March 14. A blue ball.

Santiago still. The museum at the Moneda, near the government seat has an interesting interior but the current exhibitions are not interesting enough to lure us inside. Instead, the swimming pool we saw the day before is much more attractive. The hot day makes me lazy and I played in the water with a small blue ball only for about half an hour before snoozing in the fresh grass. Take the fact for example that the ball is blue. Its diameter was about eight centimeter by the way. It could have been a red ball, or a green one. I could have left out the color altogether. With the color mentioned, and not the children that lend it to me, nor the curvature or the temperature of the pool, nor the fact that my towel was a bit dirty and in the middle of the pool was a rock formation, nor the English-speaking kid with a grandmother in Chicago that played with me – with the color mentioned I take a certain path. A small blue ball is reproduced in the corner of your eye; the swmimming-pool story is structured around that ball. You see? Now try to apply this to other concepts too, concepts that are more abstract than a blue ball, like knowledge, truth, beauty.

Pablo took us to a friend and then to another friend. We had good Caipirinhas in several Santiago homes. Most of Pablo’s friends are tv-reporters or students of that subject, and most of them grew up in Punto Arenas, in the very south of Chile.

March 14. A blue ball. was originally published on Meandering home

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March 13. Providence.

Friday the thirteenth. I am in a café where the waiter has bloody eyes and under the glass plates of the tables are roasted and unroasted coffee beans. Santiago de Chili is a magnificent city, a metropole with many faces. I’ve been here for a couple of days now and moved about the center enough to get a first impression. A lively, colonial city, the people seemed a little bit more relaxed than in Argentina, though street vendors and shoe polishers were everywhere. A grand network of square blocks constitutes the heart of the city, the part where restaurants and shops await their visitors and most of the money flows. Walking on those streets makes a European feel like he never left home.

From the hill “Cerro San Cristobal” (you don’t need to write that down, you won’t miss it in Santiago) the view of the city is impressive. Its multifariousness is even more noticeable from here: under the thick cover of smog that cannot escape over the surrounding mountains we see the commercial district with its high-rise glass-facade buildings but also the wide cuadros of low colonial houses. Tourist instincts awoke as we walked up to the Maria statue. The Virgen is popular here. I could look up why but I only want to play. Taking a picture with the sun behind her head like a halo. On our way down we discovered two new functions in Silvia’s camera: baby1 and baby2. The camera was able to keep track of the age of the baby when a picture was taken in baby1-mode. This could be done for more than one baby, too. That’s where baby2 kicks in. Having more than two babies simultaneously is not advisable for technical reasons. I volunteered to be baby1 and baby1 was 30 years, two months and 1 day old. It’s not very young for a baby.

The park was huge and included a botanical garden, some cultural centers, a cablecar, a beautiful swimming pool and many barbecue spots. We walked down through the botanical garden that displayed species from all over the 4200 km long country of Chile and then exited the park. We trodded down the hot Avenida Providencia where a trumpet player let us take a picture of him, pointing knowingly at the “Providencia” street sign.

The meat I bought and prepared that night was really bad. A writer should have an eye for details and this is not a detail.

March 13. Providence.

Friday the thirteenth. I am in a café where the waiter has bloody eyes and under the glass plates of the tables are roasted and unroasted coffee beans. Santiago de Chili is a magnificent city, a metropole with many faces. I’ve been here for a couple of days now and moved about the center enough to get a first impression. A lively, colonial city, the people seemed a little bit more relaxed than in Argentina, though street vendors and shoe polishers were everywhere. A grand network of square blocks constitutes the heart of the city, the part where restaurants and shops await their visitors and most of the money flows. Walking on those streets makes a European feel like he never left home.

