25 June 2012
We need to rewind a couple weeks, so that I can talk about the Santiago subway system.
I dare anyone to find me a more crowded subway outside of Asia. The cars from morning to night are jam-packed with people - at least during rush hour, when I am riding.
Allow me to describe my first encounter with the Santiago Metro. One of my surrogate aunties had graciously helped me aquire a transit pass at the ticket booth. We turned from the ticket lines to enter the system and immediately found ourselves in new lines - for the turnstiles. It turned out that guards were preventing people from entering the entire system because too many people were already downstairs crowding the platform.
Once we finally went down and got to the platform, we had to let jammed trains go by as an incremental few of us waiting could squeeze onto trains that discharged nearly zero passengers. Finally my co-worker just pointed me and pushed me into a train, and we squeezed into vertical gaps. It wasn't necessary to hold on because the mass of people was so tightly packed that no one budged when the train accelerated or braked, held upright from pure compaction. The train was eerily quiet but clean and orderly.
As the train moved along, at certain stops not a single passenger exited, and the mass of humans remained frozen in place like a jello mold as the doors opened, onlookers waiting on the platform dejectedly resigned themselves to waiting for yet another train to pass, and then the doors closed back upon us all exactly as before. Finally a trickle began to exit after a few stops, and then the balance was such that more were exiting than entering and space began to appear within the subway. Breathing was possible, and one could see patches of the floor. Of course, I couldn't actually move to a different spot and change positions, but it was now necessary to hold myself upright with my hands instead of just relying upon the pressure of the packed bodies (sorry claustrophobics). With all the grips around me occupied, I took advantage of my height (in Chile I am usually the tallest on the train) and hung on to the ceiling where two panels came together and left a gap. I remained like this with my fingers wedged in until my stop came up and I had to slice through stubborn bodies to make it off the train while new passengers struggled on.
When I looked down at my hand, the fingers were thickly caked in black soot, like I had been arm wrestling a lump of coal. It proved to be extremely difficult to wipe off, and I pondered how long it, and the whole subway ride experience, would stick with me.
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Monday, June 25, 2012
The Aunties (Part IV)
21 June 2012
I wanted to close this week on Guardian Angel 4 on her last day of work, as I had been told she was leaving the office. It turned out that she'll be continuing on, for an indefinite amount of extra time, which is fine by me.
I adore GA4, who confusingly has the same name as GA2 (obviously unclear as I mask their names behind these titles).
GA4 has a sass and a sense of humor that I meshed with right away. She also possesses something of a worldliness, which unfortunately doesn't seem to be that common in the office. Whenever I ask about traveling to a different corner of Chile, the rest of the office points me to her, and she seems to have the most experience crossing into other countries too. This could be a function of funds, as I am quickly discovering how expensive it can get to travel in Chile.
I will miss GA4 because she is the only one in the office capable of stringing together complete sentences in English. When my brain farts and a sentence comes out in English instead of Spanish, normally only she understands. Likewise, if I can't for the life of me decipher a Spanish phrase a colleague is repeating, we both typically turn to GA4 for a translation. Still, there are no guarantees. She knows lots of English music and movies, too, and I will catch her muttering lyrics to herself at random.
What I will miss most of all, however, is GA4's car. GA4 is the only staff member who drives (other than our boss), and she generously offers to give the rest of us a ride each evening to the subway stop so that we don't have to walk 30 minutes or cram onto the public bus. Of course I appreciate this favor and the reduced time it takes me to get home, but this is not the reason I enjoy the car so much. Rather, the pangs of nostalgia I am already feeling for the thing about to be taken away from me is the crowded few minutes the five of us experience huddled in the tiny car, letting off steam as soon as we are out of the office. We sit there, varying levels of language ability among us, trying to somehow communicate a joke across the English-Spanish divide, and the car fills with laughter, sometimes because we can all understand each other but more often by the sheer fact that we cannot.
I wanted to close this week on Guardian Angel 4 on her last day of work, as I had been told she was leaving the office. It turned out that she'll be continuing on, for an indefinite amount of extra time, which is fine by me.
I adore GA4, who confusingly has the same name as GA2 (obviously unclear as I mask their names behind these titles).
