I have had a very Chilean experience this weekend and find it interesting how the most incredible adventures seem to come without plan. Some friends and I had intentions to take a weekend trip to the Chilean coast and Pablo Neruda’s hometown of Valparaiso, when they fell through I was a little upset but excited about the idea of resting for the first time since I arrived (which, of course, never actually happened).
Since arriving in Chile I have been taking a Spanish class in order to prepare for the real semester which will start in just a week. I was excited that we would be watching a movie on Friday but had no idea how much the movie would stir me and impact my ideas about my new country of residence. The 2004 movie Machuca chronicles the friendship of two young boys, one very poor and one very rich, who end up in class together after the attempted integration of a private all boys school to include students of lower socioeconomic standings. The movie takes place in Santiago during the democratically elected socialist government of Salvador Allende, shortly before Augusto Pinochet’s bloody military coup on September 11, 1973. I have heard and studied about this horrific time in Chile’s recent history, but never before had it been put so clearly into perspective. Anyone who was believed to oppose the new dictator, backed heavily by President Nixon, was either killed or abducted to be sent to concentration camp-like facilities. In the film you can grasp the severity of the time as it is from the perspective of children and get a tiny look into the fear invoked onto such a large group of people. Pinochet had the longest dictatorship in the history of Latin America (which has a long history of dictators) he ruled all the way until 1990! What strikes me the most is how relevant all this still is in Chile, such a large number of the current population was alive during his regime and had family or friends or both that were lost/tortured/killed during those seventeen years. If ever you have the chance I would encourage everyone to watch Machuca and get an interesting perspective on the actual events in 1970s Chile.
Later that night my roommates and I ventured downtown to see a band. We arrived at 11:35pm to find the venue empty and the man working there told us it was not to start until midnight, so we decided to get a drink beforehand. It is still shocking to me how late nightlife gets going in this city! As we left my roommate, Pancho, told me that whenever he has parties the foreigners always show up at 10pm but the Chileans don’t find their way there until between 12 and 5am. This culture of late night parties is definitely going to take some getting used to, especially considering I am always the first of my American friends to fall asleep…When we got back to where the concert was at 1:30am the line was down the block, that is about the time when things in Santiago start to really get pumpin’. The band, Chorizo Salvaje (Savage Chorizo), is from the south of Chile and incorporates an energizing blend of cumbia, ska, reggae, and punk, backed by African inspired beats. The music was fast and fun and what I could make of the fastpaced Spanish lyrics were equally as awesome. Check them out!
When I awoke the next morning I could have never guessed what my day would hold. A most bizarre series of events in an attempt to find a Colombian culture festival lead me and two friends to the top of a random hill in a neighborhood we had never heard of. There, we encountered a Mapuche festival. The Mapuche are a large indigenous group from central/southern Chile, today they make up about 4% of the Chilean population and fight very hard to preserve their culture in a rapidly westernizing world. At this festival we met a friendly man who introduced himself as Gurumantra. Gurumantra sent us even further up the hill with talk of some sort of indigenous sauna thing (at least that is what my intermediate Spanish deciphered). I have been fighting a cold and thought maybe some steam would do my body well during this winter in the southern hemisphere. At the top of the hill we found the group of people around the fire, calling upon all the elements before the start of the steam. When it was time everyone put on light cloth wraps and we began to file into the temescal. At this point I began thinking that this perhaps would not be the quick sauna sesh I had anticipated while ascending this hill, but I was already wearing the sarong so continued to go along with it. Each individual began filing into the round adobe hut, or the ombligo (bellybutton) of the Earth, as it was being referred to. Once inside this 10ft wide, 3ft tall adobe circle with 20 Mapuche descendants I began grasp what I was in for, there was no way out of this one, we were too cramped in there to even sit cross legged. The leaders of this ritual began bringing in big smoldering rocks from below the fire that we sang around just minutes before. We welcomed each one as abuelita (grandmother) and a different herb was sprinkled on each individually. Once they were all inside the final man joined us in the ombligo and closed the heavy multi-layered cloth door behind him, leaving us all in the pitch black darkness. I subdued my panic by remembering there were people both older and younger than me in there, there was no way I was the weakest though I had no idea how long I would be in this indigenous vapor bath.
The leaders of the ritual began throwing water on the smoldering rocks, creating more and more steam in this tiny, enclosed vicinity. It got very hot very quickly and within a few minutes I was sweating from every orifice of my body, the only thing keeping me from panic was to chant along with the others. We sang and chanted songs to the Earth, songs for peace, clarity, and understanding. Though I had never heard these songs before they were simple enough to follow, when we could not keep up everyone just hummed or chanted along, saying whatever felt right. We went around the circle, each offering gratitude to Mother Earth and expressing a wish or hope for themselves, the world, whomever. Though I could not understand everything being said, what I could make out were some of the most inspiring words I had ever heard. After we completed the circle, the door was opened and the winter breeze felt better than it ever had. Though I appreciated the power of the temescal I was glad it was over as my legs were starting to cramp up, the sticks on the ground were digging into my backside, not to mention I was sweatiest I’ve been in my life. But I was severely mistaken; the door was just opened so more big smoldering rocks were brought in from the fire outside. We started again but this time hotter and longer with no circle talk, just the songs of natives being sung with all the intensity our weakening bodies could muster. This happened four times.
By the fourth I was too weak to even keep my eyes open, not that it mattered considering it was the same dark whether they were open or closed. It was the most uncomfortable situation I have ever been in, yet not a negative thought could pass through my mind. The energy surrounding me was so positive and the people so raw with love and hope made me want to be a better, more productive human being. I could feel the dead skin falling off my body as I was being cleansed not only internally but externally, stripped of all the built up grime and toxins I had been carrying for far too long. When the door finally opened after the fourth round, about two hours later, we one by one drank from a jug of water that had been infused with rosemary for as long as we had been inside. This was the first taste of water anyone had had since entering the ombligo. Once everyone drank, we filed out one at a time and reconvened around the fire for our final chants before going on our way. I left feeling energized, inspired, and clean. So glad the details of this ritual were lost in translation, or I would have probably never had the courage to participate in such a powerful practice.
