Dream Ranch Living in Chile

Why I Love People in Northern Chile

2011-08-30T10:41:00.000-07:00

One of the reasons I love living here in Northern Chile is the great variety of personalities represented in the people who live here.

Truly, the culture we enjoy in Northern Chile is as diverse as the history of this region, and by reason of Zofri and the multinational customers it serves, we enjoy a variety of cultures from all over the world.

I love the people of Northern Chile. They make me smile.

I met an Iquiqueno during my first week in Iquique years ago who had that effect on me. As I was leaving the Zofri Mall, I encountered a very friendly gentleman on the curb named ‘Sanchez’ selling DVDs of recent movies. To my surprise, I noticed that he had “The Passion of the Christ” available for purchase, for only one luca! “¿Que onda?” I said, and went on to ask him how it was possible that he had movie available before it was released in the theaters, and how he could sell it for only one luca. “It’s pirated” he replied, with the kind of enthusiasm that great salesmen display when they know they have a great product at a great price.

“But Sanchez,” I replied, “are you not aware that selling pirated DVDs is against the law, and that you are essentially robbing Mel Gibson, and thousands of others in the EEUU and Inglaterra who work hard to produce movies like this?” I inquired. He just shrugged his shoulders, and smiled even bigger at me.

I had to admit, this guy was very charming. So I continued, “Look” I said, “I know a couple guys in this mall who are looking for workers. You could get a real job, and stop working in crime.”

“No thanks,” he replied, still grinning, “I like my job and what I do.”

We debated this a few more minutes, and when it was clear to me that Sanchez was not going to take advantage of the opportunities I mentioned, in exasperation I said, “Fine. If you are happy with your life as a lazy thief, great. Caio!”

As I was about to turn and leave, I noticed that the ever-present smile on Sanchez’ face had turned to a frown, and that he was upset.

“What’s wrong?” I asked him.

“You offended me.” He replied.

“I offended you because I called you a thief?” I said.

“No, of course not.” Replied Sanchez. “I am a thief, no question about that. I am offended because you called me lazy. Lazy I am not! I work here everyday without fail.”

Bohemian Black with a Dash of Hope

2011-08-13T12:38:00.000-07:00

For an event not too long ago I decided to really dress up, so I put on a tuxedo, along with a black shirt. Everything from my shoes to my bow tie was black in color, which for a formal event can look quite fashionable. On me it looked absurd. The combination of my gringo pale skin and light colored hair on top of all that black made my face look sick at best, or like death at worst.

Upon seeing all that black, a friend of mine laughingly asked me, “you going to a morticians dance, or have you gone ‘gotico’?”

“Got?” I inquired laughing, “Me? No way!” I said, quickly grabbing a red carnation and affixing it to my lapel.

“There” I said, “now all the black serves as a palette on which the red carnation can really shine. What do you think?”

“Still look like a mortician to me!” he said without hesitation, laughing still.

“Yeah, but do at least look like I’m a mortician with some hope?” I replied.

Looking in the mirror, I had to admit, apart from the red carnation and not having black fingernails, I did look like I was a follower of “got” - which was definitely not something I wanted to look like. Not because of the color – I happen to love black. Black is what painters use to show light, what designers use to accentuate bright, and what the sky uses to reveal stars. Without black, we would not understand white.

No, my aversion to “gotico” wasn’t because of the dark clothing. It was because of the dark philosophy behind it, and the fact that it was robbing the youth of Chile of its most valuable asset for the future - hope.

Danni was a typical youth here in the North of Chile who through peer pressure and the temptations of the Bohemian night-life, fell into trouble. Over a period of months, her parents watched this formerly happy and healthy young teenager transform herself into a dark, dour, teenager of the night, complete with black nailpolish, black clothing, and a black attitude as well. Both the light, and the hope, and disappeared from her eyes. Danni didn’t really understand all that she was getting into when she decided to go “gotica”, but she did know from the music that at its core was death and Satanism.

One day while riding on a bus in Iquique, Danni found herself face to face with the death that she had been ignorantly worshipping. As the bus cruised down the hill on Avenida Chipana, its brakes failed, and suddenly all the passengers realized they were facing instant death. Hitting the curb at the rotunda completely out of control, the micro went airborne.

