It's been another busy one at the office:
Chile's Daily News: September 19
Fiestas Patrias: Travel, transit and traffic jams
UN agencies meet with the student leaders of CONES
Chile's Daily News: September 21
Victims of domestic violence receive housing subsidy from government
Chile's Daily News: September 22
Chile's Daily News: September 23
Cancellation of Rod Stewart concert sparks controversy in Santiago
Comic expo comes to Santiago
Minister inspects CODELCO mine next week
Other than these I did a lot of editing this week. I think it's helped my writing out. Now that I'm being forced to look at other writer's work I know what to watch out for in my own.
September 23, 2011
September 19, 2011
Fiestas Patrias, Chilean style
So, I'm pretty sure that over the weekend I experienced the most amazing Fiestas Patrias celebration ever.
No I didn't go to a fonda, I didn't overdo the Chilean wine, and I don't have any crazy stories to report but I did do this.
1. I learned how to do Cueca, the national dance of Chile
2. I heard some beautiful folk music
3. I spent time with the coolest family ever
I went with Josefina to one of her friend's houses on Saturday, and my friend Barbara invited me to her house on the 18th, which is Chile's Independence day, and I had an amazing time.
Que linda! (how beautiful) There's no other way to describe it. It's one of those "you had to be there" moments.
The weather was fabulous, the people were friendly, and the music was entrancing.
Cueca is much more difficult than any other dance I've ever learned. I'm not very good at it. The steps seem simple but they're not. You tap step from side to side and then you move in a figure-eight direction. Then you spin, and come back together. I've been told it was modeled after a chicken's courting dance. But it's very beautiful. It's much easier to watch then explain. So check out the Youtube link below:
La Cueca Chilena
Barbara's whole family is very musically talented so everyone was singing folk songs at the same time. One of her uncles plays the guitar and some other members of the family do too. Whether it was the cold air that was giving me goosebumps or if it was the family unity and harmony that was layered in the songs is unimportant, what matters is that the music was beautiful, and having my own private concert wasn't too shabby either.
So, that was my Fiestas Patrias. There's no other way to describe it but Chilean. It was perfect. I wouldn't have done it any other way.
Until next time,
Avery Cropp
No I didn't go to a fonda, I didn't overdo the Chilean wine, and I don't have any crazy stories to report but I did do this.
1. I learned how to do Cueca, the national dance of Chile
2. I heard some beautiful folk music
3. I spent time with the coolest family ever
I went with Josefina to one of her friend's houses on Saturday, and my friend Barbara invited me to her house on the 18th, which is Chile's Independence day, and I had an amazing time.
Que linda! (how beautiful) There's no other way to describe it. It's one of those "you had to be there" moments.
The weather was fabulous, the people were friendly, and the music was entrancing.
Cueca is much more difficult than any other dance I've ever learned. I'm not very good at it. The steps seem simple but they're not. You tap step from side to side and then you move in a figure-eight direction. Then you spin, and come back together. I've been told it was modeled after a chicken's courting dance. But it's very beautiful. It's much easier to watch then explain. So check out the Youtube link below:
La Cueca Chilena
Barbara's whole family is very musically talented so everyone was singing folk songs at the same time. One of her uncles plays the guitar and some other members of the family do too. Whether it was the cold air that was giving me goosebumps or if it was the family unity and harmony that was layered in the songs is unimportant, what matters is that the music was beautiful, and having my own private concert wasn't too shabby either.
So, that was my Fiestas Patrias. There's no other way to describe it but Chilean. It was perfect. I wouldn't have done it any other way.
Until next time,
Avery Cropp
September 16, 2011
What I've been up to this week
Fiestas Patrias from North to South
Government encourages responsibility and safety during Fiestas Patrias
Chile's Daily News: September 16
Transantiago increases routes during Fiestas Patrias
Honoring Chile's cultural traditions
Chile's Daily News: September 15
Contemporary art fair finishes up in Santiago
Chile's Daily News: September 14
The last goodbye to Felipe Camiroaga on the streets of Santiago
Coming soon: Sanctions against those who harm Chile's police officers
280 people detained for disturbances over the weekend
Chile's Daily News: September 12
Remains of Felipe Camiroaga, Felipe Cubillos, and 3 others recovered
Government encourages responsibility and safety during Fiestas Patrias
Chile's Daily News: September 16
Transantiago increases routes during Fiestas Patrias
Honoring Chile's cultural traditions
Chile's Daily News: September 15
Contemporary art fair finishes up in Santiago
Chile's Daily News: September 14
The last goodbye to Felipe Camiroaga on the streets of Santiago
Coming soon: Sanctions against those who harm Chile's police officers
280 people detained for disturbances over the weekend
Chile's Daily News: September 12
Remains of Felipe Camiroaga, Felipe Cubillos, and 3 others recovered
September 11, 2011
A Moment Captured in Time
(originally written last year)
By: Avery Cropp
By: Avery Cropp
There is a picture from one of my trips that has always haunted me. Of course right now it is at my parents place in one of our many photo albums, but it has always been there in the back of my mind especially on today's date.
