Yikes. I’m a slacker. But in my defense, summer was crazy busy, the business was booming, and the kids’ schedules were nuts too.

Today, 9/11/10, was quite literally the first day in months I’ve had to just sit down…   NO photo editing or photo shoots, NO meeting clients or friends, NO trips, no nothing. Nothing was on the calendar so we milked it. We played with the kids, ran a few errands, took a family bike ride and now, as I sit here with a glass of Riesling (look for the review on my other blog), I thought I’d share a couple of images from the day.

The bridge of over Hwy 10 in Crapids… these people gather every year on 9/11 to wave at area drivers and hold flags.
It’s kinda nice.

Enjoying the gorgeous day watching clouds with the boys.

Caden, watching big bro ride his bike.

And we spent this evening watching specials on the History Channel about the September 11th attacks. In the 9 years since the attacks happened, I’ve never really sat down to watch any shows about it so I’ve had a real eye opening. The most heartbreaking of the shows we watched tonight had to be the raw footage from people in Manhattan, witnessing the events. Really unbelievable. It’s a good thing we have a DVR now because I’ll be heading to bed soon and there are more shows airing overnight that I want to see.

If you want to read my Where-I-Was-On-9/11 story, go here.

I find that this is a common mistake and at times, it’s frustrating to a Chilean. Especially to hear someone say to me, “Wait – aren’t you from Wisconsin? Why do you fly the flag of Texas?” <insert massive eye roll here>. Um yes. I did grow up in Wisconsin. Not Texas. But I’m Chilean, hence my defensive attitude on the topic.

Allow me to point out the differences:

I understand that they are easily confused since they each have the same colors, a lone star on a blue background and horizontal red and white bands. And unless you’re from Texas or Chile, you probably look at one and think it’s the other. I get that.

But I think after the initial interrogation I get, on why I fly the “Texas” flag, and after the explanation that I do not hail from Texas, the 2nd most asked question I get is “Well, which one came first? Who copied who?“

Chile had several designs for its flag throughout the years, prior to arriving at the flag design in its most current form in October, 1817. The Texas flag was officially adopted on January 24, 1839.

I’ll wait while you do the math.

Yep. Chile’s flag design preceded Texas’ design by 21 years. So thanks Texas…. while I think it’s a grand compliment to Chile that you want your flag to look just like ours, you’re causing me many headaches.

Just sayin’.

You heard them. They need blankets, money, food, shoes, shelter. The rainy season has come to Chile and people are living outside with no shelter. The earthquake and tsunami disrupted their entire lives.

Por favor ayuda mi pais, mi Chile.

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On the way to meet a man who is the brother of someone who could be my birthfather, Cristian says something to Monica that made her ask him to pull over. He pulls into the driveway of a field. I was more than confused. Monica says to me, “Get out of the car, I have a surprise for you.”  Yep – color me still confused. We start walking down the road. Monica says to me that while driving, Cristian casually points at a house along the road and says to her, “That’s where another one of Silvia’s sisters lives”.

Uhhhhh, seriously?

It was confusing to me just why Cristian thought that this information was so unimportant that he never mentioned another family member who lives SO close to the others, before. It’s also confusing how nonchalant he was about it.

That aside, once again, I found myself about to meet another family member. As we approached the gate of the home, I short woman appeared. Totally another Tia. Looked more like Silvia than the first Tia did, even. Monica greets her over the gate door, and then tells her we are there under some odd circumstances. The woman nodded. Monica asks her if she is a sister of Silvia Poblete. She nods again and tells Monica that her name is Irma or Emma Poblete (we never really figured that out and forgot to ask…. so let’s just call her Tia Emma). Monica introduces herself and then gestures to me and tells Tia Emma that I am Silvia’s child that was given up for adoption 27 years ago. And the whirlwind begins – Tia Emma bursts into sobbing hysterical tears and rushes to get the gate open and quickly grabs me into the biggest, soggiest hug. I was shocked, overwhelmed, but obviously somewhat pleased by the welcome reaction. Through her sobbing, she has us enter the gate, and rushes me through the house introducing me to her husband, and to her son (another cousin!), Anthony. When we get back to the front of the house, Tia Emma sent Anthony off on his bike to ride to his sister’s home, to tell her I was there. The three of us ladies then sat down under the parron to  talk. Tia Emma is emotional and still crying. Monica starts to talk to her about what she knew of me. And what Tia Emma had to say absolutely blew me away and shocked me to a point where I may have been staring at her with an open mouth and eyes the size of dinner plates.