As the van was flying through the air, upside down, Danni had a revelation that changed her life forever. She realized that she had been playing with fire, that no one dances with the devil without getting burned, and that she had made a huge miscalculation. Envisioning what usually happens when a van tries to defy gravity and lands upside down on the concrete, Danni offered up the most sincere prayer of her life, and waited for the impact.

Those who seek sex, drugs and rock and roll do not spend too much time praying. Youth come here daily from the south who have only heard the sugar-coated, utopian promises of Bohemian living, but eventually, like Danni, they come face to face few with the terrible consequences of this deadly weltangschauung.

Let me admit that I am intimately familiar with this movement, because I was a Bohemian in the 1970’s. No, I didn’t call myself that – back then it was more popular to use the term “hippy.” I had hair all the way down my back, I believed the lie that said “free love and sex” was a healthy life-style option, and I made the world revolve around me like I was a god.

I had a girlfriend from the Haight in San Francisco who introduced me to drugs and promiscuity, and for seven years or more, I drank a full bottle of Chivas Regal scotch, and smoked three pitos, every day, 365 days a year. Our heroes in the EEUU during those days were the modern Bohemian founders Jack Kerouac, William S. Burroughs, and Allen Ginsberg. These were the pillars of what is known today as the “Bohemian Lifestyle”, and we sucked up their poetry and propaganda like it a bowl of Caldia de Congrio.

Unfortunately, like Danni getting into “got” we never really dug very deep to see what these men represented, what they really believed, and what was behind their flowery words. Unlike one of my favorite Chileno poets Pablo Neftali Neruda, who wrote to make us feel good, these three Bohemians wrote out of depression, alcoholism, and nihilism, to make us feel bad. The problem is, no one explains that to the youth. By law, most poisons are required to have warning labels on them, yet no such warnings are given by those who promote the bohemian philosophy. So, with no desire to offend any Bohemians, let me summarize the biographies of these three men, and what they actually believed:

William S. Burroughs was born in 1914 to a mother addicted to amphetamines and a heroine addicted father. An avowed homosexual who preferred lesbian bars, had to flee to Mexico for five years for forging drug prescriptions.. Famous Burroughs quote: “The ONLY ethic is to do what you want to do.”

Allen Ginsberg was born in 1926, and advocated hallucinogenic drug use and homosexuality between adults and children. He also publically defended NAMBLA, a pedophile group that advocates sex with children as young as 3 years old. Famous Ginsberg quote:

"My own experience is that a certain kind of genius among students is best brought out in bed."

Jean “Jack Kerouac” was born in 1922, and was considered the founder of Bohemianism. Wikipedia says he “Died of hemorrhagic esophageal varices, the classic drunkard’s death.” Kerouac followed the “Diamond Sutra” a Buddhist text, and before he died at age 25, admitted he was drunk and depressed most of his life. Famous Kerouac Quote:

“I had nothing to offer anybody except my own confusion.”

So the question for parents today is, if a drug addict, a pedophile, and a depressed alcoholic showed up at your house saying, “we’d like to speak to your daughter” would you invite them in? Or would you unceremoniously throw them out?

In that brief nanosecond flying through the air in the van, Danni decided to through the rascals out. She wanted no more of this lifestyle. As the van crashed to the ground in an orchestra of breaking glass and crushed metal Danni had time for only one quick prayer. She said simply:

“Oh God, I don’t want to die.”

What happened next many would consider a miracle. Although the bus crashed into concrete, flipped on its side, and threw all the passengers around like dolls, no one was injured seriously – and Danni escaped with no more than a few scratches!

Today, like most Chilena youth with that gorgeous full head of dark raven hair, Danni looks great dressed in black. But today there’s a difference.

There’s something different about her, even in dark clothes. When Danni wears black today, you can see it. It’s evident in her eyes, and in her smile.

Like a single red carnation, there’s something new in Danni’s wardrobe today.

She’s wearing hope.

Speaking Bad Spanish in Chile is Easy!

