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

Either I have terrible luck or I bring bad weather with me. While living in Malaysia, I woke up to an earthquake and then watched a tsunami approach the northern shore of my island as my friend’s father (while driving) muttered nonsensically about the eruption of Krakatoa and ensuing 40-foot tsunamis. Last spring break, I delightedly jumped on a plane to California with visions of sunshine and strolls and wearing flip-flops again after a long cold Minnesota winter. However, it snowed in Marin County (the first time in 30 years? It caused a 22-car pileup), my friend and I drove through a blizzard on our way to Lake Tahoe (somewhat more reasonable), and then while camping in the desert outside of Los Angeles, my friends and I awoke to… more snow. In the DESERT. In SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA.

After such a winter (one in which the damned snow followed me to California and back again), I had high hopes for my “summer� (rainy winter) in Concepcion. I spent my first month in Valdivia, where it rained every single day—which didn’t bother me, because it’s not impossible to hike in the rain. I'm happy so long as I can go for long walks outside. When I returned to the apartment in Concepcion, I was delighted by the crispy sunny days that seemed to me like a perpetual autumn. However, the region has now been converted into the Chilean equivalent of a ‘natural disaster zone’ because of how much rain it received in only a couple of days preceding today. My first hint of something unsavory was the smell of… something unsavory.

I’d been in Santiago visiting a friend and had decided it was time to take the bus back to Concepcion. I got to the bus station and all of the wonderful friendly ticket vendors were absolutely adamant that the bus terminal in Concepcion was flooded and there wouldn’t be any buses leaving that night. (For contrast, I’d just spent two consecutive mornings at a different bus station trying to go to Mendoza, Argentina, only to be informed after an hour’s wait that the roads were snowed in—I hope this serves as an indication of how anxious the bus companies are to cancel trips.) However, a rather shady looking man approached me and offered to get me a bus ticket to Concepcion. He brought me around to another kiosk on the outside of the bus terminal where a crowd of Chileans were shoved up against the counter with money thrust out. I’d had my fill of Chilean elbows in the previous couple of days (the usual rules of the road don’t apply here; despite my enormous backpack and inherent 6-inch, 40-pound advantage, these tiny Chilean women didn’t feel any restriction whatsoever about shoving me out of their way, even if I was clearly in line in front of them). So I held my ground this time and managed to buy my ticket; Mr. Shady escorted me to the bus even after I very suspiciously inquired if he worked for the company (yes). (I've encountered a lot of touts in bus stations who will “help� travelers and then holler about the eternally insufficient size of their tip as the travelers walk away.)

It wasn’t for quite some time that I understood exactly how unsavory this experience was going to be. The seats looked dingy and the floors worn, but that was definitely only the most minor indication. Once we’d been on the road about an hour, I realized I was sweating profusely—because there was no ventilation on the bus except for the window cracked open in front of me (which apparently wouldn’t close). The bus was full, and the air became dank and smelly fast. (To clarify what the usual situation is, the buses in Chile are generally luxurious and marvelous with very high-quality seats and toilets... for buses. I'd simply been relegated to the one company shady enough to leave during such awful weather.)

Then, I discovered the toilet—I held out for as long as I could, but somehow I’d boarded the only bus in the world that didn’t stop every 4 feet for a rest stop or to pick up passengers. I’d always thought that urine passed through the little toilet and went onto the road (as disturbing as that thought was, it seemed logical); however, this toilet apparently held all of the human waste and the storage tank was so full that the urine was slopping around in the bottom of the toilet. I’ve traveled in some dirty countries, and I’ve experienced some incredibly primitive toilets, but that bus really expanded my horizons.

I won’t criticize it too much, however, because it brought me back to Concepcion and gave me a great tour of the damage. The bus terminal was indeed flooded, as were all of the primary roads leading into the city. At 4pm, my seatmate heard from her father that the water at the terminal was measured at 1.12m (over 3 feet); four hours later, it seemed like it must have risen even more. Except two small brave Japanese sedans, the only vehicles on the road were trucks, micros (mini-buses), and large long-distance buses (Pullmans). We drove past a good number of houses that were under water up to their windowsills, and saw some people, lucky enough to live in two-story houses, hanging out of second-story windows to scope out their chances of escape. Thankfully, the flooding was not in downtown Concepcion, where we live, and I didn’t have to swim to our doorstep through murky floodwaters as I'd imagined on the bus trip. Once inside the apartment, my roommates shared the photos they took of themselves after walking home from the university (which was also flooded, and closed by the president himself at noon)—their pants were soaked up until just under their belts.

Today, I got an email from Heather and Lauren that the phone was out of credit and they had heard that Concepcion was going to have a two-day water shortage. Since they would be in lab all day, I was our best hope for having water in the apartment… so I had to brave the pointy elbows of more Chilean matrons in order to buy an enormous quantity of bottled water, all “gasificada� (i.e. soda water) since no water "sin gas" remained at any of the grocery stores. I’m not at all sure how the city of Concepcion is going to run out of water, since it seems to me like they have quite the opposite problem right now.