I have finally shredded the last chunk of that huge cabbage Larry Z bought when he was here in November. You were right, Larry. Cabbage does keep amazingly well. I like cole slaw. Cabbage, carrots, red peppers, onion, celery, parsley all dressed with a vinegar/mayo/mustard dab sweetened with a pinch of sugar. Mmmm. Repollo. Too bad mi esposo is not a cabbage fan.
Here's a note leftover from that road trip with Larry in December:
Chile has several commendable billboards for drivers posted along Ruta Cinco. One shows a young family, the man hoisting the toddler boy up into the air while the mom smiles. The caption says, in Spanish of course, "Don't talk on the cell phone, Pop. We're waiting for you at home."
Another says Hay que conducir para todos, no solo para uno. You have to drive for everybody, not just for one. I can't recall the image used with that one, but I like the quote a lot.
We got stopped by the carabiñeros on Ruta 5, a couple of times on that trip. Both times, I was driving - not speeding or anything. Those Chileno carabiñeros just stand out in front of their office building and pull people over at random. The first time, the officer looked at my driver's license and waved me on. No big deal. The second time, the officer insisted on seeing the rental car contract, but then he also took pains to point out the expiration date on my Washington State driver's licence ... a date that, at that point, was about two weeks away. I guess I won't be driving anymore until I get back to Bellingham to renew.
So this crazy adventure Richard has planned for next week ... which involves a long haul on Ruta Cinco ... he's going to have to do all the driving himself. Lo siento! We are renting a pick-up truck so we can haul the plastic shipping container full of "personal effects and household goods" up to Valparaiso where we will consign it to Shipco Transit for a 39-day ocean voyage to Seattle. Richard is going to need his carpentry tools for some projects at home, and he wants that plastic shipping container back at home, too, where it could be useful for housing the next batch of chickens.
Speaking of chickens, we had a fine report from Ginny and Jerry, the Whatcom County gardeners who are hosting our flock through the winter. Richard delivered his eleven laying hens the week before we left for Chile, with the plan being he would take back half of them when he returned in the spring. G & J built a magnificent house for the birds (sheet-rocked inside!) and immediately put the flock to work cleaning up their big garden patch. Right around Christmas they reported that the birds were doing great except that there had been one day when they all got outside the fence and had to be rounded up. One hen escaped "into the forest." After searching for hours, G & J gave up. The next day, they mourned her loss. And the NEXT day, she came strutting out of the woods, looking for a way back in to where the free food was! We suspect it was Speckles who had to have her little Walkabout.
Have I already said too much about the dogs of Chile? We're happy to be in a clean apartment that doesn't cost too much, but the surround of canine BARKING, WOOFING, SQUEALING, and YAPPING makes me wonder about my own sanity sometimes. In the 4-story tower across the parking lot from ours are two ground-floor dog owners who tie their fluffy white little yappers to the rails of the ground-floor decks so the dogs can be in the grass. The dogs are tied about 20 meters apart, utterly frustrated it seems, that they can't get together and sniff each others' parts and all that other normal doggie-socializing. So they yap their high-pitched yaps at each other all day long. I guess the owners have gone to work and are not bothered by the noise? Or they keep their I-pods blasting into their ears? Ladrar = to bark.
The other 87 dogs, who shout at each other a lot, live in the single family homes that fill many blocks surrounding our towers. Three dogs, in particular, across the street from us, are diabolically energetic and never at a loss for some important communication that must be made among themselves.
But they are only the closest. The racket of the more distant dogs is a constant bedlam. Ladran todo la noche.
I try not to blame the dogs. I do wonder about the owners' rationale. "Turn up the tv, honey. I can't hear over Fido's barking." Or ... do they all have the white noise of air conditioning, so they don't have to keep their windows open? I doubt that.
Last week, however, the warmest summer night so far, and just before the full moon, a non-canine noise got many of us out of bed and ready to throw things from our balconies. Somebody's CAR ALARM went off ... a big white pick-up truck parked right beside the guard's office. There have been some annoying car alarms around here, with their nutty sound combinations ranging from dingling rings and popping noises to musical themes and drum taps. But this white truck! The alarm starts out with ten or twelve sharp horn honks before moving into a clownish bleating and then the jingling and popping routine. Finally there's a silence of maybe 30 seconds before the whole series begins again. Over and over. We speculate that the owner of the truck left it there for safe keeping while he jumped in his buddy's car for a night out on the town. We tried closing our window. We tried patiently meditating on our incredible ability to find peace in the midst of this mayhem. Richard went out on the balcony and focused his most forceful stink-eye on the offending truck. Twenty minutes or so had been filled with noise and it was just about 1 a.m. when the regular alarm routine changed ... into a constant one-note HORN BLAST. Richard predicted it would be another half hour before the truck's battery died and we'd fall back to the normal noise of the dogs. After a while I went out on the balcony too. We could see the night watchman with his flashlight looking for some way to open the hood, or the door. Can you imagine? How long before you would use a crowbar to break a window? But then ... is there away to stop a car alarm without a key? We climbed back into bed muttering and grumbling and after another 20 minutes or so, the sound ended. What a night.
I am grateful for many, many things ... don't get me wrong! Sweet friends, pleasant weather, good food and wine, some language improvement, fine reading experiences, no earthquakes yet ... Life is good for us.
Not so good, I'm afraid, for that young man who runs the permaculture Eco-farm I wrote about last month. Mario took a bad fall just before Christmas. He was working on his boat, on the hard, in the marina where Abrazo is moored. Richard saw the ambulance coming in to get him in the late morning. Maybe it was his ladder, maybe an awkward move, we don't know. He fell from the boat, landed on a rock, and broke his back. Ai yi yi. Los adventureros who had come to him from the WorkAway site, to haul seaweed to the raised beds and harvest potatoes, etc. pitched in to get the boat closed up; and Mario's friends have been able to more or less take charge at the farm to keep things going. ¡Que desastre! Richard visited Mario in the hospital, where he had many visitors. We hear he has now transferred to Santiago for therapy. At the Eco-farm, they are working to adapt the house and trails for the wheelchair.
Remember the three-point hold when you're out there in the world, friends. Secure one foot, and hold with both hands. Secure the other foot before you move one of those hands. Maintain your Very Aware Person status at all times. Maybe Life will take you down anyway, but ... you know ... keep up your end of the Attention Span.
Onward! We plan to take Abrazo out for a few hours of sailing this Saturday. The Grand Chiloe Regatta, during which many, many boats have been racing from port to port down and back up the inside coast of the Island of Chiloe, ends here in Puerto Montt that day, with short races in the bay. A local couple who are maybe thinking about possibly maybe making an offer for Abrazo will go out with us. Their son is sailing on one of the Armada's boats in the races. Cristina from the Casa de Los Gansos will come, too. I will definitely take the camera. I promise.
Chiloe Regatta