Ten years and three months ago in June 2001, a moment was captured on film on our grand East Coast Tour (18 states in 17 days) that I will never forget:
Ten years and three months ago in June 2001, a moment was captured on film on our grand East Coast Tour (18 states in 17 days) that I will never forget:
 |
| My sisters and I standing on a walkway in New York. The WTC is behind us |
Three months later on Tuesday Sept. 11, 2001 I was in--of all places--Mr. Miller's 7th grade U.S. history class waiting for a fellow student to get back from the cafeteria with a news question. All of a sudden that student burst into the room and said "The World Trade Center is on fire!"
The classroom television was immediately turned on, and Mr. Miller left the room to alert the rest of the staff. He came back shortly.
We watched the replay of the plane hitting the tower, over, and over, and over again, and just as we were getting the information that we needed more breaking news came on: The Pentagon had been hit. There were kids crying because they had uncles and aunts in those towers and at the Pentagon on the east coast. Cell phones were taken out of backpacks, lines were formed at the phones in the classrooms, and I noticed that throughout the day some students didn't come to class because their parents had picked them up.
I just sat there immovable as a stone. It was like a bad horror movie, it was so surreal that I didn't even believe that it could be happening. My family and I had just been there. We had stayed with friends all over the East Coast.
My thoughts flashed through the list,
Where did they work?
Were they okay?
Did my dad's friend, Dave Peterson, who was stationed in Baltimore work at the Pentagon? He only lived a half-hour drive away.
Was my friend Elizabeth Kaplan in Pennsylvania alright?
Did I know anyone who was flying that day?
What was going on in DC?
Would the statue of liberty be next? I had been up to the crown when we were there.
Then I thought of the people we had met in New York: the nice lady on the subway; the taxi cab driver that drove really fast through Times Square that one night; were they safe? Did they have friends or family in the towers?
Then I prayed. I prayed that Dave was safe at home with Colby and Janine. I prayed that the lady and the cabbie would escape the day unscathed. I prayed that the firefighters and the policemen would get everyone they could out of those towers safely. I prayed that one of the girls in my class, whose dad worked in the towers, would call her tonight when she got home from school.
In second period there were no televisions on except for in Mr. Miller's room. I think he might have defied the administration. We heard all of our information from those classes. We didn't do anything in our classes. It would've been too hard to concentrate. We were given pens, pencils, notebooks, talked and were told to do what we wished. I think it was all that the teachers knew to do. I can still remember the silence of the classrooms that day, so palpable with uncertainty that just sitting in it made you scared.
The announcement came over the intercom at 11:00am that the towers had collapsed.
My heart dropped to my feet as my thoughts flashed to the people of New York who had made a family from Minnesota feel so welcome in their amazing city.
I didn't find out about the crash in Pennsylvania until I got home that afternoon and hugged my mom. Everyone we had visited was present and accounted for. Thank god.
We were some of the lucky ones. I never found out if the girl's dad had called her that night; I was too scared to ask. I still wonder sometimes what happened to the lady from the subway and the cabbie.
That day was the day my generation grew up. It was our Pearl Harbor, our Kennedy Assassination, and our Challenger explosion, all rolled into one. Everyone I talk to knows where they were, who they were with, and what they were thinking on that day. The change in our world changed us. Some people grew less friendly, some people who were so outspoken clammed up, some people who had been quiet became more vocal, and some people, like me, found our calling.
I remember sitting and watching Peter Jennings constantly for the next week. He was trying to help everyone, as well as himself, make sense of this horrible tragedy. That's when I knew that I wanted to help people make sense of the senseless, inform people of things they needed to know, and tell the stories of those that are affected by their life experiences. I wanted to be a journalist, and today I am.
In the mean time, and today especially, I will always hold 9/11 in my heart. As I've learned over the past year, it's not just the places you go, but it's the experiences you have that shape who you are. They run the gamut of horribly awful to amazing it's how you react to them which shapes yourself.
The classroom television was immediately turned on, and Mr. Miller left the room to alert the rest of the staff. He came back shortly.
We watched the replay of the plane hitting the tower, over, and over, and over again, and just as we were getting the information that we needed more breaking news came on: The Pentagon had been hit. There were kids crying because they had uncles and aunts in those towers and at the Pentagon on the east coast. Cell phones were taken out of backpacks, lines were formed at the phones in the classrooms, and I noticed that throughout the day some students didn't come to class because their parents had picked them up.