From the hill “Cerro San Cristobal” (you don’t need to write that down, you won’t miss it in Santiago) the view of the city is impressive. Its multifariousness is even more noticeable from here: under the thick cover of smog that cannot escape over the surrounding mountains we see the commercial district with its high-rise glass-facade buildings but also the wide cuadros of low colonial houses. Tourist instincts awoke as we walked up to the Maria statue. The Virgen is popular here. I could look up why but I only want to play. Taking a picture with the sun behind her head like a halo. On our way down we discovered two new functions in Silvia’s camera: baby1 and baby2. The camera was able to keep track of the age of the baby when a picture was taken in baby1-mode. This could be done for more than one baby, too. That’s where baby2 kicks in. Having more than two babies simultaneously is not advisable for technical reasons. I volunteered to be baby1 and baby1 was 30 years, two months and 1 day old. It’s not very young for a baby.

The park was huge and included a botanical garden, some cultural centers, a cablecar, a beautiful swimming pool and many barbecue spots. We walked down through the botanical garden that displayed species from all over the 4200 km long country of Chile and then exited the park. We trodded down the hot Avenida Providencia where a trumpet player let us take a picture of him, pointing knowingly at the “Providencia” street sign.

The meat I bought and prepared that night was really bad. A writer should have an eye for details and this is not a detail.

March 13. Providence. was originally published on Meandering home

March 13. Providence.

Friday the thirteenth. I am in a café where the waiter has bloody eyes and under the glass plates of the tables are roasted and unroasted coffee beans. Santiago de Chili is a magnificent city, a metropole with many faces. I’ve been here for a couple of days now and moved about the center enough to get a first impression. A lively, colonial city, the people seemed a little bit more relaxed than in Argentina, though street vendors and shoe polishers were everywhere. A grand network of square blocks constitutes the heart of the city, the part where restaurants and shops await their visitors and most of the money flows. Walking on those streets makes a European feel like he never left home.

From the hill “Cerro San Cristobal” (you don’t need to write that down, you won’t miss it in Santiago) the view of the city is impressive. Its multifariousness is even more noticeable from here: under the thick cover of smog that cannot escape over the surrounding mountains we see the commercial district with its high-rise glass-facade buildings but also the wide cuadros of low colonial houses. Tourist instincts awoke as we walked up to the Maria statue. The Virgen is popular here. I could look up why but I only want to play. Taking a picture with the sun behind her head like a halo. On our way down we discovered two new functions in Silvia’s camera: baby1 and baby2. The camera was able to keep track of the age of the baby when a picture was taken in baby1-mode. This could be done for more than one baby, too. That’s where baby2 kicks in. Having more than two babies simultaneously is not advisable for technical reasons. I volunteered to be baby1 and baby1 was 30 years, two months and 1 day old. It’s not very young for a baby.

The park was huge and included a botanical garden, some cultural centers, a cablecar, a beautiful swimming pool and many barbecue spots. We walked down through the botanical garden that displayed species from all over the 4200 km long country of Chile and then exited the park. We trodded down the hot Avenida Providencia where a trumpet player let us take a picture of him, pointing knowingly at the “Providencia” street sign.

The meat I bought and prepared that night was really bad. A writer should have an eye for details and this is not a detail.

March 12. El Café.

Good day, writing. The apartment didn’t have an airconditioning but that didn’t bother me. I wrote on this very experimental travel writing thing, associating freely words and thoughts I don’t believe in. Where did this writing take place? I try to remember. It was a round table in a kitchenette, a glass table you can look through, and I did not write enough. I felt incomplete in the small room that gradually heated up as the sun reflected in the windows of the tall building that dominated the view from behind the half closed curtains. Inspiration becomes a little devil once you have some nihilism in your veins.

That night we moved on for reasons of tact. A gasstation functioned as a pick-up spot – couchsurfing in Santiago take two.
Pablo is the friendliest guy you can imagine. He picked us up at the gas station and started to proudly show us his city right away. On our way to his apartment we passed some crowded streets that reminded me of certain areas in Berlin during hot summers. People like going out in Santiago. After leaving our bags in his apartment and a quick refreshing shower, we went out to a bar called “el café”. I was fascinated by the colorplay of its interior: the large mirror on the wall that reflected the tile floor and the oak tables. In fact, I was forced to take a series of pictures that made the waiters look curious because I stood on a chair and held the camera as high as I could.

