette, cheese, olives, cubes of ham, small pickles and a small bowl of nuts to accompany our wine. The snack was perfect to tide us over until dinner time. It also allowed everyone to have an extra time to sit down and breathe and socialize.

In my opinion, the prolonged day in Latin America is all about taking the time to connect with loved ones. Even if you have a full day of work, most people here realize that it can be restful and reinvigorating to share the rest of their time with the people they care for most.

The moon (as viewed in San Pedro de Atacama, Chile)

Learning to walk at a Chilean pace

Morning walk in San Pedro de Atacama

I learn a lot from taking walks in different locations. I think taking a walk is the most immediate way to connect not only with a place itself, but also with its people.

Through quiet, ordinary moments on the sidewalk, I have learned a lot about that elusive thing that all travellers seem to crave experience with: culture.  Culture is such an intangiable thing that you must be immersed, over time, in a variety of activities in a myriad of settings in the host culture, and even then you’ll never really get it.

During my brief return to Montreal over the past few weeks, I have noticed that walking around the Canadian city is a staggeringly different experience than walking around the city of Antofagasta. Sure, it’s cold and icy, which certainly affects how life is conducted on the sidewalk. But there is more than just frostbite that is different.

Montreal in the snow

Slow and steady wins the race might very well be the motto in Antofagasta. I have tried “keeping up” (or should it be, “keeping down?!”), walking behind groups of people on the sidewalks, trying their relaxed pace and have somehow been physically incapable of strolling at such a drowsy rate.

If you’re a fast walker, you’re out of luck. Pedestrians in Antofagasta will never let you pass them on the sidewalk. If North Americans sense that someone is rapidly approaching behind them on the sidewalk, it’s second nature to move aside and let the other person pass. Whether this occurrence is not noticed, not anticipated or simply not tolerated in Chile, I am not sure. But from my experience, no accommodation is ever made for speedy walkers by slower pedestrians. I can’t help but wonder if this is intentionally orchestrated. Maybe it’s their way of telling me, the hare, to slow down to a more tortoise-like pace.

Almost no one walks alone. On weekends, entire families – including extended families, cousins, grandparents, great-aunts – all go out for a stroll. Antofagasta has a lovely ocean-front walk, where Children can ride their bikes or roller skate and parents can push babies in strollers. During the week, coworkers walk to work together. Parents and children walk to school. Friends walk to lunch. Couples walk, sometimes with other couples.

Walking on the beach

Walks call for frequent breaks. In all fairness, this must be a more common occurrence where the climate is nice. If you take frequent breaks during a walk in Montreal, you’re likely to get rained, snowed, hailed, or sleeted on. In Chile, under a clear, near-perfect sky, pedestrians stop to talk on their phones, to enjoy a cigarette or a piece of candy or some ice cream. They stop when they run into their friend or neighbour. They stop to enjoy a sunset. Couples of all ages stop to enjoy each other.

If you are one of those rare creatures without a walking companion, you will soon get a walking companion. The first few times I took walks I often became disconcerted when, at stop lights, someone would step up to the curb, literally almost brushing my shoulder, despite the fact there was plenty of room and no one else around in our way. The person was often another woman. As someone who was raised to know how to be street smart and safe in big American cities like Chicago or New York, I would instantly become paranoid. Yet, the other pedestrian would never be a cause for concern: usually the woman would usually be well dressed, often my age or maybe older, serious, purposeful, calm, in the middle of her daily routine. I would tuck my purse more securely under my arm.

After about 5 months of Chilean women breaching my “comfort zone” on the sidewalks, I did a little experiment. I stopped stepping away when they would step up to me at corners. I stopped walking fast to get well ahead of them as soon as the light turned green.

And I realized they wanted to walk with me. Finally surrendering to them, I discovered I was supposed to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with them at lights, walk with them along sidewalks, each of us falling into the other’s pace. We crossed the streets together, passed strange men cleaning the sidewalks or watering the flowers, until we had to finally break away and go our separate ways. Without looking at each other or saying a word, we became temporary walking partners.

It was like a secret code. If I was walking alone, and they were walking alone, we were to walk together.

It wasn’t until I returned to Montreal, expecting to be relieved to have my personal space back, when I was walking downtown one afternoon and a woman stopped near me on a corner during a red light. She kept a respectable distance from me, at least a foot or two. As soon as the light turned green, she power-walked ahead of me, disappearing far down the sidewalk.

I was left, to my surprise, feeling slightly lonely and just a touch insulted.