I just sat there immovable as a stone. It was like a bad horror movie, it was so surreal that I didn't even believe that it could be happening. My family and I had just been there. We had stayed with friends all over the East Coast.
My thoughts flashed through the list,
Where did they work?
Were they okay?
Did my dad's friend, Dave Peterson, who was stationed in Baltimore work at the Pentagon? He only lived a half-hour drive away.
Was my friend Elizabeth Kaplan in Pennsylvania alright?
Did I know anyone who was flying that day?
What was going on in DC?
Would the statue of liberty be next? I had been up to the crown when we were there.
Then I thought of the people we had met in New York: the nice lady on the subway; the taxi cab driver that drove really fast through Times Square that one night; were they safe? Did they have friends or family in the towers?
Then I prayed. I prayed that Dave was safe at home with Colby and Janine. I prayed that the lady and the cabbie would escape the day unscathed. I prayed that the firefighters and the policemen would get everyone they could out of those towers safely. I prayed that one of the girls in my class, whose dad worked in the towers, would call her tonight when she got home from school.
In second period there were no televisions on except for in Mr. Miller's room. I think he might have defied the administration. We heard all of our information from those classes. We didn't do anything in our classes. It would've been too hard to concentrate. We were given pens, pencils, notebooks, talked and were told to do what we wished. I think it was all that the teachers knew to do. I can still remember the silence of the classrooms that day, so palpable with uncertainty that just sitting in it made you scared.
The announcement came over the intercom at 11:00am that the towers had collapsed.
My heart dropped to my feet as my thoughts flashed to the people of New York who had made a family from Minnesota feel so welcome in their amazing city.
I didn't find out about the crash in Pennsylvania until I got home that afternoon and hugged my mom. Everyone we had visited was present and accounted for. Thank god.
We were some of the lucky ones. I never found out if the girl's dad had called her that night; I was too scared to ask. I still wonder sometimes what happened to the lady from the subway and the cabbie.
That day was the day my generation grew up. It was our Pearl Harbor, our Kennedy Assassination, and our Challenger explosion, all rolled into one. Everyone I talk to knows where they were, who they were with, and what they were thinking on that day. The change in our world changed us. Some people grew less friendly, some people who were so outspoken clammed up, some people who had been quiet became more vocal, and some people, like me, found our calling.
I remember sitting and watching Peter Jennings constantly for the next week. He was trying to help everyone, as well as himself, make sense of this horrible tragedy. That's when I knew that I wanted to help people make sense of the senseless, inform people of things they needed to know, and tell the stories of those that are affected by their life experiences. I wanted to be a journalist, and today I am.
In the mean time, and today especially, I will always hold 9/11 in my heart. As I've learned over the past year, it's not just the places you go, but it's the experiences you have that shape who you are. They run the gamut of horribly awful to amazing it's how you react to them which shapes yourself.
**I learned in my Latin American history and literature class this past school year that 9/11 is also a date in Chile that will never be forgotten. It was the day that Augusto Pinochet overthrew the democratically-elected marxist government of Salvador Allende. For more information on this please read my latest article on I Love Chile: Sept. 11 in Chile: its history and what to expect **
September 9, 2011
What I've been up to this week
Chile's daily news sept. 5
Jose Cifuentes: A Great Chilean Air Force Journalist
Review: Spicy Chile, free walking tour in Santiago
Contemporary art fair to return to Chile
DNA profiles of family members taken of "The 21"
Chile's Daily News, Sept. 7
Workers given day off on Sept. 19
Your guide to the celebrations during Fiestas Patrias
Chile's Daily News: Sept. 8
Dramatic profits reported from ISAPRES
Sept. 11 in Chile: its history and what to expect
Jose Cifuentes: A Great Chilean Air Force Journalist
Review: Spicy Chile, free walking tour in Santiago
Contemporary art fair to return to Chile
DNA profiles of family members taken of "The 21"
Chile's Daily News, Sept. 7
Workers given day off on Sept. 19
Your guide to the celebrations during Fiestas Patrias
Chile's Daily News: Sept. 8
Dramatic profits reported from ISAPRES
Sept. 11 in Chile: its history and what to expect
September 3, 2011
The best memory of the week
I had an amazing opportunity to go on assignment to the Andes this Wednesday so that I could cover a story about a group of students here for work. It was an early morning after a fun night of hanging out with the rest of the online writing team at a local restaurant.
Despite dog fights going on in the street outside my house, and cats yowling like they were wolves all night, at 6 a.m. sharp my alarm goes off and it's time to get up. Having had the worst day ever the day before, this was not something that I wanted to do. But it's exactly what I needed. Funny how that works huh?