GA4 has a sass and a sense of humor that I meshed with right away. She also possesses something of a worldliness, which unfortunately doesn't seem to be that common in the office. Whenever I ask about traveling to a different corner of Chile, the rest of the office points me to her, and she seems to have the most experience crossing into other countries too. This could be a function of funds, as I am quickly discovering how expensive it can get to travel in Chile.
I will miss GA4 because she is the only one in the office capable of stringing together complete sentences in English. When my brain farts and a sentence comes out in English instead of Spanish, normally only she understands. Likewise, if I can't for the life of me decipher a Spanish phrase a colleague is repeating, we both typically turn to GA4 for a translation. Still, there are no guarantees. She knows lots of English music and movies, too, and I will catch her muttering lyrics to herself at random.
What I will miss most of all, however, is GA4's car. GA4 is the only staff member who drives (other than our boss), and she generously offers to give the rest of us a ride each evening to the subway stop so that we don't have to walk 30 minutes or cram onto the public bus. Of course I appreciate this favor and the reduced time it takes me to get home, but this is not the reason I enjoy the car so much. Rather, the pangs of nostalgia I am already feeling for the thing about to be taken away from me is the crowded few minutes the five of us experience huddled in the tiny car, letting off steam as soon as we are out of the office. We sit there, varying levels of language ability among us, trying to somehow communicate a joke across the English-Spanish divide, and the car fills with laughter, sometimes because we can all understand each other but more often by the sheer fact that we cannot.
Sunday, June 24, 2012
The Aunties (Part III)
20 June 2012
Today's page is devoted to Guardian Angel 3, but she almost deserves her own novella, she is such a character. There is so much I want to say about GA3, but I don't know how to concisely weave any of it together, so instead I think I will just blurt out some of the most vivid things that pop into my mind about her:
- the way she delicately twirls her wrists and arms throughout the day at random, often as she talks to you. Presumably this is to keep her joints limber, but the impression is someone with a pair of snakes coming out of their shoulders with minds of their own.
- when, on one of my first days on the job, all my co-workers sat around at lunch and were helping me with my Spanish by asking me standard personal questions and correcting my responses, the question she posed was: "Do you believe in UFO's?" (this was all the more funny because the way they tried to translate it was by saying "oofohs")
- the way she eats her daily orange. She skims off the outside orange rind, but leaves much of the white barrier (sort like the earth's mantle?) that lies right underneath. This is her favorite part, apparently, and she slowly consumes the rest of the orange one half at a time by nibbling away along the edge of this white part. Seeing this my first day, I wondered for a while if this was how all Chileans ate oranges (GA1 emphatically shook her head when asked as she stared with equal bewilderment at GA3).
- waiting outside for another co-worker, GA3 lit a cigarette and asked me if I smoked. "Nope." "No?" she inquired, "Not even when you were younger?" And then she gestured with her hand to a height of about three feet in the air. I shook my head and chuckled in amazement, until I asked her when she began smoking. "13."
- towards the end of my first week, she called me out on my terrible knowledge of people's names by asking if I knew her first name. I felt terribly embarrassed because I had no idea, and she wrote it on a piece of paper. Hoping to turn the tide and shift the attention off of me, I asked her if she knew how to spell my name - which, as it appears to be the most difficult word in the world to pronounce for everyone except native-English speakers, she and the rest of the office was struggling with. She took her piece of paper, and wrote: K-I-T-Z
GA3 has a quality to her that one might call spacey; there are times when she just sits there in her chair blinking at me with a gaping smile on her face, amused that anyone could be hungry at 11:30 in the morning or pleased that I took pictures on my weekend trip. We certainly amuse each other, and the rest of our office, when my poor Spanish and her non-existent English constantly bump into each other, and we sometimes just devolve into chuckles as words fly back and forth without falling into receptive ears.
Today's page is devoted to Guardian Angel 3, but she almost deserves her own novella, she is such a character. There is so much I want to say about GA3, but I don't know how to concisely weave any of it together, so instead I think I will just blurt out some of the most vivid things that pop into my mind about her:
- the way she delicately twirls her wrists and arms throughout the day at random, often as she talks to you. Presumably this is to keep her joints limber, but the impression is someone with a pair of snakes coming out of their shoulders with minds of their own.
