Misadventures of GringoLana in the Global South: WWOOFING in chile

Travelling alone is a profoundly different, and infinitely more scary experience, especially with the current level of my Spanish. Currently, im on the 24 hour bus to Buenos aires from viña del mar. my journey started at 6:45 am, although I chose not to sleep out of some delirious notion that my slightly intoxicated state necessitated 2 hours to pack the ten things I left out?
I don’t know how strange I look witting with my laptop on a bus, but because most of my fellow passengers are savvy Buenos Airesans(?), the appearance of a Mac should not seem THAT foreign.
My travel panic started earlier than was necessary. The bus just simply did not show when it was supposed to. I struck up pleasantries with a couple of people around me to assuage my anxiety. “The buses arrive 2 minutes before or 3 minutes after their departure time, but leave shortly after. So be ready” (they said, in Spanish) so I waited and waited and nothing came. I saw a crowd gathering at what I was assuming was our departure lane, so finally I gather my 4 cumbersome travel companions and head inside to inquire. Something with the machina ended up being faulty, and thus I would have to take a bus to Santiago (la capital de chile) and then transfer buses. When were they going to announce this information?!??! It was as though if I didn’t inquire, they simply would have done nothing. After a hazy understanding of what was required of me in Santiago, I proceeded to doze lightly on the 2 hour connection. Once in Santiago, I made the quick transfer, and found myself next to a handsome Argentinian, whom ive yet to engage in some good spanglish confusion…oh, he does not know what hes in for.
I would say that the level of my spanish is currently intelligible, although my level of understanding is only at half-mass. By that I mean that I feel as though im understanding the information that people are trying to convey, but I could not do an exact translation of what they said/how they said it, and I always feel as if I haven’t understood ALL of what was said. This is just a progress report, not something that im legitimately concerned about/discouraged by.
Last night cate and I saw Avatar before going to valpo to see some sort of festival/music performance. All I knew about the movie was that people recommended seeing it in 3D; its content, its animation, even its director were completely unknown to me. Aside from the fact that I cried through the good majority of the movie and was incredibly moved by the story (impact of fern gully x100), I think im capable of offering SOME criticism despite my awe. Because I saw it in chile, a country that has a very recent and commanding past regarding the united states and the thematic role of first world/dominant world powers, it was a really intense experience to say the least. Obviously my fellow movie-watchers were not confronting the same feelings of guilt and shame- but were they thinking, “fuckin US, at it again…typical”? The movie had Spanish subtitles, but because it was not a dialogue-heavy movie, and most of the dialogue was idiomatic expressions of typical American personalities, most of the comedy was met with delayed sighs or grunts. Oh, and one last thing. Ill put it out there and stand by it. I thought the sex scene was good, if not great. Better, and more passionate than some sex scenes with humans. Very Pocahontas meets Twilight.
But, now for some WWOOFing reflection.
Unfortunately, I would say the experience, or rather the mentality that’s required of the workers, is not for me (at this moment, in my very young age). Perhaps it just doesn’t fit with my priorities- the priorities of a young female American, such as myself. But what was alarming about this realization was not only that I had encountered an opportunity that I had chosen for myself and not liked it, nor that I would allow myself to be stereotyped in such a way that conditions my incompatibility with WWOOFing. Both things are true and equally scary. But it was more that I lacked the maturity to engage in manual labor. And not only manual labor for long hours of the day (7am-9pm), but manual labor on the basis of survival.
I discovered this fact at the first farm. Cate and I had awoken at an ungodly hour to take a bus from viña to Santiago, and then from Santiago to Linares. We got to the farm at around 6pm, and were greeted by the youngest son and daughter near the road that the bus had left us. We had met another gringa at the bus station, and thought she was a fellow WWOOFer. It turned out that she had come to south America around a year ago and had recently bought the property that faced the WWOOFing family’s land. Her house still required a ton of renovation, but it seemed like a manageable project that she attended to every morning with renewed energy. She had also fell in love with a Chilean cyclist, which probably gave her good reason to stay. Her intention was to construct a 6-10 bedroom guesthouse and convert it into a health retreat for obese Chileans. Im not sure about statistics, aside from the fact that chile is the worlds greatest consumer and producer of trigo (grain from making bread), but I know that it’s an extremely bread-heavy culture. And not pan integral. White bread, with every meal, and most times in between. Her assumption might or might not have started with the realization that atkins would simply never work in this country…perhaps not, but its still a logical conclusion.
The first night we were there, we spent time with the family in the living room, sand-papering Calabasas (gords) that the family uses for all sorts of things (bowls, utensil dishes) and sells as artisania (cactus pots, mobiles etc).
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I instantly clicked with the oldest daughter over our fanatic love of twilight… this might have even occurred even before she burned me with instrument she uses to decorate the gords- needless to say, I have a great scar. The children-included bonding session took place only after we had been interrogated by the parents about our values, and why on earth we live in cities??!? It gets better…hang on.
The next morning we woke at 7, and met the family in the kitchen for a quick breakfast of pan and té- a routine that would be repeated every morning. I choose to work in the fields on the first day, and had cate take kitchen duty. My first days responsibilities required weeding and making new walking tracts in between the frambuesa (raspberry) bushes. It was in this time that I met the most unfriendly of creatures. And oh the irony. THEYRE ONLY IN CHILE FOR THE MONTH OF JANUARY—go fucking figure. Really, they have a commonly known departure date- January 21st. Here they’re called the tabanos, but further south theyre referred to as the coliguacho.

