There was this doctor I came to know while living in Chile for a year of Sundays, back in the 1980’s. That stay has been explored elsewhere in these meanderings, so I will just talk about the doctor, whom I will call Patricio (a good, solid name and not uncommon in Chile). He was a general practitioner and, as such, had been well recommended to us by a common friend. This turned out to be a good recommendation for he not only became our doctor, but eventually we struck a friendship with him and his family.
After some visits to his office, followed by the eventual striking of a friendly banter relationship, one day Patricio called me and asked whether we would like to come to their home for dinner with him and his wife. This was a way to formalize the friendship, as it were, for in Chile back then (God Lord, I’m beginning to sound like an old man… Don’t you say a word!!) society was managed by certain protocols; home invitations, when extended, were indicative of a desire to become better acquainted by allowing someone from “the outside” to come into their private home and personal realm.
Does it sound much too formal? To our current, overly relaxed parameters, it may be so. At that time, however, Chile’s society was in the process of readjusting to recently found freedom, for General Pinochet had been elected out of office (although by a small margin, he accepted this as the will of the people and stepped down) and many of the movement restrictions (especially in Santiago, the capital) and curfews had been lifted. Society was re-aligning its parameters of behavior, socialization and, in general terms, of life. But it was not an immediate mental and behavioral “herd” change; it took a bit of time.
Well, back to the visit. The appointed night arrived, and we left our children in the hands of a known babysitter, as we headed for the in-town home of our dear Dr. Patricio. What to bring with us was an easy to solve question. Chile has a well-known variety of high-quality wines, so it was one of these we brought with us. We arrived at the appointed time (no social time margins, for Chileans who -unlike their Argentinian neighbors- were time conscious) and were received by the Dr. and his wife Fernanda.
We were given the ground floor tour and, being winter, eventually made it to the living room, with an open fire chimney blazing and, where on the floor and to one side, were standing two open bottles of red wine, waiting for their time to be enjoyed. Patricio noted my inquiring glance and he said – “the bottles were being kept in a small cellar, and it is cold down there; we put the bottles here to bring them up to acceptable temperature for best notes”. There is a good wine culture in that country.
We had a good and ample dinner, where poultry was the primary element. It would then usually be this or sea-based fare. Beef was not a common element in those days for a) it was expensive and b) most people did not know how to prepare it well nor had a real taste for it. As an aside, in all of Santiago there were then only two beef restaurants. Of these, the British Pub was the only one where well-prepared beef dishes could be had.
We had finished dinner and aided by the second bottle of wine, were now engaged in full conversation. As it is usual on a first visit involving people from different parts of the world, the usual “tell us about your life” questions arose. We talked about Cuba, and the different places where we had lived since leaving (my then wife was also Cuban and had left the country as a young child with her mother) as well as places where we had visited and so on.
Then it was the good Doctor’s turn
to talk. “We go to Chicago almost every year, for most of my relatives live in
that area; I really only have a sister here.”. I then asked him how it was so.
He looked somewhat wistful and went on with the story.
-“Our family came originally from the north of Germany.” – “Sometime back in the 1880’s -he continued- three brothers decided they wanted to emigrate to the new continent, establish a family and make a living here.”
“And how did you end here and all
the rest of your family up in the States?” I asked.
He looked at me and said, “Our family, for the most part, was of humble origins; there were three brothers, my grandfather being the youngest.”
Then he continued “The two older brothers left first, leaving instructions (no smart phones back then…) for my grandfather to follow them when ready, to go to the port city and get onboard the ship that was going to America.”
“So he did” he continued… “about a month after his brothers had left, and after making ready, he went on to port where he was able to get -in exchange for work- a berth in a ship that was leaving for America”
Then he stopped for a moment, had a sip of wine, smiled and said “he never bothered asking where the ship was going, so no one told him its destiny was South America. Buenos Aires, to be exact.”
“Eventually he crossed over to Santiago and settled.” “And here we are.”
So, the moral of the story is… before you get on the train or, as in this case the ship, make sure you know it is going to the same place where you want to go.
Be Well … Be Back!!!
Final Notes:
· Pray
for those who are
fighting an illness which may take them away from their loved ones… Every
request is heard, and counts!!
· Any
comments please send
to rjalcazar@gmail.com
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