Walking in Quebec

New Year in Two Hemispheres

 

Hello everyone and Happy New Year! I’m a little bit late for this New Year’s post, but we’ll just blame that on the jet lag. This year, I can say that I spent New Year’s Day in two hemispheres. At midnight, we watched a spectacular fireworks show put on by the city of Antofagasta over the Pacific. The show lasted nearly a half hour and was a definite crowd-pleaser.

Earlier in the day on the 31st, I took a (slow) walk around town in the hot summer afternoon. I noticed that the streets and sidewalks were emptier than usual. When we went out to get dinner, we were surprised that even the fast-food restaurants (pizza places, McDonalds) were closed for dinner. We found the one restaurant that was open, a Chinese place. We were a bit abashed: in the U.S. and Canada, New Year’s Eve is certainly one of the busiest nights of the year for restaurants. Of course, we should have assumed things would not be the same. (How many times have I said that since August?)

It became apparent why the city had been empty all day at about 10:30 pm that night when everyone of all ages started flooding the streets and sidewalks, walking towards the water with noisemakers, decorations and coolers filled with snacks: everyone must have been napping earlier that day! Of course.

 

The fireworks started off a whole night of partying. After midnight, the streets were as busy as rush hour as families and revelers went to neighbours’ houses for meals and parties and bars and restaurants opened to serve patrons all night long.

The next day, we walked to the beach and were stunned by the mess in the streets, sidewalks, parks and beaches: mounds of glitter, streamers, confetti, balloons, empty silly-string cans and broken wine and champagne bottles were littered everywhere. (I’m surprised there weren’t more cars pulled over on the side of the road with flat tires). One city street cleaning worker was pitifully trying to broom up a small patch of glitter, a lost cause in the miles and miles of waste from the previous night’s revelries.

We left for Canada the afternoon of the 1st. Our taxi driver informed us that most parties had ended that morning at 8 or 9 am. I hoped that our airline pilots were not one of the revelers who had a sleepless night!

We left hot weather (and I with a sunburn) and promptly arrived in subzero temperatures 22 hours and nearly 5,000 miles later.

I’ll be in Quebec for the next few weeks, but I thought I might take advantage of this blog to give you all a little wintery taste of “la belle province” before I return to Chile and continue to blog about my adventures down there for the remainder of 2012.

This photo isn't really related to the post, but I took it on Dec. 31st. I love these little old cars that I often see around town.

Pedestrian Artists

As I wander around Antofagasta on foot, I am usually trying to not fall into one of the massive holes in the sidewalks (yes, there are massive open utility “pits” randomly scattered along the sidewalks) or step in dog droppings (there are no requirements to clean up your dog’s excrement and if there were, it probably wouldn’t matter since the stray dogs leave plenty behind, too). So it’s surprising that I ever see anything in the city beyond the crumbly pavement or dirt underfoot. When I do, my eye often travels to the incredible graffiti.

No, I’m not being sarcastic. The graffiti here actually tends to be… well, pretty. Or at the very least, interesting. Interesting in the way a painting at the MOMA would be interesting and capture your attention for a good little while.

Detail of a mural I found near the beach last month

This type of artistic graffiti is referred to as street art. While North American cities are no stranger to urban graffiti-turned-”street art,” this form of expression is taken to a whole new level in Antofagasta. Artists create massive, beautiful, intriguing professional-looking murals out of a few cans of spray paint on a weekly basis. Often, the murals attempt to communicate some point of view. What that point of view is is not always clear.

When someone finally decides to paint over the unsolicited art, the artist will simply return to the spot or a new location with a new creative idea in mind and transform the otherwise plain walls into a canvas for all of the city’s pedestrians to see.

Now, I wouldn’t go as far as condoning this type of behaviour, because it does of course result in damaged property and require an expensive clean-up. On the other hand, a fortunate side effect of this phenomenon is that in a place where infrastructure is crumbling and not always properly maintained, it provides a diversion that can be quite visually pleasing and really becomes a unique part of a city’s individual personality.

Street art - sidewalk in Antofagasta, Chile

This type of art – created by the anonymous everyday artist –  is also perhaps the oldest known to mankind and the most omnipresent throughout history. After all, weren’t the spectacular drawings discovered in a prehistoric cave in France essentially the same form of expression?