- when, on one of my first days on the job, all my co-workers sat around at lunch and were helping me with my Spanish by asking me standard personal questions and correcting my responses, the question she posed was: "Do you believe in UFO's?" (this was all the more funny because the way they tried to translate it was by saying "oofohs")
- the way she eats her daily orange. She skims off the outside orange rind, but leaves much of the white barrier (sort like the earth's mantle?) that lies right underneath. This is her favorite part, apparently, and she slowly consumes the rest of the orange one half at a time by nibbling away along the edge of this white part. Seeing this my first day, I wondered for a while if this was how all Chileans ate oranges (GA1 emphatically shook her head when asked as she stared with equal bewilderment at GA3).
- waiting outside for another co-worker, GA3 lit a cigarette and asked me if I smoked. "Nope." "No?" she inquired, "Not even when you were younger?" And then she gestured with her hand to a height of about three feet in the air. I shook my head and chuckled in amazement, until I asked her when she began smoking. "13."
- towards the end of my first week, she called me out on my terrible knowledge of people's names by asking if I knew her first name. I felt terribly embarrassed because I had no idea, and she wrote it on a piece of paper. Hoping to turn the tide and shift the attention off of me, I asked her if she knew how to spell my name - which, as it appears to be the most difficult word in the world to pronounce for everyone except native-English speakers, she and the rest of the office was struggling with. She took her piece of paper, and wrote: K-I-T-Z
GA3 has a quality to her that one might call spacey; there are times when she just sits there in her chair blinking at me with a gaping smile on her face, amused that anyone could be hungry at 11:30 in the morning or pleased that I took pictures on my weekend trip. We certainly amuse each other, and the rest of our office, when my poor Spanish and her non-existent English constantly bump into each other, and we sometimes just devolve into chuckles as words fly back and forth without falling into receptive ears.
The Aunties (Part II)
19 June 2012
May I introduce Guardian Angel #2.
GA2 has been quite my savior. Thus far she has walked me to bus stops, ridden with me along the subway, given me guides of local tourist attractions, and tracked down books in English I had inquired about to familiarize myself with the history of Chilean wine. To cap it all off (thus far), today she presented me with a thick printout of restaurant recommendations, highlighted maps, and encircled neighborhoods good for nightlife - in fact, I wrote this entry while eating at one of the recommended restaurants on the list.
I imagine GA2 is so deft at this because it resembles what I have interpreted her job to be. I would call her secretary to the boss. She prepares packets for her, makes arrangements for meetings, and was the one who came out to greet me at the door when I arrived late my first day. I haven't actually asked her what she does or peered over her shoulder, and eavesdropping on her phone calls wouldn't really help. But she does lots, and seems to do it well.
Only one thing that GA2 does is a negative, because it is one of my pet peeves. She listens to lousy pop music (usually in English) at really low volumes and repeats certain songs constantly, sometimes singing along. I feel bad, but there are only so many times you can hear a really faint Adele in a day before wanting to sneak over and cut the cord to the radio.
Still, I can't and shouldn't be upset at GA2. I mean, when she learned in the first week that I had a weakness for chocolate, she immediately plunged into her desk drawer and offered me a candy bar.
I think my relationship with GA2 can be summed up with the last image I had of her today - her departing the crowded subway at her stop with me still wedged among all the folks in the train, then her turning and waving emphatically at me from her tiptoes while I struggled to keep my grip on the post as more people surged, and continuing to wave as my train pulled away. Sheepish but also quietly cheered to be the only one on the train that apparently gets such an enthusiastic goodbye, I give a faint wave to one of my doting aunties.
May I introduce Guardian Angel #2.
GA2 has been quite my savior. Thus far she has walked me to bus stops, ridden with me along the subway, given me guides of local tourist attractions, and tracked down books in English I had inquired about to familiarize myself with the history of Chilean wine. To cap it all off (thus far), today she presented me with a thick printout of restaurant recommendations, highlighted maps, and encircled neighborhoods good for nightlife - in fact, I wrote this entry while eating at one of the recommended restaurants on the list.
I imagine GA2 is so deft at this because it resembles what I have interpreted her job to be. I would call her secretary to the boss. She prepares packets for her, makes arrangements for meetings, and was the one who came out to greet me at the door when I arrived late my first day. I haven't actually asked her what she does or peered over her shoulder, and eavesdropping on her phone calls wouldn't really help. But she does lots, and seems to do it well.
