Tag Archives: los andes

Catacumbas en Los Andes

Last night we were filming at an old elementary school near Munhyeon. I guess it was built in the decade after the war. It looked like a hoarder of cardboard squatted there. There were bundles of cardboard everywhere. One of the PAs told me the school had been abandoned for about a decade in the 60s or 70s. A lot of things were hidden under black dust covers. As we were shooting in the small atrium, I heard unusual noises. I walked down a dark hallway and entered the classroom from where I thought the noises were coming from.  The classroom was empty except for chairs and desks. The noises seemed to be coming from the ceiling. Water pipes most likely.

I leave the location after 11 to catch the train home. Once in bed I fall asleep quickly.  I am back in a boulder field in the Andes, with the laguna behind me.  I meet my oldest brother and he makes a remark that upsets me. I sit and wait and look towards La Posada. My old dad appears and then we’re in his taller (the one he had by the big window before the one he built by the white higuera). He asks me to follow him to the backyard. The old adobe walls are now brick and elaborate. They remind me of the columbarium walls of Cementerio General. White squids hang to dry like sad socks beneath red brick Gothic arches. There’s a staircase, and he tells me there’s treasure if I follow it down to the catacombs. I wake up con corazon pesado. Outside is drizzling and gray.

A cat named Karen~ respuesta de memoria

A cat named Karen~ respuesta de memoria

Madre: Lo unico del pequeño bullshit de tu parte, era que era una de esas casa super antiguas. Subimos por una escalera oscura y angosta hasta el segundo o tercer piso y ahi entre varias piezas habia una con la puerta cerrada. En la pieza vacia habia una mama con varios gatitos chicos y una ventana abierta que daban a los techos. (en todo caso por no saber de naturaleza, jamas aprendio a escalar arboles).

En Los Andes, la casa y patio eran tan grande para ella despues de haberse criado en una pequeña pieza it somewhat freaked her out y se mantuvo en la cocina en alto, sobre mesones, sobre refrigerador, por eso aprendio tan rapido a abrir el freezer.

los andes to santiago on a bike

i wake up not particularly in the mood for a long bike ride. the only bike available had a diy basket attached to the handlebar. i shut up and get on the bike and leave my dad’s house. i head west on arturo prat.

DSC_1581i turn south on calle larga.

DSC_1588 DSC_1591i reach the tunnel of chacabuco in the late morning. near a fruit market i discover a shortcut.

DSC_1601it’s polite to say permiso before entering someone’s house, or when you have to squeeze through barbwire while trespassing.  i find an abandoned mud house.

DSC_1605 i push my bike through a small forest. near the enjoy casino on donkey kong mountain i find a gypsy cart.

DSC_1627 DSC_1615-old-circus-car DSC_1621 DSC_1616some pots and pans. shoes. a tea kettle.


donkey kong mountain

i bike up the cuesta de chacabuco.

DSC_1634 DSC_1646i came here once with an old  school friend named geronimo. his dad brought a gun and they spent a half an hour shooting at cans with an automatic pistol.

DSC_1648-i find-a-friend DSC_1653at kilometro doce, i meet spongedick squarepants.

DSC_1658i bike down the last easy ride of the day. DSC_1659DSC_1661 DSC_1660i pass the place where the decisive battle of chacabuco was fought and won by army of the andes.

DSC_1665the old marker stands forgotten. grapevines cover the old battleground. my mom would later look at the picture and remember seeing the marker as a young girl on her way to the mountains.  most people skip the cuesta and take the tunnel, passing by a newer, more he-man marker erected in the 80s.

DSC_1675-capilla-de-chacabucocapilla de chacabuco.

DSC_1683i eat snacks at a copec. gummy bears, gatorade, hot dog. essentials. where there’s food y buena voluntad, the quiltros are never far.

i continue biking south on the autopista de los libertadores but i  worry that i will be pulled over by carabineros. i decide to cut to another, less traveled highway. i  get off the autopista before reaching colina.

i smell burning rubber. a dump truck appears screeching from around the corner, white-bluish smoke billowing from one of its tires. it comes to a stop near a vulcanizadora. its blinkers on.

i travel west down quilapilun road shaded by alamos. behind the alamos, the idyllic fields and dusty hills lies el tranque de las tortolas, an embalse relave of toxic, azure waters only seen by birds, descending planes and google. i  reach the western highway and realize it’s perhaps even more dangerous and narrower than the one i just avoided. up ahead i see the hill of polpaico near a big cement factory.

i merge into ruta cinco and bike up the hill. the road is lined with dessicated, mummified dogs and general roadkill. at the top of the hill i expect to see santiago or at least the cerro de renca but when i get there the land stretches far into the distance, disappearing behind a curtain of murky, ominous smog.

i enter the industrial parks in the environs of santiago. long distance transantiago buses appear.

i stop by the first quiosco in conchali and drink a bottle of soda and eat a super 8 chocolate bar. the tv is on and the german team is about to play against brazil for the semifinals of the fifa 2014 world cup.

i get to an avenue called baron de juras reales- the kind of name that made santiago a magical and mythical city to me as a kid. santiago is full of sweet, strange names drawn from ancient spanish treasure maps.

i bike up avenida dorsal.  i cut towards cerro san crisbal, which looks tiny and enveloped by the brownish, sticky smog of the late afternoon.

DSC_1685i arrive in recoleta. i travel up old streets, ‘dangerous’ streets. i walk and bike. my ass hurts. there’s a fat man with a mustache smiling outside a corner store. he’s got a funny secret to tell the world.

escuchaste lo de brasil weon? cuatro goles. cuatro a cero. lo estan cagando rico estos alemanes.  

he’s got glee in his eyes.  ten days ago brazil kicked chile out of the world cup. i doubt anybody can contain their joy as brazil is annihilated on its own soil.

DSC_1687recoleta is old and charming. i notice a few mansions built with a french flair long ago in some golden age. most buildings here have been left in disrepair for decades. graffiti crawls up the walls like  ivy. i pass el cementerio general. then at cerro blanco i look through a gate and see a bullet. i may indeed be entering the rough side of town.

DSC_1690a few minutes later the street is wet. long, white banners hang from rejas de colegio.

DSC_1691a guanaco is peacefully idling on the street. riot police are talking shop in a parking lot nearby. i’m late for whatever party they just had.

the neighborhood turns into patronato. i pass arab shops and start seeing the hangul and the bbq restaurants of the korean immigrants. the sun is about to set as i enter the bohemian barrio bellavista. as a kid i would imagine myself in my early 20s coming here and carreteando with art students.

DSC_1693the sun sets by the time i cross el mapocho for the first time. i follow el parque forestal keeping el cerro manquehue ahead.

DSC_1696i cross the mapocho again. i pass my grandpa’s house. i meet a highway and i’m forced to backtrack and cross the river for the last time. i enter a neighborhood with a sweet mapudungun name- tabancura. i keep pushing on until finally reaching avenida las condes. i walk up, following the silent mapocho to lo barnechea and home. by the time i park my bike is 8 or 9 and brazil has had a couple hours to sulk over their defeat.