Bomberos alarm

In Chile, everyone knows when it is noontime. When I first heard the siren makes its announcement, I was startled and surprised, holding my ears as if to escape the sound of a loud ambulance passing by. What is that awful noise, I asked? It wasn’t until I bought a watch and asked a few people what the sound was, that I realized in all of Chile, in every city, town, or village, the local fire station sets their siren to alarm at noon everyday, as if to have a community timekeeper or an alarm clock broadcasting the time. In between the high-pitched siren that happens to go off only 2 blocks away from the Caritas office, where I work, one can hear the faint melody of church bells competing for air space.

Not surprisingly the church bells aren’t as strong and don’t last as long as the fire siren, and only if one strains can they hear the sacred drone. I found it particularly interesting when I asked my supervisor why it was a custom in Chile to have a loud siren at noon, and she said that it’s derived from religious traditions. She explained that only recently has Chile become more secular within public life, but that many Catholic and religious traditions are still maintained out of custom and habit, within the community. Historically speaking, the Church rings it bells at noon everyday to pray to the Angeles. The Chilean culture is so accustomed to being notified when it is noontime, because of the Church, that they have made it into an everyday, nonreligious aspect of life. It’s interesting how traditions get started and how quickly we forget or loose site of their beginnings, also interesting how humans adapt, so effortlessly, without being conscious of it, as gradual changes soon become habitual norms.

What would the Chileans do without their noontime alarm? I have grown to appreciate it and smile, no longer being annoyed. I also have grown to have huge respect for all of the Firefighters here. Every firefighter in Chile is a volunteer; there is not ONE firefighter that gets paid for their work. That just baffles me. How can a job as valuable and necessary as a firefighter not be paid, when plastic surgeons, and strippers rake in the money?! Well, I know the answer to that, hormonelocura, but it still seems a bit absurd.

Another tradition, known to many Latin cultures, that is exercised daily here in Linares, is Almuerzo. The much anticipated, needed, and respected time of the day where everything and everyone rests and goes on break. It makes sense eating the largest meal during the day and a small meal at night, my mom always said it was the healthiest (thanks mom for the healthy tips!), and even though I always get afternoon sueño it seems important to take a break during the heat of the day. From 1PM to 3PM everyday I return home from downtown Linares, which is a 15-minute colectivo ride that costs me 290 pesos, 50 cents, and is shared with other people who are also returning to the Huapi neighborhood. Passing buses, taxis and other colectivos, we zoom through the exhaust filled streets and over the train tracks. On the shoulder of the street dozens of exhausted workers are riding home on their bikes to refuel, eat some lunch, and then return to work, probably doing construction or picking fruit. On the way to the Huapi, my humble and comfortable neighborhood, we pass buildings sprayed with graffiti murals and expressive words, and the gypsy tents, I can’t leave out the gypsy block.

Chile has many gypsies. I don’t know a lot about their history, where the came from originally, and how long they’ve been around, but they are certainly a stronghold in Linares and in most cities in the Central Valley. They are a very interested group of people that move from place to place, carrying their home everywhere they go, just like the classic nomadic gypsy image everyone has in their head. In Linares they take up an entire vacant block to the entrance of my neighborhood.

My family and the Chileans in general don’t seem to have a strong opinion about them because they aren’t apart of the community. Yet everyone finds them intriguing and mysterious, and a bit of a nuisance. They are kind of like aliens that people ogle at from afar and tighten with protective reactions when they come close. They are known for stealing from people, from private homes, and even cutting power lines from the streets to wire their TV’s and stereos. They all live in colorful circus looking tents and the groups vary from 3-8 tents. In the central plaza I’ve had several opportunities to observe their pattern of begging. The women walk around with long colorful dresses with fanny packs and naked babies hanging from their sides. They strut up to you, stick out their hand forcefully and say in Spanish “give me money” with an earnest and commanding voice. Some offer a palm reading in exchange for “Plata”, but others just get to the point.

When I’m ready to get out of the Colectivo I ask to be dropped on the corner, “me deja en la vuelta”, and I walk past a small creek murky with trash and smelling of unpleasant bathroom aroma, and a giant concrete Catholic church before coming to my quiet street filled with loose chickens and 3-dogs to every house. At the end of the block is my house with a small rose bush and a blooming nectarine tree out front. I enter the gate, knock on the locked door, and escape into the dark and cool house, ready to eat a combination of the following; tomatoes, beans, lettuce, bread, corn, and meat. I sit, always with the TV on, in the dark kitchen and eat with my host-mom, brother, and grandmother, and on the weekend everyone, including the sister and father, eats together. This is the almuerzo tradition. Something I will surely miss once I go back to long days where I forget to eat until its dark. In Chile, I never forget to eat. Food and family gatherings always find me, they are what people work for and wait for, and expect day in and day out.