Only one thing that GA2 does is a negative, because it is one of my pet peeves. She listens to lousy pop music (usually in English) at really low volumes and repeats certain songs constantly, sometimes singing along. I feel bad, but there are only so many times you can hear a really faint Adele in a day before wanting to sneak over and cut the cord to the radio.
Still, I can't and shouldn't be upset at GA2. I mean, when she learned in the first week that I had a weakness for chocolate, she immediately plunged into her desk drawer and offered me a candy bar.
I think my relationship with GA2 can be summed up with the last image I had of her today - her departing the crowded subway at her stop with me still wedged among all the folks in the train, then her turning and waving emphatically at me from her tiptoes while I struggled to keep my grip on the post as more people surged, and continuing to wave as my train pulled away. Sheepish but also quietly cheered to be the only one on the train that apparently gets such an enthusiastic goodbye, I give a faint wave to one of my doting aunties.
Friday, June 22, 2012
The Aunties (part I)
18 June 2012
This week I'd like to devote to my co-workers, both as an indication of my admiration for them, and the acknowledgment that thus far, the turnover seems quite high. Last week my project coordinator started Monday (like me) and departed Wednesday, replaced by a new woman Thursday. This week another co-worker will be leaving, after having been there a while. Catch them while you can.
I think it is appropriate to begin with a discussion of my first surrogate auntie, or Guardian Angel #1. (Names have been omitted to protect the innocent). This is appropriate because I don't really know GA1's position or what she does exactly, an indication of how I am still trying to better orient myself in this office. GA1 has certainly borne the brunt of all the personnel changes, bouncing from one spare chair to another around the office working on her mini laptop.
Of course, when GA1 is working by me, other priorities often take over. Seeing me, she'll ask how my journey to work was. It won't take much to remind her of a prior discussion about distant plans of mine to travel to the northern desert, and before long all the women in my area have gathered around to offer their (well-headed) advice. GA1 is the first to propose an empanada snack break, or to start coordinating a ride for me to the Metro as 6:00pm approaches. I don't know how this compares with other Chilean offices just yet, but I like it.
GA1 is also my daytime guide through my actual tasks. Apart from the boss, she knows the most about the actual projects going on, so I turn to her with my practical questions (Does organic wine in Chile allow sulfates? Why has the phyloxera virus spared Chile's grape plants? Where can I find a draft of this document in English?) I've determined that she is an uber-powerful assistant, sort of like Karl Rove (but less scheming).
GA1 also happens to be my font of information for all non-office topics, like the weather, the transit network, or the Chilean school system. The one problem is that she, for whatever reason, is the hardest for me to understand. She certainly doesn't adjust her Spanish for me or tip-toe around in broken English for my sake, which I appreciate, and will certainly help my Spanish improve. However, even the native speakers note that her voice can be out of control, both the fastest and the loudest in the office. When trying to explain things to me, several times she has been "shsh"-ed, and once had the door shut on her.
Something which sets GA1 apart is that she is a mother, of two boys. This I understood almost subconsciously when I first met her, as she is extremely warm and caring. If I am to complete her triple crown as a taller, awkward, older son she doesn't have, I imagine I can accommodate for the time being. As long as the empanada runs don't stop.
This week I'd like to devote to my co-workers, both as an indication of my admiration for them, and the acknowledgment that thus far, the turnover seems quite high. Last week my project coordinator started Monday (like me) and departed Wednesday, replaced by a new woman Thursday. This week another co-worker will be leaving, after having been there a while. Catch them while you can.
I think it is appropriate to begin with a discussion of my first surrogate auntie, or Guardian Angel #1. (Names have been omitted to protect the innocent). This is appropriate because I don't really know GA1's position or what she does exactly, an indication of how I am still trying to better orient myself in this office. GA1 has certainly borne the brunt of all the personnel changes, bouncing from one spare chair to another around the office working on her mini laptop.
Of course, when GA1 is working by me, other priorities often take over. Seeing me, she'll ask how my journey to work was. It won't take much to remind her of a prior discussion about distant plans of mine to travel to the northern desert, and before long all the women in my area have gathered around to offer their (well-headed) advice. GA1 is the first to propose an empanada snack break, or to start coordinating a ride for me to the Metro as 6:00pm approaches. I don't know how this compares with other Chilean offices just yet, but I like it.