Tia Emma explained that when Silvia got pregnant with me, she knew abuela wasn’t pleased. The family (Silvia, her siblings and their parents) were already estranged so my upcoming arrival was adding a lot of stress to an already stressful situation. Tia Emma said that she didn’t see Silvia much during the pregnancy, and around the end of August when Silvia was due to deliver me, she was told by abuela that Silvia’s baby had died during the delivery, so there was no baby anymore.

[zomgwtfbbqhuh?]

On that hot, sunny day in Chile, goosebumps had covered me. I could hardly believe what I was hearing. Abuela had told everyone that I had died, in order to cover up the adoption. Tia Emma went on to say that when I came to Chile in 2007, that was the first time that she had learned that my “death” had been a lie. When she found out Silvia’s daughter that she had given up for adoption was in Chile and reuniting with Silvia, she quickly got the information and learned that I was the same baby that had supposedly died. And due to the estranged nature of the relationship of the Poblete family, she knew she would not be meeting me then. And that was the cause of her reaction to my showing up on her doorstep on that very day – that she had never in her life thought she would get to meet the niece she’d believed to be dead for 25 years.

Yeah – I can see where her surprise was coming from now….

Monica and I were just baffled. All of this information coming at us in the matter of just a day or so. It was so much to process. And just when I thought my mind had been blown to bits, came another piece of the puzzle:

In 2007, when I was in Chile to meet Silvia, and Tia Emma had learned of the 25 year lie, so had the rest of the town. Teno isn’t that big of a place. It’s kind of like where I grew up in Wisconsin – once a piece of juicy gossip got out, it took mere minutes for it to circulate throughout the town.  So, Silvia’s long-lost daughter coming to meet her was hot news when it happened. And it was hot news for someone else in particular. Tia Emma said that during that time, 2 years ago, a man came to her home. He introduced himself as Jose. Jose asked if it was true that Silvia had a daughter born in 1983 and if it was true that this daughter was in Teno to meet Silvia. Tia Emma confirmed that information. Jose asked if there was any way to get in touch with Silvia. Tia Emma had told him that she was not in contact with her or anyone else in the family, and asked him why he was so interested. [But you, reader, have it all figured out by now, don't ya? ]  And as expected, his answer was because he felt that he was that girl’s father, and wanted to get in touch so that the parties could be tested.

Well, holy shite.

I asked Tia Emma if she remembered who that man was and she said he actually still lived in Teno, not too far from her. I looked at Monica. And she read my mind.

So we asked Tia Emma if she would get in the car with Mariana and Cristian and go ask if that man was still interested in meeting me and having the test done. She was hesitant – mostly because she felt like she was dirty from doing chores, and underdressed…. but I told her those things were not important. And she did get in the car. Monica and I waited at the house with Anthony, who had returned from delivering the news of my visit to his sister.  We engaged in small talk – mostly Monica and Anthony, as they spoke fluent Spanish (plus I was on the phone with my mother in the US freaking out about all that had developed). A few minutes later, the car drive past the house in the opposite way it had left. We figured that Jose must have moved and they were going to a different house. A few minutes after that, Tia Emma’s other daughter arrived, my other cousin Cristina, and her three children. We all sat and waited for what seemed like SO long. Finally, Monica’s car returned and parked in front of the house. And with new passengers, Jose and his wife. They approached the house.  NERRRRRRRVOUS.