The obsession with street art is definitely not unique to Antofagasta or Chile: I saw ample examples of street murals in São Paulo, Brasil and in in Buenos Aires a simple walk down a downtown sidewalk will present ample examples of this type of artistic expression. I recently discovered a fantastic English-language blog that sets out to chronicle street art in Buenos Aires, and I highly recommend it for a good introduction overview and some interesting examples of the art form. (Some of the murals that are recorded on this blog are officially condoned by the city — not all street art is subversive.)

Massive murals are not the only types of street art I encounter in Antofagasta or saw in Buenos Aires. Many street artists employ the aid of stencils. The stencils are beautiful representations of famous figures that demonstrate skillful use of negative space. I recently encountered a set of stenciled-on images on the sidewalks near the Parque Brasil in downtown Antofagasta.

Evita - source: BuenosAiresStreetArt.com

In Buenos Aires, I saw countless stenciled-on portrayals of famous Argentinean figures such as soccer players, Che, the historic tango singer Carlos Gardel, Evita and the current president Christina Kirchner. I even saw graffiti of John Lennon (not Argentine, of course, but somehow very popular there still).

Street art is certainly an intriguing form of communication. It transforms the aesthetic of a city space and gives a voice to those whose points of view may otherwise be lost in the crowds of a busy urban center.

The (aggressive) sound of music in Chile

One thing I will never forget about Chile are its incongruous noises.

Chileans seem to be attracted to many different types of sounds – and at different levels – than your typical North American is.

To begin with, Chileans speak in soft, dulcet tones (aside from the occasional shrieks and giggling of groups of adolescent girls, but that’s to be expected anywhere you go in the world). My mom the elementary school teacher would say they use “inside voices” at all times, even outside. Often my husband and I have often been standing in a store or seated in a restaurant and get caught up in a discussion that carries our voices to the stronger decibel levels common in North America, and I am suddenly aware of how loudly we are speaking compared to the Chilean patrons around us. And that is saying something, because compared to North Americans I don’t believe we’re particularly loud people.

Everything Chileans say, they say it softly. They even sneeze quietly.

But then the real contrast comes along, mostly on weekends, in the form of honking, beating on drums in protest and wild dance beats.

Weekends are when Chileans – to borrow Rebecca Black’s term for it – go partying, partying, yeah!

And at all hours of day or night, at any given spot in the city, there is the omnipresent loud music.

I believe the type of music most popular here is something along the lines of Latin electro house music. It has a beat that you can’t miss from cars that zoom past our building late on Saturday nights (Sunday mornings) and thumps through all of the concrete buildings and homes at house parties: boom, baadoom-ba boom, boom, baadoom-ba, boom…

It reminds me of the dorm freshman year, except it’s not just students who have these parties, it’s fully grown adults and families who crank up the volume, too.

Then there was the “international” festival last weekend. At the festival, booths represented the various countries where families in Antofagasta could trace their roots back to (Peru, Bolivia, Columbia, China and Croatia – for those wondering, no United States booth). Each booth was serving a traditional snack and beer from its respective land, in addition to dishing up a healthy dose of aggressively loud music, as though each group were competing with one another to see whose homeland had the loudest. (Columbia was winning, by the way. After walking past the Columbia booth, my ears were ringing for an hour. In great contrast, China was woefully losing the battle, with their subtle, gentle music.)

And then there are what I have dubbed “honking parades,” a noisy phenomenon witnessed usually twice a week (incidentally, as I write this, one just went by outside of my window). A “honking parade” is when a long stream of cars, usually accompanied by police on motorbikes, drives up and down the busy thoroughfare that runs along the coast and honks incessantly. Cars are often decorated with balloons, streamers and signs. Usually, the purpose of the “parade” is to draw attention to a certain cause. This past Monday for example, for the holiday that celebrates the Protestant and Evangelical churches, celebrants dressed up dozens of cars with balloons and drove them up and down the coast honking their horns.

The only time I find these noisy disturbances slightly enjoyable is when it’s for a wedding. On Saturday afternoons, I will frequently see white cars carrying a newlywed couple and their party trailing behind, honking their horns to announce the happy occasion to the city.

Chileans, as I have mentioned before, are avid protestors and one way in which they draw attention to their cause is by banging on drums, pots and pans as they march around town. It’s an effective and peaceful way to get attention, but it is quite literally a headache to listen to.