2010-10-09T13:47:00.000-07:00

I stood there between the banners absolutely speechless. I not only couldn’t remember my Castellano, I was so petrified I couldn’t remember my English either. I tried to speak but nothing came out except a little drool and spanglish. I muttered something like “Muchas gracias por having me tonight.” The audience stared at me like I was the only human in a batcave, with hundreds of beedy little eyes peering at me. All I wanted to do was run away.

When they asked me to teach this class here in Iquique, the tourist town near our ranch, I thought they were crazy. Yes, I’ve taught in Universities, as well as in the private sector for over thirty years – but that was always in English, my native tongue. Being able to think on your feet and formulate cogent sentences in a foreign language takes some skill and bravery, both of which I was seriously lacking when it came to my broken, horrible Castellano.

I was not confident in my Spanish because I had already butchered our beautiful language beyond recognition many times before. Some of these embarrassing moments included:

Mistakenly calling ‘pendones’ a word for pubic hair (pendejas).
Errantly referring to people coming with gifts (con dones) as condoms (condones).
Not realizing that in Chile “tanga” means underwear, not sandals.

Put those three mistakes together in one sentence and I guarantee you will offend someone!

People have fun with my bad Spanish as well. One day a friend of mine at the gym called me “huevon”. Having not heard the term before, I asked him if that was a good friendly word to use with people, and he smiled and said “yes, absolutely.” So as my professora Waleska encouraged us to do when you are trying to increase your vocabulary, I went out to the front desk and tried my new word on the female receptionist. “Hey huevon!” I said, “Que onda?” She replied with a glare that could stop a clock “What did you call me?” she said angrily. I knew then I’d been part of joke, and n the background I could hear my friend laughing uncontrollably.

For these reasons and many others my confidence in teaching a class in the Spanish language was pretty low. Why I agreed to do it is beyond me, but I did agree to it, and there I was, standing between two banners with a podium in front of 120 people, with my fear rising, and my knees knocking.

The last time I saw bones shivering like that was when our daughter was trying to learn how to snorkel. She was born in Los Angeles California near the beach, and is a real surf-girl, but she had never tried snorkeling, so she decided to try it here in Iquique.

So we went to Terminal, bought her a used wetsuit, and took our fins and equipment to the beach near the balernario. I’ve been scuba diving since 1975 so getting past the waves out into the calm waters was second-nature to me. But I had forgotten how claustrophobic and scary a wetsuit can feel when waves are crashing around you. I looked back at Tali and saw that she had stopped, frozen really, with the water up to her chest and waves pounding her.

“You have to get past that spot, hija” I said, “and come out further where it’s calmer!”

“I can’t, daddy,” she exclaimed, fighting back tears. “I keep seeing these huge waves coming and I don’t want them to knock me over!”

I saw now that she was shivering, with her knees trembling from fright and she had stopped walking. She wasn’t moving - Not a good thing your first time out. Knowing that this could ruin her snorkeling experience for life, I knew I had to do or say something.

“Tali,” I said loudly but calmly, “Look this way. Do you see how calm it is out here where I am? It’s only 5 meters away. Focus on this calm water out here, and come on out. You can do it, Tali!” I exclaimed as positively as I could.

Just then a huge wave came crashing over her, almost ripping the mask off her head. I didn’t want to show panic, but I was beginning to doubt that this was a good idea. But I gave it one more try.

“You can do it.” I said again, with a voice that sounded pretty weak, and less confident than I wanted. But apparently, years of experience told my daughter that if her Dad believed she could do something, and if her Dad said she could do something, then she believed it herself, and would do it.

I watched her take a deep breath, gird her resolve, and then do exactly that, taking big steps into the water, ignoring the waves around her. Thirty seconds later we were enjoying the calm waters away from the turbulence. What made the difference? Four little words of encouragement.

John Maxwell tells the story of the time at an airport, he arrived late, and asked for an emergency exit row seat to accommodate his large legs and frame. The agent for the airline told him that she couldn’t possibly switch his seat, that late in the boarding process. Maxwell simply said three words: “Sure you can!” The agent for the airline then explained in more detail why she couldn’t switch his seat, citing regulations, the timing, and many other valid reasons, again telling him that she couldn’t possibly switch his seat.