Jose is a tall man. He dressed well, and had a bit of a potbelly. He had silver hair and a tan complexion. I’m sure he was giving me as much of an up-and-down as I was giving him. We nervously chatted for a bit before Monica began to talk about what our next steps were. Meanwhile, I pretty much just stood there like a dope, trying not to stare at Jose, while nervously rotating a book in my hands, over and over and over. Monica and Jose decided that the best thing to do would be to take a test at a local clinic. But it was too late in the evening at that point and the local clinic was closed. Monica said if Jose were willing to do it, he could take a hair sample of mine and then give one himself, if he were to do it when the clinic opened the following day. He agreed. I gleefully ripped out a chunk of hair from the top of my head (about 10 strands) and Monica folded it into a piece of paper. We chatted with Jose some more about the terms of our potential relationship (he wanted nothing tangible/financial from me and vice versa, just a relationship). We took a few photos, and then Cristian took Jose and his wife home.

When he returned, I said goodbye to my Tia Emma and my cousins, and Cristian, Mariana, Monica and I left, all still in shock and surprise at how our day had happened. We dropped Cristian off in Santa Cruz, with a promise that we’d see him the next day. And we were off back to Santiago.

But definitely not before a stop at the gas station for a restroom visit and to have a bite to eat – Churrasco Italiano! YUMMY! Just what I needed after the kind of day I had, oye!

Oh, and I certainly can’t forget – what better way to top off a day of such a crazy emotional roller-coaster, then having your car hit by a city bus!

So instead of getting home at 11pm or so, we got home after midnight by the time Monica talked to the city officials, and had to stop at the police station. Goodness.

Coming up, Viaje, Part IV… my sister Cerna brings my nephews to visit me in Santiago and we wait to hear from Jose about the paternity test.

The next morning, my family took me to meet my abuela. I talked to her briefly on the phone when I was in Chile in 2007, but never met her. I was pretty stoked about this meeting.

Tia, Cristian, my cousin Pablo and I drove to a little village near Santa Cruz, called Quinahue. Abuela lives just off of the main road through town. We parked in her dirt road drive and got out. The house was surrounded by trees and large “parrons” of grapes and much of that, along with a car, was covered in tarps. And I soon learned why. When I crossed through the trees, I saw her house. Still standing but in very bad shape. Household appliances were outside, along with furniture and other items. I was already convinced that it wasn’t a normal occurrence, but the earthquake that caused that need.

When my abuela appeared, I took note how little she was. I am only 5’4″ and this woman could only be 5 feet tall. She approached me with a hug and we greeted each other and then sat down under a tarp to talk. I questioned her about the earthquake; where she was, what she lost, etc. She told me that her house would have to come down, it was no longer sturdy and no longer safe to live in. She explained that she lived outside and slept in the car parked nearby. For money, she sold the eggs that her hens laid and for food, she ate her grapes. She told me that the government did not help enough for people in her situation and that she was worried for the future. I was confident I would be able to help her in a small way. We then moved on to discussing my past. I asked her about my mother’s past, I asked if she ever got to see me as a baby and I asked her about my father. She told me that she couldn’t care for another baby when she was told Silvia was pregnant. That is why Silvia chose adoption. She said that she was not present was I was born, and so she had never seen me before I left for the United States. She also told me that Silvia claiming that she didn’t remember my father’s name or where he was, when I asked in 2007, was a lie. Abuela had no problem giving up a name and where he lived. I was floored. A chapter of my life that I thought was over before it was even discovered, was now free game. My father’s name, supposedly, is Oscar. I had my cousin Pablo write the full name in my Chilenismos book. We finished our visit with my abuela, and I gave her some pesos. I wanted to make sure she was taken care of during her struggle after the earthquake, so it made me happy to help her out.