Noise is even celebrated during a daily walk. While many of the locals have giant headphones plastered to their ears as they walk up and down the beach, many more prefer to carry their music in large boom boxes (that term certainly sounds outdated, doesn’t it?) so everyone walking in the vicinity by might enjoy the music as well. Who wouldn’t welcome the stirring beats during a peaceful walk? Boom, ba-doom ba boom…

Electronic Latin dance house whatnot music is, mercifully, not the only kind of music valued here. There are music schools for children that I will often walk by and hear an orchestra playing a Bethoven symphony. Soul-searching teens often practice their guitars along the beach. Such sounds are, pardon the pun, music to my ears. Because I may still struggle with the Spanish language, but I do understand the sounds of a string orchestra playing a G-major scale drifting out of a school window or a lone guitarist strumming out a Bob Dylan song along the coast.

Something for you to dance to this weekend:

¡es Manjar!

This post was planned to be dedicated exclusively to the sweet, creamy, gooey, ubiquitous Chilean delicacy known as manjar.

However, before we get down to business, I have to announce that I have found a passable latte in Antofagasta.

Yes, that’s right. After nearly three months of cafe-hopping, searching, begging and pleading (and too many dishwater-tasting coffees to count later) I found a real latte.

So it’s not exactly the American venti. It’s an “Italian style” latte, which is to say, small, yet reasonably powerful and flavourful. Its origins lie in Illy espresso, a reasonable European brand. My walking partner (and cafe hopping) friend found it this small, warm miracle a quaint, clean, tastefully decorated little cafe in a modern new building owned by Escondida Mine, discretely tucked away in a back street with poor sidewalks. Best of all, the cafe staff has some broken English (they go well with my broken Spanish) and they have also discovered the joy of paper cups and lids so I can take the latte para ayer (to go). Bonus points: in addition to the yummy espresso, they have flavoured lattes which I am particularly fond of (no vanilla, but they at least had caramel and chocolate), an outdoor terrace with pretty summer flowers as well as an art gallery in the lower level. I am a satisfied customer.

So now that I have that settled, I can continue my expedition through the world of Chilean cuisine. Let’s get back to the manjar.

Manjar is everywhere. It is so present in Chilean desserts that you’d be hard-pressed to find a sweet that does not in any way incorporate the gooey substance. Chileans are so wild over it, they have a saying that if something is particularly great, “it is manjar” i.e, ¡este pollo es manjar! (this chicken is manjar).

Manjar, pronounced here mah-yah is essentially boiled, condensed, caramelized sweetened condensed milk. (Yes, that’s right, condensed twice.) Its texture is thick, gooey and dollopy, like a super dense pudding and it tastes more or less like a very milky caramel. It certainly packs a sweet punch, fitting for a country filled with people who seem to all have a major sweet tooth.

Manjar is used as the fillings in cakes, sandwich cookies, pastries. It is spread on toast in the morning. Stirred into yogurt. Snacks are dipped in it. A thinned-out version is used as a sauce and poured over petits fours. It is sold in jars, cans, bottles and foil packets. Dunkin Donuts at the Santiago airport puts manjar in the center of their donuts. McDonalds blends it into their McFlurries. There are as many different brands of manjar on supermarket shelves as there are brands of jams and jellies.

I am indifferent to manjar. On the one hand, I have always liked caramel and butterscotch, and it is certainly a close cousin to those sticky treats. On the other hand, it is so unavoidable in desserts that it makes me long for sweets other than manjar. (For instance, I have yet to see a bakery cookie or cake with a chocolate or fruit filling).

I see manjar so often that I’ve begun to joke with my husband that if something (or someone) seems particularly Chilean, they are manjar. (Yes, I’m injecting a new meaning into this word’s usage. You’re welcome.) We have a set of coasters that my husband bought depicting traditional Chilean scenes. In one, a lady is cooking something in a kettle… I am pretty sure it’s manjar.

You may already be familiar with it: it is known in the U.S. (as well as Mexico and Argentina, the country that lays claim to its origins,) as dulce de leche. However, having never tried it outside Chile, I am not certain whether it is the same exact substance.

We will be going to Argentina in a few days: I am sure I’ll have a chance to try their version of the treat. We’ve been instructed to try the sandwich cookies known as alfajores in Argentina, which has what else in its center other than …well, not manjar per se, but dulce de leche.

Arts and Crafts at the Mercado

Right now I have a few projects going on during the weeks and am busy planning an upcoming excursion to Buenos Aires, Argentina. I’m looking forward to getting out of Antofagasta. This city may have some hidden treasures, but I need a change of scenery. Of course, I will also be eager to share my Buenos Aires experiences on this blog afterwards.

One unique feature of Antofagasta is that it is a frequent stop for traveling artists and crafts people. I would say that in general there is a strong emphasis on music, arts and crafts here. Many of the aesthetics of the handicrafts reflect historical designs, time-honoured traditions and incorporate locally-found materials.