GA1 is also my daytime guide through my actual tasks. Apart from the boss, she knows the most about the actual projects going on, so I turn to her with my practical questions (Does organic wine in Chile allow sulfates? Why has the phyloxera virus spared Chile's grape plants? Where can I find a draft of this document in English?) I've determined that she is an uber-powerful assistant, sort of like Karl Rove (but less scheming).
GA1 also happens to be my font of information for all non-office topics, like the weather, the transit network, or the Chilean school system. The one problem is that she, for whatever reason, is the hardest for me to understand. She certainly doesn't adjust her Spanish for me or tip-toe around in broken English for my sake, which I appreciate, and will certainly help my Spanish improve. However, even the native speakers note that her voice can be out of control, both the fastest and the loudest in the office. When trying to explain things to me, several times she has been "shsh"-ed, and once had the door shut on her.
Something which sets GA1 apart is that she is a mother, of two boys. This I understood almost subconsciously when I first met her, as she is extremely warm and caring. If I am to complete her triple crown as a taller, awkward, older son she doesn't have, I imagine I can accommodate for the time being. As long as the empanada runs don't stop.
Monday, June 18, 2012
My pants don't fit
12 June 2012
My pants don't fit.
Perhaps there are more appropriate ways to begin a blog, or more pressing issues to discuss in my second entry, but I don't think so.
The fact that my pants are so difficult to button, causing me to either rearrange my internal organs or surreptitiously zip up the fly then unbutton the top button behind the belt, is causing me great embarrassment, consternation, and physical discomfort. A generous person might attribute my continued tardiness to work in part to my need to iron a new pair of pants each morning in the hope of finding a better fit. One might call my attire situation quite unsustainable.
There are two major issues causing this problem. To not beat around the bush, I'll first note that I have gained weight. Not orca fat, not rivaling my 2001 days, but enough to draw comments from loved ones and make me consider changing my diet for the first time in my life. The other issue is that I haven't really bought new pants - or enough new slacks - to fully displace my old work clothes. This means that in many ways my work attire has remained essentially unchanged since 2004. Though I have not added any vertical inches since then, it would be quite an act of self-deception to ignore other inches I've added.
My solutions are parallel to the problems: I can either lose all the weight or upgrade to new, roomier confines. I'd really like to lose the weight, in part because it aligns with a planning principle I hold by. (Caution: entering planning geek territory) If you have too much of an undesirable thing - say, traffic - don't just changes the rules or expand highways to accommodate it. Make it inconvenient and expensive for this undesirable behavior to continue while creating or easing access to alternatives (i.e. public transit systems). Adding highway lanes will not solve traffic problems in the long run but only encourage more driving, and adding more loops to a belt or loosening the pants might do the same thing for weight. I'm not the first to liken adding freeway lanes to adding loops on a belt, so I'll give due credit... to whoever said it.
But maybe a compromise is in order. Especially since I won't be losing 20 pounds by next week, not with all this delicious food to sample (and wine of course). And I can't risk sitting in a meeting with everyone trying to explain to my untrained Spanish ears the phrase: "unbuttoned pants." It would be nice to have some new pants anyway, especially ones without stains...
My pants don't fit.
Perhaps there are more appropriate ways to begin a blog, or more pressing issues to discuss in my second entry, but I don't think so.
The fact that my pants are so difficult to button, causing me to either rearrange my internal organs or surreptitiously zip up the fly then unbutton the top button behind the belt, is causing me great embarrassment, consternation, and physical discomfort. A generous person might attribute my continued tardiness to work in part to my need to iron a new pair of pants each morning in the hope of finding a better fit. One might call my attire situation quite unsustainable.
There are two major issues causing this problem. To not beat around the bush, I'll first note that I have gained weight. Not orca fat, not rivaling my 2001 days, but enough to draw comments from loved ones and make me consider changing my diet for the first time in my life. The other issue is that I haven't really bought new pants - or enough new slacks - to fully displace my old work clothes. This means that in many ways my work attire has remained essentially unchanged since 2004. Though I have not added any vertical inches since then, it would be quite an act of self-deception to ignore other inches I've added.