Maxwell again said “Oh, sure you can!” with a big smile.

This went on something like four times, when finally, the woman said, “Well, you’ve been so nice, I guess I could switch your seat manually.” And Maxwell got the leg room he so desperately needed.

An encouraging word enables people to do things that they normally wouldn’t do. A positive affirmation allows people to believe in the positive, rather than the negative. A simple “you can do it” can change the course of history. President Obama is in the White House today because he believed it when his friends said, “Oh yes you can be President.”

As I looked at the audience glaring at me, I felt the fear in my belly. Like my daughter feeling the waves crashing over her, at that moment I was completely frozen. I had zero confidence, and it probably was evident on my face, for at that critical moment, an angel arrived in the form of my wife.

She stepped closer past the banners and signs, to whisper in my ear:

“You can do this.,” she said confidently.

That’s all it took. Four little words, and I was fine. The fear vanished. My Spanish, poor as it was, returned. I was able to teach that class.

But not with absolutely perfect Spanish.

Looking at the banners on stage that crowded me, I said, “Before we begin, could someone please help me move these pubic hairs?”

The Power of Positive Words

2010-10-05T17:04:00.000-07:00

My wife was really bothering me that morning. I was supposed to meet my instructor Phillip at the Parapente launch point in Alto Hospicio, the famous Paraglide site just 40 minutes from our ranch, at 10:30 AM, and we were running late. She had volunteered to drive so I could prep my radio and equipment, but we left our apartment late because of some important issue with her hair. (And all my fellow varones say, ‘Yeah, I know’)

“Faster!” I said, at least three times in the first kilometer, looking at the clock nervously.

“I’m going as fast as I can” she’d reply, with the stress in her voice increasing with every comment out of my mouth.

Funny thing was, the more I would “encourage her” to go faster, the slower she went, and the more semaforos we’d miss.

“You are going to make me so late, Lisa!” I said, “you always do this to me.”

“The more you talk, dear” replied my precious wife, “the more it makes me nervous, and the slower I go. Do you want me to go slower?” she asked.

“Of course not,” I replied, probably with an imperious tone.

“Then, husband,” she said coquettishly, “As the king of Spain said to Hugo Chavez, porque no te calles?”

Of course, I couldn’t shut up, and so I kept the negative talk going all the way up the Cerro Dragon.

When we arrived, at 10:35AM, Phillip was just pulling up at the same time, and I realized I had been stressed for nothing. It also dawned on me that all that tension and worry about arriving on time, and the negativity I bathed my wife in, pretty much ruined the morning, and held the potential for ruining the whole day.

I looked at Lisa, and saw on her face I was correct. She was not happy. Her normally radiant smile had been replaced with a frown, and she held the video camera in her hand as if it was a heavy anchor.

“Are you going to be there at the landing zone, to record me when I land?” I asked in my cheeriest voice.

It was a routine that is repeated every day by parapentistas who take off from lovely Alto Hospicio. The idea was that after video taping the take off, Lisa would get in our car, drive quickly down the mountain, and arrive at the landing zone in time to record me touching down.

“Well, since I drive so slowly, and always make you late, I don’t think I can.” She replied, still frowning.

Thankfully, right at that moment, I recalled a principle about parapenting that Phillip had taught me the week before, and I applied to the situation at hand.

For the first time that morning, I said something positive to my wife.

“Sure you can, honey. You’re a great driver, and a great photographer. You’ll be there. I’ll see you at the bottom!” I said, and then took off.

The principle I had recalled was what Phillip called “Focusing on the good result,” and it works in life, as well as landings.

You see, when you jump off a mountain hanging from a parapente, two things are certain: gravity hasn’t been suspended, and you are not a bird. The only question that’s left is, “since I’m going down, where should I land?” I’ve been a pilot all my adult life, and to me, parapenting is sort of like a controlled crash. We all know we are going to meet the ground soon, the question is just whether or not we’ll do it where we intend to – on a nice soft sandy spot, rather than on an electric pole or a picnic table bench.