From Quinahue, we left to go meet Monica. Our usual pausing point and meeting point during my many trips from Santiago to Teno and back, was a Shell Station along Ruta 5. When we got there, I was SO relieved to see Monica and once again be able to speak English to someone! By that point, I had been speaking Spanish since Friday evening (so 3 full days) and it was exhilarating to speak my “native” language again. And not only that, but Monica has been my guide, my friend and my support system ever since I came to Chile in 2007, so I just really needed her to be with me.

After we connected with Monica (along with her friend/driver Mariana, and my sister Cerna and one of her sons), we left for my sister Perla’s house. Perla was expecting us for lunch, and then we were all going back to Silvia’s house to spend the rest of the day with her and my two youngest brothers. I wasn’t sure how the day was going to work having my Tia and cousin there. Even though Silvia and Tia were sisters, they did not get along. They didn’t like each other, and they didn’t speak – ever. Tia had even told me that she had basically no contact with any of Silvia’s children (besides Cristian). I figured this was going to get really interesting… and also admired Tia for agreeing to come along for the day, knowing she was going to feel uncomfortable in the presence of some of Silvia’s kids and grandkids that she barely knew, due to the family tension.

We got to Perla’s house and were greeting by my little nieces yelling “Tia! Tia!” – what a cool feeling! We enjoyed a huge and delicious lunch – Perla is quite an amazing cook. Best mashed potatoes I’ve had in my entire life. When lunch was over, we started chatting. The conversation soon turned to discussing more about my adoption and our lives. I found out that Silvia was not the supermom of seven six that I had once believed her to be. She had kicked out my sisters when they were teenagers because she simply didn’t want them in her house anymore and left them to fend for themselves. When things got particularly bad for one of my sisters, she was taken in by the paternal grandmother of one of our other siblings – even when this grandmother was not her own grandmother. I also found out that Silvia frequently hit them, once severely injuring one of my sisters in what might have been worse if another of my sister’s hadn’t jumped in the way and made her stop. She also hits my youngest brother. And when my teen brother dropped out of school recently, she did nothing about it, but made him go work in the fields. I was shocked, sad, and heartbroken for them. This was incredibly distressing news. What was also stressful to me, is that my siblings decided to not tell me this until 2 years after I’d met them originally. We’d had emotional discussions the last time I was in Chile in 2007, so I was upset that none of this had been brought up then.

A little deeper into this discussion, I began to talk with them about all of our fathers. Cristian did not know who his birthfather was, I didn’t either. My next siblings Cerna and Perla, who share a father, also did not know. The next two, Fernanda and Ricardo, did know, and were in touch with him. And little Jose also has a father active in his life as well, as he’d been Silvia’s husband at the time that I’d met her in 2007. I told my sisters that I was going to be pursing the name that my abuela had given me. And it dawned on me that in my limited Spanish, I hadn’t been able to really talk to my aunt as much as I’d wanted to, so I asked Monica to talk to my Tia to see if she had information for me that might be useful. And I was so surprised to get her response: Tia told me that she did not want to talk about it. She told me that if I wanted information, I should be talking to Silvia. At this point, I was irritated. I argued, I pushed and I practically yelled. I finally broke and cried – I was very upset that no one wanted to tell me anything about me and when I DID get information, it was nothing but lies. I was appalled that I had come so far, and would end up leaving never knowing anything more about myself. Pretty soon, my sisters got angry too – a huge overwhelming cloud of loud yelling Spanish ensued and then Monica translated something to me – my Tia had just revealed to my sister Perla, who had been looking for her and Cerna’s father, that this man she was looking for, lived in Argentina. Somehow in this mess, this piece of information that Perla had been seeking for so long, was finally out in the open. I could hardly believe that it took a visit from me and my persistence in finding out my own information, for Perla to finally get an inch closer to the information she needed. I was relieved for her, and felt really close to her because I knew what she had gone through – the questions, the wondering, the dead ends – just to get there. I felt no better about my situation, but I definitely felt happy for Perla. It also made me a little hopeful that if my Tia was willing to give out that piece of information, maybe I could convince her to help me too.