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This quarter-sized nemisis to human life not only travels in 2’s and 3’s, but moronically makes circles around you while discharging a horrible buzzing noise. Most argue that it’s bite does not in fact sting. I beg to differ. Most also argue that they attack because they smell the fear hormone (if you produce it- which must mean that I had converted all of my estrogen to w/e this hormone is)… to make a 3-week story short, this first day was one of the rare occasions I found myself working outside.
Some, in this family and the next, were amused by my dislike. Others were aggravated by my inability of overcome their existence, but no one more so than myself. And not for a lack of trying. I tried headphones, prayer, meditation, yoga, mantras- nothing worked. On the third day, la patrona took me into the fields to pick flowers (ones that perhaps would not attract them) but when this task failed (or I failed at being able to stand the bugs), she stopped me on our walk back to the farm, turned to look and me and said, “its your nose ring. Its not platinum- the only noble metal. Its throwing off your energy. You have bad energy. And that’s why they come to you.” THANKS?
Needless to say, I found myself doing a lot of the food preparation, in addition to sweeping and cleaning. In chile, its custom to peel everything- tomatoes included. Im now a master peeler…not really much more to say about that.
Although housework can, at times, be quite relaxing, this family made nirvana more inaccessible than it would be in rush hour traffic. “No hablamos, gritamos” (We don’t talk, we yell). Naturally they were aware of this, but it didn’t stop them from bickering at even the most indecent times of day. OVER ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING. It was apparent that they had had so many WWOOFers that outsiders didn’t seem like company, and they would conduct themselves without reservation.
My birthday happened to be more eventful than I would have ever thought possible. The kids had spoken of a hike that they intended to do the coming Sunday, but when we mentioned it was my birthday, they started hoarding the chickens eggs in order to make me a cake (it really turned out to be a cake for snacking on during the hike, but i guess I provided the excuse for a cake, as opposed to just bread) We were given the day off, and allowed to go with the kids and the gringa we met at the bus stop to this mountain called Vizcacha (?). However, when we got there, we discovered that we had been entered in a hiking race of sorts; we were given numbers, and maps, and they recorded our time at various points in the course. Needless to say, cate and I dominated.
Actually, we were amused at the time is took some people to complete the course…a good 2-3 hours after we had crossed the finish line.
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At the end of the course we were given a hearty pasta meal, during which I consumed my first alcolohic beverage as a legal drinker- light beer and orange fanta! Later that day we were given medals and t-shirts and congratulated with an awards-ceremony of sorts. It was almost embarrassing how unchallenging the course was..and receiving a medal for completing it was as good as mocking us. Later that day, we ended up a clinica because one of the girls had suffered from severe dehydration. The situation was not scary, but in any case, it did highlight our failing health care system and that if this happened in the united states, should would have had to pay generously for her banal diagnosis and an IV drip.
We only stayed at that farm for 5 days because another WWOOFer, this one male and apparently more useful than us, was coming. Some of the highlights were definitely the mothers comment about my nose ring. But its necessary to make this comment more contextual. Upon first meeting us, we proceeded to have a brief discussion of the city and country we come from. During said time, she managed to voice her belief that 9/11 was a conspiracy that the US government was in on. Okay. Later, she told us that cities were the creation of hombre (man) but with the influence of the devil. These were not Christian people. Moreover, the mother would spend her nights transcribing messages that she received from aliens- secrets and information about human evolution etc. Quite an ironic scene; 3 kids squatted around a T.V watching trashy news reports about crime and sex scandals, while their mother meditates and channels other worldy beings.
It was this ‘source’ that she used to refute our argument that cities occurred because the countryside was not able to sustain a growing population and the problems that people were encountering without the existence of government and laws.
“Who told you this?”
“Its just the course of history, its logical, but I guess we also learned it by studying the history of most countries.”
“Well, its incorrect, I know otherwise.”
The father had a less abrasive approach, although he was definitely in the same camp as his wife, despite not being one of the ‘chosen ones’. The one thing he said that stuck with me most was the idea that in cities, ones external senses are constantly being engaged- a restlessness or circumspection of everyone and everything. Por eso, one cannot concentrate on the inner senses, and reach a state of inner tranquility because there is too much going on on the outside. Its an idea that doesn’t seem terribly relevant to me as of yet and hasn’t posed many probelsm, but I think that in the future, wanting to reach/reaching this point will be something I covet.
We left in the middle of the day and arrived in Concepción at around 6 oclock. Finding a hostel was only semi difficult but we settled in a cheap pension, which is like a person who has a lot of vacant rooms in their house and rents them out occasionally; needless to say we were the only guests. Cate and I dined over a fantastic bottle of wine and pretty incredible Italian cuisine in celebration of my 21st year. At 5 the next day, we met Andy, the owner of the second WWOOFing farm that was in Concep dropping another WWOOFer at the bus.
Despite preparing myself for an aussie accent, andy turned out to be an older British gentlemen with embarrassing Spanish. He had met Carmen, la Patrona de la casa, in the mid-90’s back in England but she had convinced him to move back to Chile with her. She would not arrive until 3 days later, but what she lacked for in time, she made up for in evil.
(..to be continued)
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