Patagonia....the end of the world

"Patagonia is the farthest place to which man walked from his place of origins. It is therefore a symbol of his restlessness. From its discovery it had the effect on the imagination something like the Moon, but in my opinion more powerful."

--Bruce Chatwin, author of In Patagonia, stating one of the four points he believed were key to understanding his book.

The night before I was scheduled to leave for Punta Arenas I couldn't sleep.....alright, I probably could have slept, but decided it was pointless to sleep for a couple of hours only to have to wake up at 3:45am. I decided to spend the night partying with Angela, Jack, and Diego, my favorite Hosteling International Santiago employee (Natalie, if you ever read this blog I love you too). Needless to say, by the time we were picked up at 4:15 I was very crabby. I dozed in and out of sleep the entire flight from Santiago to Puerto Montt and Puerto Montt to Punta Arenas. My cheerful friend (now roommate) Angela was talking up a storm with the woman seated in our row, and I was half drooling (okay, full on snoring/drooling) on my neck rest pillow. Towards the end of the flight I woke up a little more and started to stare out of the window. At first I couldn't see anything other than a listless and foamy sea of clouds, but then the sky opened up and revealed the prehistoric expanse that is Patagonia. My mind buzzed with the thousands of things I had promised to make happen for myself here and my heart began to beat as though I was a kindergartener again kissing my first crush on the school bus coming back home from Lanikai Elementary. I knew instantly that this place was where I needed to be and that I was going to get even closer to becoming the woman I'm destined to be.

Alright, enough sappy shit. I was picked up at the airport by the regional coordinator of my program who immediately informed me that I would be living in a house with my friend Angela. She also went on to say that the man we would be living with was away on a vacation and that we would be having a 'enana' ('nanny') coming and preparing us lunch every day. Neli, our nanny, was at the house when we arrived and had been preparing us our first meal in Punta Arenas. She has been the nanny for our Chilean father for over eight years and has helped him raise his two daughters. Neli and my Chilean father often eat lunch together, and I have been told that he sees her as a beloved mother figure.......

Speaking of my Chilean father, I have decided to call him Papa José. Here is the four month breakdown of his knicknames: August/early September:Papa José
Mid/late September:Pay-jota (P-J en español)
October:P-J (in English)
November: Peej

Papa José is truly a modern day Renaissance man.....a badass Renaissance man, that is. When you first enter his house you can't help but notice the vast array of martial arts weapons he has. The ninja turtles would be jealous. Papa José's arsenal of weapons include 2 sais, 11 bow staffs of various lengths, and a samurai sword. There is a black belt that hangs casually over some the bow staffs and sword as if to say, "Yeah, I got a black belt. No biggie." The front room of his/my house also has 6 plants (I'm told they all have names and that Papa José talks to them to help them grow). Along with these items are a guitar, a microphone, and a boombox with a variety of CDs that you would not expect an almost 50 year old to have (Amy Winehouse?!). After talking to Papa José's sister Saturday night, tía/mamá Merry, I have been told that P.J. thinks he is a fabulous singer, especially after a few drinks (according to the rest of his family, this is not the case) and often is the source of 2am music jams.....

Furthermore, the walls of his dining room are adorned with pictures that simply contradict each other in the most extreme ways possible. The various wall hangings begin with a National Folklore plaque that casually flows into his various Patagonian karate tournament awards/medals....then Che Guevara comes into the picture. The poster begins with "Seremos como el Che!" (We will be like Che!) and has a picture of his face dissolving into an army of rebels. To the left of Sr. Guevara is a etched drawing of what I am assuming to be Papa José's dad (this guy's rocking the Buddy Holly glasses). Not to be outdone by the previous two, a photograph portrait of none other than Fidel Castro (entitled 'Fidel General') lies below daddy dearest. Next to this trio is a huge cross hanging from communion beads, of course. The best part about all of this it is all true. I couldn't make this up if I tried, and believe me, I have tried!

I would like to dedicate this blog post to my real father, Thomas William Cestare, who is definitely a Renaissance Man in his own freakishly athletic way. In addition to being a black belt in karate, an All-American lacrosse player, and a religious runner, he only sings in desperate times and dances once in a blue moon (or should I say whenever someone gets married in our backyard). Although he sparingly uses his gifts for singing and dancing, they are quite effective in swaying the mood of any crowd, I daresay. I just hope I can record/document his Irish jig next time I see it! Start practicing, Dad!