Photography. Great minds have reflected on this subject. I feel a bit awkward now, like I don’t have a clue. What can I say? Capturing life in a still image. Conservation of a drifting presence, reproduction of the continuum in dead images, holding up the inevitable in a photographical composition, capturing our desire in a reflection that goes beyond language, creating a body of shadow and light, transposing movement into the realm of the pure mind, blah blah. I advise myself, on behalf of you, to re-read some books about the subject.

March 12. El Café.

Good day, writing. The apartment didn’t have an airconditioning but that didn’t bother me. I wrote on this very experimental travel writing thing, associating freely words and thoughts I don’t believe in. Where did this writing take place? I try to remember. It was a round table in a kitchenette, a glass table you can look through, and I did not write enough. I felt incomplete in the small room that gradually heated up as the sun reflected in the windows of the tall building that dominated the view from behind the half closed curtains. Inspiration becomes a little devil once you have some nihilism in your veins.

That night we moved on for reasons of tact. A gasstation functioned as a pick-up spot – couchsurfing in Santiago take two.
Pablo is the friendliest guy you can imagine. He picked us up at the gas station and started to proudly show us his city right away. On our way to his apartment we passed some crowded streets that reminded me of certain areas in Berlin during hot summers. People like going out in Santiago. After leaving our bags in his apartment and a quick refreshing shower, we went out to a bar called “el café”. I was fascinated by the colorplay of its interior: the large mirror on the wall that reflected the tile floor and the oak tables. In fact, I was forced to take a series of pictures that made the waiters look curious because I stood on a chair and held the camera as high as I could.

Photography. Great minds have reflected on this subject. I feel a bit awkward now, like I don’t have a clue. What can I say? Capturing life in a still image. Conservation of a drifting presence, reproduction of the continuum in dead images, holding up the inevitable in a photographical composition, capturing our desire in a reflection that goes beyond language, creating a body of shadow and light, transposing movement into the realm of the pure mind, blah blah. I advise myself, on behalf of you, to re-read some books about the subject.

March 12. El Café.

Good day, writing. The apartment didn’t have an airconditioning but that didn’t bother me. I wrote on this very experimental travel writing thing, associating freely words and thoughts I don’t believe in. Where did this writing take place? I try to remember. It was a round table in a kitchenette, a glass table you can look through, and I did not write enough. I felt incomplete in the small room that gradually heated up as the sun reflected in the windows of the tall building that dominated the view from behind the half closed curtains. Inspiration becomes a little devil once you have some nihilism in your veins.

That night we moved on for reasons of tact. A gasstation functioned as a pick-up spot – couchsurfing in Santiago take two.
Pablo is the friendliest guy you can imagine. He picked us up at the gas station and started to proudly show us his city right away. On our way to his apartment we passed some crowded streets that reminded me of certain areas in Berlin during hot summers. People like going out in Santiago. After leaving our bags in his apartment and a quick refreshing shower, we went out to a bar called “el café”. I was fascinated by the colorplay of its interior: the large mirror on the wall that reflected the tile floor and the oak tables. In fact, I was forced to take a series of pictures that made the waiters look curious because I stood on a chair and held the camera as high as I could.

Photography. Great minds have reflected on this subject. I feel a bit awkward now, like I don’t have a clue. What can I say? Capturing life in a still image. Conservation of a drifting presence, reproduction of the continuum in dead images, holding up the inevitable in a photographical composition, capturing our desire in a reflection that goes beyond language, creating a body of shadow and light, transposing movement into the realm of the pure mind, blah blah. I advise myself, on behalf of you, to re-read some books about the subject.