Making jewelry, particularly out of stones, beads, wood, copper and aluminum is one of the most popular craft skills. However, unlike in the United States where it’s easy to head on over to the local Hobby Lobby and grab a bunch of tools and discount beads, Chileans don’t have massive “big box” arts and crafts chains to get their supplies from. As a result, they often make do using unique combinations of locally sourced materials.

The place I’ve found to buy arts and crafts is in the city center near the large market, or mercado. Outside of the mercado, roaming crafts people set up small stands to sell their wares. Hand dyed scarves and shirts, copper figurines, hand-woven alpaca gloves and hats, wire sculptures, wire-and-stone necklaces, and earrings of all shapes and sizes are some of the objects found there that are regularly for sale.

Earrings made of wire, wood disks, thread and shell fragments

A little over a week ago I walked down to the mercado to see what was available. To my pleasant surprise, I noticed a new vendor set up, selling a gorgeous array of earrings. The earrings were all large and colourful, some were carved wood with paintings on them: others featured shells, string, hammered copper and aluminum, small stones, and what caught my interest: butterfly wings.

I mustered up my Spanish skills and asked him how much the earrings cost. He gave me a rundown on the prices, and proceeded to tell me a little about some of the earrings. Some of them, he said, featured traditional designs of the Mapuche people of Chile. Others featured traditional designs of the native Bolivian people.

I spoke with him a little bit more (entirely in Spanish). He was excited to learn I was from Canada (sorry Americans, it’s usually just less controversial if I simply say I’m from Canada…) and told me he was a native of Brasil but has lived in Bolivia and is currently living in the city of Iquique, a Chilean city a bit north of here. He likes to travel to Antofagasta because he gets more business selling his earrings here than in other cities.

Aluminum earrings hammered with motifs of the people of Bolivia and Chile

He was very friendly and told me all about sights to see in Northern Chile, Bolivia and Brasil.

I felt like I really accomplished and learned something. I had a conversation (in Spanish!) with an individual from this region who enjoys carrying on the traditions of the people of the region through his crafts and seemed genuinely proud that I would take them back to Canada. (If only he knew I’d also feature them online!)

Butterfly wing earrings. These were taken from (already deceased) butterflies in Bolivia

The experience also highlights how important traditional arts are. I am surprised to discover how strongly connected many of them still are to their traditional ways. Sure, they have adopted some North American and Western European habits as a result of their long history with the Spanish, English and Americans, but refuse to leave other aspects of their traditions behind even in the year 2011.

Beachcombing

I’ve always appreciated beaches. I was fortunate to grow up along the shoreline of Lake Michigan, and nothing is more comforting than the sound of waves.

One of the greatest things being here is hearing the strong ocean waves outside my window every day and night.

I make a point of walking along beach nearly every day and taking a look at what washes up on shore. Beachy objects have become a part of the decor of the apartment.

Most notably, I’ve found shells of all shapes, sizes, colours and patterns. I never take “live” shells – only uninhabited ones! Indeed, sometimes I’ll pick up a shell with a creature still residing inside, and gently toss it back into the salty water. The “homes” that have been left behind, however, are little pieces of natural art.

Although sea glass doesn’t exactly have the proudest origins – it is, after all, a byproduct of human waste dumps or litter on beaches and from freighters – it’s nonetheless an elegant byproduct of human impact on the environment. Pieces of glass that in one way or another get into the ocean are tumbled around for a few decades, the waves and sand smoothing them into round, soft shapes and the salt water dissolving certain chemicals in the glass, leaving them with a soft, frosted surface before washing up on shore. I like to imagine where these pieces may have originated and what adventures they’ve been on.

Pieces of pottery, ceramic and glass that have similarly wound up in the ocean are buffed until their edges are soft and occasionally tossed back on shore. This piece that I recently found appears to be hand-painted before it was fired in a kiln.

I’ve also found some small turquoise-coloured stones on the shore. These do not seem to be common, but definitely catch my eye when I spot them. I do not know if they actually are turquoise (which is found in the area) or some other form of oxidized copper.

Birds of all kinds – pelicans, sandpipers, and other birds that are still unfamiliar to me – swim along the shore and pick their way through the rocks, eating small fish, crabs and mussels.

