Notes from the Field

(University of Minnesota public health students are writing about their experiences abroad this summer.)

By Marie Quasius
Environmental Health Sciences
Writing from Valdivia, Chile

Sometimes, adventure is in the journey, not in the destination.

I was lucky enough to have a car to drive on a regular basis while in Valdivia, Chile. That’s not to say there were no trials and tribulations attached to the vehicle; gas costs about $6/gallon here and I, uh, learned how to change a tire on a dirt road leaving a national park on Isla Chiloe. Oh yeah, and I also learned how to drive on dirt roads (information I’m sure is music to my professors’ ears). I’ve long thought that all one really needs to drive in another country (any country, regardless of its stage in the ‘development’ schema) are patience and good reflexes. The usual attributes (e.g. eyesight) are definitely required, but in no way can they address unusual circumstances such as roads that unexpectedly dead-end into one-way streets (going the opposite direction), or roads under construction whose detours meander back and forth across the median. In a town such as Valdivia, such challenges also include trees that have fallen under the force of a storm and streets that have been flooded—creating a veritable contest to establish which models of car or truck have the highest chassis and the driver with the strongest will.

There are also the colectivos and the Micros—the former resemble your standard black-and-yellow taxi, but ply the same predetermined routes every day. There was a corner near the Ministry of Health building where Heather, Lauren, and I often waited for Keith or Guillermo to join us in the car. Apparently, it was also the corner at which colectivos and Micros came into existence, as they came tearing around the corner with a frequency that was not only difficult to believe, but was also difficult to maneuver. (Once, I counted 10 colectivos in under a minute. I think the fact that I was counting, that I had the time to sit and reflect (and count), reflects the driving skills needed for such an intersection: patient and a strong enough will to dart out between three colectivos and a Micro or two.) I also find it really strange to call them anything other than a bus—as though they now have a different personality than your standard bus with its neutral interior and irascible bus driver. To grant a name to a mode of transportation other than the normal nomenclature (bus, ferry, train) somehow gives it more humanity. The colectivos—which I confess I never had the chance, nor the guts, to take—always seemed rushed. Their drivers (colectiveros) were madmen; did their income depend on how many passengers they picked up (and not depend at all on how much gas they wasted accelerating between stop lights)? The Micros seemed to lumber along with a great deal of patience and occasional diesel-fuel-sparked bouts of energy, when they encountered a long enough stretch of road where they could race the colectivos and other Micros. I haven’t yet ridden enough Micros to even pretend to describe the personality of their drivers (micreros)… thus far, they have been gruff but kind (and very helpful when dealing with a poor gringa lost in Chile).

Generally speaking, the view from the road in Chile has been phenomenally beautiful. In addition to the weather being “autumn� weather (colorful leaves, green rolling hills, spectacular sunsets, and the blue-black snow-capped Andes always framing the outer edges), there are always interesting livestock grazing right up to the edge of the road. There are a lot of your average cow—mixes of brown/white or black/white. Sometimes, on smaller roads, you see them roaming loose, which is not too alarming since cows are usually very… bovine. They’re not very excite-able. It’s somewhat less comfortable to see bulls walking down the middle of dirt roads. Also, horses seem to wander at will; my experience with horses has been that they don’t really like speeding vehicles, but that was in the context of riding horses for nearly 9 years. Lauren’s experience with horses has been limited to the one that bucked and threw her off as a kid, and the herd of horses that galloped alongside her parents’ vehicle one night, as they drove along the highway (in Minnesota, I believe). Since I have no way of knowing whether or not a bull has been castrated and is simply a working animal, and Lauren has no way of knowing which horses are easily spooked, we’ve had some really special moments in the car. However, even I must confess that a few days ago, while driving through Guillermo’s very suburban neighborhood, I was shocked (and a little alarmed) to see three full-grown horses grazing in someone’s tiny (i.e. 10 feet by 10 feet) front yard. I cautiously parked around the corner and crept stealthily with my camera to try to record the ridiculous sight. When they caught sight of me, they cantered off (across the ROAD) to the wide (~20 feet) median, where they continued grazing and eyeing me cautiously. I retreated to the car to grant them their peace and comfort, and never saw them again.

On the bus back to Concepcion a couple of days ago, I was definitely rewarded for my decision to travel during the day. I’d been up late the previous night, so my motivation to read about the Mapuche (with my dictionary and notes sprawled across my lap) quickly dissipated, and so I alternated between sleeping and reading Camus’ “The Plague.� (Incidentally, it’s not a good idea to read a book about a disease taking over a city when you’ve been having a bizarre health problem for over a month. The whole “med student syndrome� took over every couple of hours and I’d start wondering what treatment I should pursue for what was clearly the plague manifested in my body. But really, I was just being a donkey.) The bus kept stopping to pick up and drop off people, and I awoke every time it slowed down. Generally, the sights are pretty standard—rest-stop, cows (whether free or in a field), small houses, stray dogs strolling the streets, a couple making out in the median or on a bench in the town center. However, one of the houses that we passed in one small town was very unusual. Outside the very small house was a small fenced section, which is rather unusual in itself, considering its placement on a pretty large lot. Inside the fence, where one might expect to see a dog, or even a few kids, was an ostrich. A single lone ostrich, pecking at an upturned semi-circle that ostensibly held food (ostrich food? What do they eat?). Now I’ve heard of ostrich-farming, but would expect an ostrich farmer to have more than one. Indeed, I’ve not seen nor heard of ostriches anywhere else in Chile, not as livestock nor as pets. If anyone out there who’s reading this has any insight into the ostrich conundrum, please email me about it.

At another point when I’d awoken. I looked out the window, and saw a small economy car on the other side of the highway with its hazards blinking. As mentioned previously, many of the roads are lined by tree plantations featuring eucalyptus and pine marching endlessly off into the horizon (which are harvested every 10-15 years). Often, on the very edge of the road, you see the jagged edges of the last harvesting, where the soil is naked and tumbling down and wild flora have only recently begun to reestablish themselves on this steep slope where the forest corporations (empresas forestales) weren’t able to plant any of their crop. Well, the woman to whom I’m assuming the small car belonged had scaled that steep slope (think 45 degree angle) and was yanking at a small pine, roughly 1 ½ feet high, and trying to pull it out of the ground. I’m no expert on trees, but I reckon that any plant that has grown to such a height probably has a pretty impressive (and fairly solid) root structure. I never saw the end of her story (whether or not she succeeded in excavating her tree of choice—to bring it home? To start her own tree plantation?), but I definitely appreciated getting to see that particular snapshot of Chilean highway.

(Incidentally, the main highway in Chile, Route 5, was built and is being maintained by the Spanish government in exchange for 25 years worth of very pricey tolls (Ch$1600 ~ US$3+). Other major infrastructure investments have been loaned out to Spanish companies, leading to my impression that despite its very successful economic development, Chile is mortgaged to Europe.)