My Tia walked out the front door. I knew my stubborn persistence had irritated her, but at this point in time, I simply didn’t care. I was upset with her for refusing to give me any information I was after. Through my tears of frustration, I saw Cristian leave the house. And I knew what was going on. I knew he had gone out to the porch to talk to Tia. And I knew it was because A) he loves me and B) if anyone was going to receive her help, it was him. After all, she’d done much of his caretaking as a little boy and he was practically a son to her, and so I instantly felt hopeful. After a while of calmly talking to my sisters, and playing with the kids, Monica told me that she wanted me to join her outside. Tia was ready to talk. It wasn’t much, and the information wasn’t groundbreaking, but more of a confirmation of a lot of what I’d already heard in the last day or so. She also believed my father was Oscar, and confirmed that he lived in Santiago. She also knew he had a brother who didn’t live too far away from Perla’s house, and thought maybe I’d have good luck tracking down Oscar’s location by speaking to his brother. So we made plans to go see Oscar’s brother, instead of going to Silvia’s house. It was a decision that I made, but was far from easy. Silvia was the birthmother I’d dreamed about meeting for my whole life. When I left in 2007, I felt like I’d completed something unthinkable and was content with having a new branch of family and history in my life. My search was over. But knowing all of this new information, knowing that Silvia was not the kind of person she pretended to be, and knowing that this part of my life and it’s searching was FAR from over, I made the executive decision to pursue my father. I was determined to leave Chile this time, with answers. Not cover-up answers (aka lies) that Silvia was feeding me, but real, honest answers.

I saw goodbye to my sisters, my nieces and nephew, and to my Tia and cousin, knowing I’d probably not see them again before I left. Damn, I hate goodbyes.

I got in the car with Monica, Mariana, and Cristian and we were off to see a man who could be my Tio. But – we never made it there. A birthfather bombshell is approaching — Viaje, Part III…. coming soon.

Voluntary Horizons Solidarity Group

It’s a fabulous group of selfless and giving people from all over the world, who came together for this cause and it’s really quite incredible to see what they are doing. I’m counting the days until I’m back in Chile and working with them again. I was even honored today to have my name listed as a member of their team, and even though I’m very far away from the work they are doing, I’m determined to make sure my name deserves to be among the others who are actually there and doing the hard work, by fundraising here on my own. I’m actively working on coming up with ways to raise funds to send to them to support the work they are doing. Please contact me if you have the means to give – I assure you, this is a very very worthy cause!

I salute you, Voluntary Horizons!

So, the last blog left off after my visit to Los Coipos. I guess I’ll just pick up from there.

Sunday evening (3/31): The bus dropped me off in San Fernando at the bus terminal. I saw Cristian there waiting for me before I even got off and I was excited. I hopped off the bus to go give the big guy a hug. Then I went to work digging my bags out of the bus’ pit-o-luggage. I said my goodbyes to the group and was officially in the care of a non-English-speaking individual. (Which was kind of like my weekend in Los Coipos, but several of those people was able to speak English, so it wasn’t so bad). A small group of three was approaching Cristian and I and Cristian introduced them as my aunt, uncle and cousin. Cool! More family. Love it. Mi Tia looked skeptical, Tio was smiley and friendly, and my cousin Pablo was somewhat the same. The 5 of us took off toward the car. We left San Fernando and started our drive to Santa Cruz, where Tio and Tia live. As we drove from one place to the other, Tia, who was sitting next to me in the car, pointed out all of the buildings that used to be, that were now piles of rubble. Even with all of the damage I had seen that weekend in Los Coipos, I was still shocked by the damage here in Santa Cruz.

This building shocked me in particular. My brother told me that when the terremoto happened, this apartment’s first level collapsed, and in turn, sent the upper levels plumeting to the first level. 2 people died in the building. Looking at the damage inside, it was amazing to me that only two people were lost.