For my first solo attempt at landing on a point a few weeks earlier, Phillip underscored this and tried to get my mind in the right place.

“Listen, Geoff” he said seriously, you have over 10,000 square meters of smooth, obstacle free dirt to land on, but over here to the north there is a picnic table with a wooden bench. So just focus on the “X” I’ve put in the center of the cancha and whatever you do, “don’t focus on the bench!”

He went on to explain. “I’ve seen countless students do this. It’s weird! When they start thinking negatively, and start trying “to avoid the bench” they invariable fly right into it! I’ve had over a dozen good pilots focus on that bench, try to miss it, and crash right into it. So all I want you to do Geoff is focus on the landing zone, and don’t look at the bench at all.”

When we focus only on the negative in life, not only does it affect our joy, but pessimism and nihilism creeps in. If all we say to people is “no you can’t” they start to believe it, and it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. When the Bible says that “life and death are in the power of the tongue” this is exactly what it is talking about. Yet how many times have I told my wife “you drive too slow” rather than “you’ll make it in time?”

Certain publications in our region seem to specialize in focusing on the negative - Just crimes and auto accidents, death, and misery. If all I knew about Iquique and Alto Hospicio was what I read in that newspaper, I’d leave the house in a bullet proof vest and a helmet, and drive to work in an armoured vehicle! That’s one of the reasons Choxota exists – to give us “otra Mirada” at our pueblo that focuses on the good result, not just all the negative.

It was a short flight that morning, and as I prepared to land, still about 500 meters in the air, I noticed Lisa’s car in the distance, racing to arrive in time to videotape my landing. “Look at that!” I said to myself, “she’s actually going to make it! I guess she believed me when I told her she would!”

As I set up for my final approach, I saw Lisa get out of the car with the video cam, and knew she was going to be able to record my landing. Only at that moment did I realize I had drifted dangerously close to the North, and was perilously approaching, you guessed it, that stupid picnic bench!

Old habits die hard I guess, and forgetting everything Philip had taught me, I looked at that bench rising up to meet me, and heard these words coming out of my own mouth in fright: “Whatever you do Geoff, don’t crash into that bench!”

Lisa recorded the whole thing, just as I hoped she would. Today we enjoy showing friends the tape, and they always laugh when they see my controlled crash, right into that bench.

A Smile That is Hard to Erase

2010-09-27T16:17:00.000-07:00

One of the reasons I love living here in Northern Chile is the great variety of personalities represented in the people who live here.

I love the people of Northern Chile. They make me smile.

“No thanks,” he replied, still grinning, “I like my job and what I do.”

As I was about to turn and leave, I noticed that the ever-present smile on Sanchez’ face had turned to a frown, and that he was upset.

“What’s wrong?” I asked him.

“You offended me.” He replied.

“I offended you because I called you a thief?” I said.

“No, of course not.” Replied Sanchez. “I am a thief, no question about that. I am offended because you called me lazy. Lazy I am not! I work here everyday without fail.”

I laughed so hard I thought I would explode! Only here in the North can you find happy, content thieves who take pride in their work-ethic.

Sanchez has long since left Iquique, looking for better pastures I guess. That the memory of Sanchez to this day brings a smile to my face, (and lots of laughs whenever I tell the story) does not change the fact that, apart from his enthusiasm and gregarious attitude which I enjoyed, he still was living his life in a misguided, wasteful way. For even if you think that Sanchez was clever, the truth is that God has far greater things in mind for Sanchez than just living hand-to-mouth, day to day, violating the law just to earn enough for the next meal. God’s plan is that we “have life, and have it abundantly.”

I understand what it is to not have any money, and to wonder where your next meal will come from. I’ve been broke and out of work twice in my life, and it is not easy.

But everyone of us, regardless of our religious upbringing, ultimately has to answer one question each day: “Am I going to be a blessing, or a curse today?” Put another way, “Am I going to do things that please God today, or offend Him?” Because no matter if you were raised Catholic, Evangelical, Islamic, Hindu, or Buddhist, all the world’s major religions say the same thing: “Thou shalt not steal.”

It starts with each of us individually.