My solutions are parallel to the problems: I can either lose all the weight or upgrade to new, roomier confines. I'd really like to lose the weight, in part because it aligns with a planning principle I hold by. (Caution: entering planning geek territory) If you have too much of an undesirable thing - say, traffic - don't just changes the rules or expand highways to accommodate it. Make it inconvenient and expensive for this undesirable behavior to continue while creating or easing access to alternatives (i.e. public transit systems). Adding highway lanes will not solve traffic problems in the long run but only encourage more driving, and adding more loops to a belt or loosening the pants might do the same thing for weight. I'm not the first to liken adding freeway lanes to adding loops on a belt, so I'll give due credit... to whoever said it.
But maybe a compromise is in order. Especially since I won't be losing 20 pounds by next week, not with all this delicious food to sample (and wine of course). And I can't risk sitting in a meeting with everyone trying to explain to my untrained Spanish ears the phrase: "unbuttoned pants." It would be nice to have some new pants anyway, especially ones without stains...
"Welcome!" "Welcome!"
11 June 2012
Wanting to make a good first impression, I arrived to my first day of work disheveled and plenty of minutes late.
Speaking of first impressions, when I was introduced to my new boss, I replied to her "Welcome!" by exclaiming "Welcome!" - my Spanish already running afoul from word one. When she leaned in to peck my cheek - customary upon a first meeting - I shocked us all by attempting to kiss her other cheek. (Apparently not a custom here, which a cursory investigation would have revealed)
I had little time to recover from this small gaffe, due in part to my much more egregious transgression (arriving twenty minutes late). My boss was already full swing into an explanation of the project I'd be working on to another gentlemen also starting that day. That this new man was to be the head of the project I was brought in to work on only penetrated my consciousness days later, around the time he informed me that - after three days on the job - he was leaving to take a better offer.
But at that moment, just about nothing seemed to penetrate my brain. Of course, internally a number of questions were being asked by my subconscious: "What in the hell are they saying?! Am I supposed to understand any of this? Does it even matter that this is Chilean Spanish? Did she just ask me a question? What's the word for 'again'?"
I suppose the information was being relayed to me speedily since it had probably all been said the twenty minutes prior to my arrival. I began to wonder how many sentences could be shoved without understanding through my ears before my head simply would explode.
I should point out that for days before this I had become increasingly nervous. I didn't really know what I would be doing, had little confidence in my capacity to contribute to a project involving sustainable wine growing (not my expertise), and was terribly afraid - above all else - of the steep barriers to entry my Spanish (in)competency would confer on my initial days at work. So far this last apprehension seemed well-founded.
And yet by the end of the day I felt in good hands, my desk literally encircled by a gregarious flock of older ladies, all intent on making this newly arrived, surrogate son feel welcome and well-acclimated to Chile.
Wanting to make a good first impression, I arrived to my first day of work disheveled and plenty of minutes late.
Speaking of first impressions, when I was introduced to my new boss, I replied to her "Welcome!" by exclaiming "Welcome!" - my Spanish already running afoul from word one. When she leaned in to peck my cheek - customary upon a first meeting - I shocked us all by attempting to kiss her other cheek. (Apparently not a custom here, which a cursory investigation would have revealed)
I had little time to recover from this small gaffe, due in part to my much more egregious transgression (arriving twenty minutes late). My boss was already full swing into an explanation of the project I'd be working on to another gentlemen also starting that day. That this new man was to be the head of the project I was brought in to work on only penetrated my consciousness days later, around the time he informed me that - after three days on the job - he was leaving to take a better offer.
But at that moment, just about nothing seemed to penetrate my brain. Of course, internally a number of questions were being asked by my subconscious: "What in the hell are they saying?! Am I supposed to understand any of this? Does it even matter that this is Chilean Spanish? Did she just ask me a question? What's the word for 'again'?"
I suppose the information was being relayed to me speedily since it had probably all been said the twenty minutes prior to my arrival. I began to wonder how many sentences could be shoved without understanding through my ears before my head simply would explode.
I should point out that for days before this I had become increasingly nervous. I didn't really know what I would be doing, had little confidence in my capacity to contribute to a project involving sustainable wine growing (not my expertise), and was terribly afraid - above all else - of the steep barriers to entry my Spanish (in)competency would confer on my initial days at work. So far this last apprehension seemed well-founded.
And yet by the end of the day I felt in good hands, my desk literally encircled by a gregarious flock of older ladies, all intent on making this newly arrived, surrogate son feel welcome and well-acclimated to Chile.
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