Across a stream from this apartment complex, was where all of the displaced residents were staying. For a few days after the earthquake, this community was also home to my own brother, before he moved in with my Tio and Tia.

It was really sad to see, and I wish there was more I could do for these types of people. Their belongings are what they managed to get out of the mangled building and who knows if they’ll be able to recover anything more.

After that stop, the sun had set, and we went on to see more of Santa Cruz.

And that’s just what I saw at night. More to come in upcoming blog posts.

Let’s start a few days ago….

Friday -
10am: Packed my stuff for my weekend trip to volunteer in Los Coipos and headed to Teno with Monica. I got to spend the day with my family and that was pretty dang amazing. I gave everyone gifts of food, jewelry, clothes and sentimentals. And my mother served the same lunch that we had eaten when we first met 2.5 years ago and I had raved about…. cazuela de ave:  it’s a chicken broth type of soup with rice in it, and right in the middle of the bowl is a piece of meat and a couple of bigger vegetables. It’s absolutely amazing, I love it so much! We spent the rest of the afternoon eating pan and drinking jote.
6pm: Left my birthmother’s house with my sister Cerna and brother Cristian and headed to Cerna’s house. Spent an hour there watching a DVD slideshow of Cerna’s wedding photos and playing with my nephews.
7pm: Left Cerna’s house to get on the micro and headed to the bus terminal in San Fernando, where I was to catch a bus with the volunteer group.
8pm: Arrived in San Fernando and met the group. When I got on the bus, the people were very interested in me since I was new to the group, was American and was a photographer. Lots of excitement for everyone. I was trying to memorize everyone’s names! I spent the ride chatting with Mohan, another American on the bus. Mohan, and about 3 other people on the bus spoke English. Everyone else, just Spanish. It made for an interesting ride. Another thing that made for an interesting ride was the fact that I’d spent my day drinking jote and then got on a bus that drove for 2 hours along bumpy gravel roads that twisted and wound around mountains in order to get to our destination. I was definitely not feeling so hot during that ride. Hachazo grande!!!
10pm: Arrived in Los Coipos.

It was already very dark, so we couldn’t see much but the lights of the bus lit the side of the road enough for me to see that the further south we drove, the worse the condition of the houses were. When we got to our destination in Los Coipos, it was a home of a volunteer. Her family had built a house there recently and acted as our home base for our stay. The house was not damaged and was quite big. It held our group of 30+ semi-comfortably. We all gathered in the kitchen and introduced ourselves (yes, I introduced myself in Spanish… AND I explained who I was, were I lived, and how old I was – please hold your applause until the end of the blog post*). After that, we ate dinner, cooked by the mother of the house, who made wonderful and simple meals for us the entire weekend. That night we went to bed very late.

Saturday -
4am: We’ll call this “Heidi’s first earthquake”. We were all sleeping soundly in our beds/sleeping bags, when the tremble occurred. It was small, but it shook the weak bed I was sharing with another volunteer. The house rattled and the bed vibrated and everyone in our room sat up and looked around waiting to see if we would need to get up. The tremor only lasted for about 5 seconds, but if you think that sounds pretty insignificant for an aftershock, you go ahead and count out 5 seconds and imagine you are shaking in your bed and let me know if it doesn’t blow your mind. Go ahead, time it – I’ll wait…

See? Crazy.

The girls in my room asked me if that was my first earthquake and I said yes. (Side note: There was a very weak tremor in Santiago on my first overnight here, but I was so exhausted from my flight that I was in a dead sleep and didn’t feel it.) It may have been just an aftershock, but it was something I’d never experienced before in my life and I was a little embarrassed to be so excited about it. 10 seconds after the tremor stopped, we all laid down and went back to sleep again.