The other day, I tried to park in front of the Post Office in Iquique, when a very nice woman informed me that the spot was reserved. I said “I’m only going mail a letter, can I just park here for 2 minutes?” She said “OK”, but then I remembered my thesis. “It’s up to me,” I said to myself. I restarted my car, and moved it to legal parking about a block away. It cost me no more than an extra minute, and probably no one would have known or cared that I “broke the law”. But ultimately I had to decide, “Do I want Iquique to be a place where everyone does whatever the hell they want, or a place where we respect each other and the rule of law?”

Do you park where it says no parking? Are you taking electricity that doesn’t belong to you? Do you take supplies from the office home? Do you cheat and pay a bribe to get your smoking, sputtering auto through revision technica?

When we decide to play by the rules, to respect authority, to obey the laws of Chile as well as the law of God, something amazing happens. Things begin to change. God starts blessing us. We feel better about ourselves. We earn more. We live more. We smile more.

But we don’t smile the smile of a clever thief. We smile the smile of a person who is blessed by God. And that smile is hard to erase.

The Tradition of Generosity in Northern Chile

2010-09-24T12:00:00.000-07:00

A few nights ago in La Huayca, the little town next to our ranch, I had my heart melted again by a little 9-year old regalona named Vierita, a gifted and super sweet daughter of a friend of ours who lives there in the pueblo. For some reason, Vierita took a liking to me early on, and for the past 5 years or so, whenever she would spot me, she’d run full speed with her arms wide open to give me a huge, almost violent hug.

Now I’m like most men born during the “baby boom”, in that I was raised by family members in a machismo era, who believed erroneously that “real” men should not display emotions, or cry. So the first couple times that little Viera ran up to give me a giant, arms-akimbo hug, I was sort of stiff. But it didn’t take long for Vierita to melt my crusty old man’s heart, and soon, I started looking forward to those hugs. Today, I consider a hug from this precious 9-year old like a gift better than mote con huesillo on a hot day!

Most people in the North are like Vierita – very generous. I’m convinced that if you took an XRAY of the veins of an average Iquiqueno’s arm, in addition to seeing red and white cells coursing through their arteries, you’d also find compassion and generosity running along side. People in the North are givers, and the philosophy of “giving to those in need” is part and parcel of our heritage, and part of what makes this region so special.

It’s also one of the reasons why in Alto Hospicio and Iquique, we have so many traffic delays at rotundas -- We pay our street performers well, and we let them do their little dances and shows even if it means missing the next green light! Regardless of the talent or lack thereof, anyone who needs a little extra money and can juggle two balls in the air, do a cartwheel, or simply paint their face up like a clown, knows that in this part of Chile, they’ll get paid. That’s all because we are a generous people.

There is a rotunda near Playa Brava that I pass frequently, and often the same older white haired gentleman dressed in a clean brown suit is there asking for a little monetary help. I liked this guy right away, and we often talk briefly about his former life in the military, and days of Allende and Pinochet. I usually always give him a gamba or two, but on this particular day, I decided to do a little experiment. As he came up to my window to greet me with his engaging smile and his hand extended, I held out my hand, as if to say “you have anything for me today?” He smiled, looked down at the quina in his hand that a guy in a red truck had just given him, straightened his shoulders, and then simply handed those 500 pesos to me. I knew it was a genuine display of generosity, because the light changed to green and I pretended to drive away. He just smiled and waved, as if it was his delight to give me that money, no questions asked.

Of course after just a few meters I stopped my car, pulled over, and explained what I was doing. “My friend”, I said, “I just wanted to see if you were a giver as well as receiver. You passed the test! Because you were willing to part with 500 pesos” I said as I reached into my wallet, “here are 5000 more” and with that I handed him a Gabriela. With that the light changed again, and I sped away, seeing my friend in the suit in my rear view mirror, jumping up and down waving at me with both hands.

I was not much of a macho man that day, because for the next 1000 meters as I drove down the costanera, I was crying tears of joy. “God” I said through snotty sobs, “thank you for bringing us to this warm, loving culture, where even homeless men who have nothing, still know the power and pleasure of giving.”