I do have to mention that the beaches, at least in this city, are not quite paradise. While they are appreciated by the local population – families flock to fly kites, swim, fish and I occasionally even see people surfing or wake boarding when conditions are just right – there are many broken glass bottles, metal and plastic trash and other forms of man-made junk and waste up and down the beaches. Stray dogs lounge along the shores, often leaving their little “gifts” behind to stink up the area. Perhaps all of this is to highlight how fragile the world’s beaches are, and how important clean-up initiatives can be in maintaining natural treasures like this for future generations to enjoy.

Cumpleaños – how to spend a birthday in Northern Chile


Yesterday I celebrated my first birthday in the southern hemisphere. It’s amusing to think that my entire life I’ve had a fall birthday, but this year, it was in spring!

A few days ago, I decided that for my birthday I’d like to have a nice American-style birthday cake. Probably because on some level I seem to love to make things as difficult as possible and American-style birthday cakes aren’t that easy to come by around these parts. But last week at the grocery store the Birthday Cake gods were apparently looking out for me because I happened across a Betty Crocker cake mix, imported straight from the U.S.

I picked up some raspberry jelly for the filling. My greatest obstacle in the Great Birthday Cake Challenge of 2011 was frosting. I’m really quite satisfied with a nice, simple buttercream frosting: easy to make, delicious to eat. Naturally, however, there’s no powdered icing sugar here. (Not to mention no fresh milk either.)

I read online that icing sugar sold at the grocery store in the U.S. and Canada is a combination of very fine sugar and corn starch. After some hunting a few weeks ago, I’d found corn starch and finely powdered sugar, but the experimental frosting I’d whipped up with it for a batch of brownies was not at all the correct consistency or flavour. I decided to avoid the potential for disaster there.

It dawned on me. Several years ago I visited my friend Carina and her family in Brasil. They had heard how much I enjoyed brigadeiro, a tiny fudge-like Brasilian candy that is most often made for birthday parties. (Carina had first showed me how to make this treat when she visited my family back in 2003.) So they baked a cake with a to-die-for bridageiro frosting. The fudge-like frosting is rich, creamy, buttery, and basically delicious. The best part? All of the ingredients are available here in Chile. (And in the U.S.: recipe below.)

The cake ended up having some global influences – just like me I suppose – but that only made it better. I wonder what Betty Crocker would think?

The old smelter in Antofagasta

In the afternoon, we celebrated by checking out the museum in Antofagasta. (It takes some creativity to come up with a unique recreational activity in this town, and yes, I am a nerd for thinking that visiting a museum is a great thing to do on my birthday!). The museum is small, but well organized. It’s relatively new, but located on the almost ghost-town-like site of an old metal smelter. Its modern, clean and well-designed exhibits provided some political and anthropological history of the area, a brief geology lesson, and a background on the famous mines in the region.

We then went across the street from the museum to the new Casino Enjoy, a casino/hotel/restaurant/bar. We sat on a terrace overlooking the Pacific and enjoyed a late afternoon apératif. A geology conference was taking place in the hotel, so I found it quite novel to hear so many American voices around us.

We passed this little military chapel on the seashore during our walk to the museum

We finished off the day with a visit to a Chinese restaurant. Because, when in Rome… well, nevermind.

I really appreciated receiving all of the emails, tweets, Facebook messages and other assorted wishes from family and friends throughout the day. It makes me feel not-so-very far away after all to hear from everyone!

Recipe for Brasilian brigadeiro frosting (or candies):

Ingredients:

  • 1 can sweetened condensed milk
  • 1 can table cream aka. crema de leche (usually available in the Latin American section of a grocery store, it’s in a small tin, about 157 g)
  • about 1 T unsalted butter, room temperature
  • about 2-4 T of cocoa powder (depending on how chocolatey you want it to taste!)
  • sprinkles (jimmies) for decoration

Directions:

Put the condensed milk, cream, butter and cocoa in a small saucepan. Heat on medium-high, stirring continuously with a spatula. The mixture needs to get very hot and boil for a little while. (It needs to get hotter than fudge, if you are experienced with making that.) Stir almost constantly so the mixture does not burn on the bottom. When the mixture gets so hot it begins to easily pull away from the bottom of the pan with the spatula, take it off the stove and pour over the cake to frost before it cools.

If you are making brigadeiro candies, pour into a greased heat-proof pan (I usually use a glass baking dish) and let cool for about an hour or so. Using a small spoon and buttered fingers, make a small ball of the mixture – about the size of a chocolate truffle – and drop into a bowl of sprinkles. Lightly coat with sprinkles, then place on a plate or drop into small paper candy cups.