9am: Wake up call. We ate our breakfast in shifts, since the breakfast table held about 12 people at a time. Breakfast was cups of yogurt, marmalade, coffee and of course, pan. Then I grabbed my gear and set out to take photos of the town and its people. A resident named Saul escorted me around the town. The houses either collapsed or standing but not able to be repaired. I listened to the residents talk about where they were when the earthquake happened and what they did to get to safety. One of the residents said, “I was not here when the earthquake happened. I was at the beach. When the earth shook we knew that it was no longer safe to be near the ocean, so we headed for higher ground. 10 minutes after the earthquake happened, the tsunami struck and destroyed the very beach we were just enjoying ourselves at.”

The stories from these people were heartbreaking. Just listening to them speak about how scared they were during the earthquake was fascinating, but very sad.

2pm: Lunch. Hot dogs and rice. Awesome.
3pm: Back out into the town for more photos. I was sitting down, taking a break in the shade of a big tree with my new pal Taina, when another tremor happened. Felt the same as the one overnight, but it was interesting to be wide awake for this one. I guess the look on my face was pretty funny because Taina laughed at me. She asked if I was scared and I admitted that so long as the tremors are only aftershocks and not damaging to people or property, they were kind of exciting for me.
5pm: Back to the house to shower and prepare for the evening’s festivities. The group had prepared an evening of stage entertainment and dancing for the residents of Los Coipos. Those people had been through so much that it was a nice way to get their minds off of the situation for even a short time. We had chips and cookies and beverages, performances, and even the cueca! It was a really really fun night. I started out just being the photographer and snapping photos of everything and then by the time the stage part of the entertainment ended and the dancing began, I got sucked into the fun of dancing the night away to all the greatest Latin music (which I’ve since downloaded on my iTunes). And then when people started handing more and more wine to me, how could it be anything but fun? It was awesome. Until these two men approached myself and Taina to dance… the dancing part was ok, but the person that I ended up dancing with was a little on the creepy side and wasn’t shy about making it known that he was very interested in me. When the dancing got a little too uncomfortable, I made up some excuse about needing to pause dancing to get more wine and ended up walking back to the house with a group of people who were leaving because I wanted someone to walk with. All in all – a really fun night and the people of the town had a nice time too. Dancing until 1am is a great way to get your spirits up, believe me.

Sunday -

1am: Back to the house we went. And dinner was ready! Yeah, at 1am. But heck, all that dancing made me hungry. Spaghetti, yum. Not as good as my mother’s or grandmother’s, but it was tasty still. After dinner – bed.
8am: Awake for breakfast, and then I grabbed my gear and headed out with Taina and the engineers to go inspect some homes to see if they could be repaired or had to be destroyed. It was definitely surreal standing there listening to engineers tell people if they were going to lose their home or not. But the people were so genuine and so kind…. even if they had experienced having the inside of their homes gutted and were living in tents in their yards, or under tarps, they all still offered us their fruits and vegetables to snack on or beverages to drink. What an amazing place of amazing people. I was really humbled just being around them. Around 1pm, another aftershock. This time, we were out walking around so you could hear the rumble of the earth moving in the hills and the buildings we were standing next to squeaked and shook. Craziness!

After that, we went back to the house, had lunch (mashed potatoes and sausages) and packed our things to prepare to leave.

It was really quite the incredible weekend and Los Coipos is a place I won’t soon forget and I hope to return someday. Those people are truly amazing and I wish the best for them.

Stay tuned for my next blog about my birthfamily, because it might just blow your mind….

*Feel free to applaud now.

Voluntary Horizons Solidarity Group
VH Solidarity Group is a group of friends of different nationalities who are working together to help those affected by the earthquake that occurred in Chile on 27th February 2010. Our primary objective is to identify, raise awareness and support communities in areas that are currently not receiving much help. Through the coordination of professional and non professional volunteers and the capturing and channeling of funding, we aim to participate in and develop projects that will improve the living conditions of the local people in a sustainable manner.

To read more about Voluntary Horizons, click here, here, and here.

To donate money to Voluntary Horizons, please request my email information and I can accept the donation online to pass along to the group this weekend.