Pandora's Other Box: Santiago, Chile, 1983, a First Visit

Not always there is a “prologue” to write. A simple request brought back many memories of a good place and of some good people I met there. Here is the result.

Typical Home in the Capital 'Burbs

Te ever present Andean Mountains

It is Friday and the day is not going well. A major rain/storm front is going through and it’s playing hell with all the accoutrements. Internet connection is dicey at best, the lights seem to want to go off, and when I call someone to pursue the sale of insurance and they actually answer they hang up immediately, terrified that a lightning strike will come right to their phones, via the great ether. What to do?? Then, in one of those few moments in which all seemed to work (albeit for a minute or two) I received a notification of having a FB message from someone who, knowing I had lived in Chile and like wines, wanted the names of some Chilean wineries. Looks like they are putting together a wine collection… personally, I rather drink it and not collect it....

As I was thinking about the names (difficult to remember all, there are some 75-100 such, and most do not export to the US) of some of these, the memory of my first visit to Chile came to mind and, with it, that of Pepe (Jose) a gentleman who was sent to receive me at the airport then and who later, when I came to live in Chile for what turned out to be a much shorter than anticipated stay, became a friend and ally until his death.

This was 1983 and Pinochet was still sitting as the head of government in Chile; coming to Santiago for the first time I was really not too aware of several local issues since the country, as a result of local politics, had been somewhat isolated from the rest of the Latin American neighbors. On arrival, I was greeted by this tall, gangly gentleman, some 12 years my senior (then…), who was carrying a sign big enough to be seen from the plane’s window. Probably most anyone who was on that flight still remembers the multicolored SR. RAFAEL sign he was holding to his chest, like one of the huge moving wall signs you see in some cities. No matter; I introduced myself to him and he took my bag with a flourish, letting me know he was in charge of my visit.

As we headed out of the airport, it was already late afternoon. We went to his car and it turned out he had a beautiful, candy apple red, almost mint condition 1966 Mustang. He called it his “bólido” (something like “rocket”) and this moniker should have given me an indication of things to come. We went out of the airport and, looking straight at me and not at the road, while doing 50mph in the city, he informed me that we were going to go to a restaurant and have dinner, wine and some music “on the company”. This combination, mind you, is usually a favorite of mine and it won’t take much persuading to get me going. So, off we went. We did have a meal and I was introduced to Chilean wine (see the connection to a question about wine?) at that dinner and have remained a fan, especially of their white varietals, since then. I was also introduced to Chilean folkloric music and it became a favorite. By the time we had finished the second bottle of Sauvignon Blanc, it was well past 11pm. When he looked at his watch, his expression changed and he said: “Mierda…!! ya son las 11:15… TENEMOS QUE IRNOS YA!!” which, loosely translated is: “Shit!! It’s already 11:15 and WE HAVE TO GO NOW!!” Then, I was introduced to another Chilean specialty of the times: The Midnight Curfew. There was, in Santiago, a midnight curfew on Friday and Saturday nights and, by that time, you were to be wherever you were going to spend the rest of the night, medical emergencies excluded. The “carabineros”, or military police, were the enforcers and not too many questions were asked.

We headed out to the car where, after three failed attempts to find the keyhole, we finally got in and left the restaurant. I was supposed to stay at the house of the company’s GM, but he lived outside the city and Pepe did not remember where exactly (I was surprised he remembered his own address) and said: -“tonight you stay with us… I’ll take you to Al’s house tomorrow”. We made it to his house without much trouble (The Good Lord was watching over us that night for sure) and of course, all in the abode were sound asleep and not a light was on. I was certainly not expected… and I have wondered at times whether even Pepe was expected to make it back that night. “Don’t ask, don’t tell…” this can certainly be applied in more than one area.

The living room couch became my bed and, tired from the day long flight and of the evening’s mildly stressing late events, I passed out. Next thing I knew, I was awakened by the noises of someone in the kitchen, taking care of breakfast (Chilean food was then much lighter than our regular fare; much from the sea, vegetables and fruits, especially grapes) and from the kitchen door came this tiny (maybe 4’11”) blond lady, with the bluest eyes I had seen in a long time, and simply asked: “Do you like fresh grape juice?” No long faces, no “what are you doing here” looks; nothing but a smile and sweet helpfulness, I was made to feel as if I were a member of the household and not a stranger who was dumped, without notice, on the living room couch the night before. That’s how I met and fell in love with Sofia, Pepe’s wife and with his two daughters. I would have, over times to come, many good get togethers with them and eventually, during Pepe’s long and terminal illness, I was able to help them a bit.

That first morning and perhaps more importantly, these folk gave me an inside first look into a basic, caring Chilean family. Simple, loving and friendly people who were incredibly curious as to what was going on in a world to which they had a somewhat restricted access at that time, and who were (are) furiously proud of their country, its history and achievements.

Yes, we made it that morning to Al’s house and I came into a different setup where appearance and position were more important than reality and relevant personal issues. For my taste and choice, Pepe and his family are much closer to my heart than Al’s (who was not Chilean, by the way). Interestingly, one of his two sons, much like him in character, was already being trained as a future, potentially ruthless corporate manager. The other, older one and namesake, was a dreamer who loved music and was not interested in backroom warfare. He was literally shunned and cast aside; too bad, because he had the makings of a much more gentle, noble man who would be able to make decisions in a much more humanitarian manner than his brother was being trained to do.

In the long run, it was many people like Pepe and his wife I met during my association related visits, who were part of my decision to move to Chile. Unfortunately, I came to work in the company where Al was the GM, and we had already had a run-in even before my arrival… Another day, another story… maybe.

Santiago, Chile, 1983

Be Well… Be back!!