Since I hadn't expected to go to the mountains at all while I was here, at least while it was still "winter," I pulled on layer after layer of clothes: 2 jeans, 1 sweat pant, a cami, a tank top, a short sleeve shirt, a jean jacket, a coat I borrowed from my host mom, and my hat. I felt like the abominable snowman, but it's cold enough in the city (40-50F lately), I didn't know what to expect from the mountains.
I took the bus to a random street in Las Condes, the barrio where I'm living, and then I walked to this address at 7:00 a.m. since Pat, my contact person for this story, told me I had to be there by 8 or she'd leave. Not knowing how long it would take, especially with my poor luck with the transportation system this past week, I wasn't going to risk it. I showed up earlier than expected but she seemed to be okay with that.
After about a half hour talking with her and hanging out in her apartment, which had a gorgeous view of the city (see above picture). We hopped in the car, picked up her friend Janet, and started the hour and a half trip to this ski place.
After going up very winding and narrow roads in a jerky manner (the cars here are all stick shifts) I finally arrived at La Parva, albeit a little light-headed, though I eventually adjusted to the altitude. Not too long after that a group of volunteers showed up from the International Association of Chile and The Friends of Helen Keller with lunch. They're all ex-pats so it was cool to spend the day a ski place with people from Holland, Germany, The US, and Britain.
Not too long after that the students showed up.
You'd think it was a typical class trip, with the way the kids were laughing, talking and playing in the snow but this one was different. These students from El Colegio de Hellen Keller are blind and they were here for their fourth and final day of learning to ski.
Yes, you read that right.
So how do blind children ski? Well it depends on how advanced they are with their skills. Some have their hands held by their instructor, some hold on to poles, and some can go by themselves while only responding to verbal commands to go left or go right.
AMAZING!
They were so happy. They had snowball fights, made snow angels, tasted snow, built snowmen, petted the ski center dog, all before they were even starting their lessons. My favorite was a little girl named Francisca, she was adorable. So chatty, funny, and very talented when it comes to singing. She opted for snowshoes because she is unable to go skiing. And she was also wise beyond her years.
It was a good reminder of why I do this, when the week before, I admit rather shamefully, that I was wondering
I've had a rough start here. It's been lonely. Being in a foreign country not knowing a single soul other than your host mom, and being a bit shy around new people at first, makes the experience rather difficult. But my rough start is nothing compared to what these inspiring children have dealt with and overcome throughout their lifetime. I re-learned to not take things for granted that day.
If you've come this far thanks for sticking with me. Please check out my story, if you haven't already:
Overcoming obstacles at Chile's La Parva ski center
Until next time,
Avery Cropp
Despite dog fights going on in the street outside my house, and cats yowling like they were wolves all night, at 6 a.m. sharp my alarm goes off and it's time to get up. Having had the worst day ever the day before, this was not something that I wanted to do. But it's exactly what I needed. Funny how that works huh?
 |
| The view from Pat's house |
I took the bus to a random street in Las Condes, the barrio where I'm living, and then I walked to this address at 7:00 a.m. since Pat, my contact person for this story, told me I had to be there by 8 or she'd leave. Not knowing how long it would take, especially with my poor luck with the transportation system this past week, I wasn't going to risk it. I showed up earlier than expected but she seemed to be okay with that.
After about a half hour talking with her and hanging out in her apartment, which had a gorgeous view of the city (see above picture). We hopped in the car, picked up her friend Janet, and started the hour and a half trip to this ski place.
After going up very winding and narrow roads in a jerky manner (the cars here are all stick shifts) I finally arrived at La Parva, albeit a little light-headed, though I eventually adjusted to the altitude. Not too long after that a group of volunteers showed up from the International Association of Chile and The Friends of Helen Keller with lunch. They're all ex-pats so it was cool to spend the day a ski place with people from Holland, Germany, The US, and Britain.
Not too long after that the students showed up.
You'd think it was a typical class trip, with the way the kids were laughing, talking and playing in the snow but this one was different. These students from El Colegio de Hellen Keller are blind and they were here for their fourth and final day of learning to ski.
Yes, you read that right.
 |
| Ski instructor Fernanda helps Eric with his skis Copyright: Avery Cropp |
AMAZING!
 |
| Francisca plays in the snow Copyright: Avery Cropp |
"Why the hell did I even come here?"
I can tell this story. That's why I've come here.
I can tell this story. That's why I've come here.
I've had a rough start here. It's been lonely. Being in a foreign country not knowing a single soul other than your host mom, and being a bit shy around new people at first, makes the experience rather difficult. But my rough start is nothing compared to what these inspiring children have dealt with and overcome throughout their lifetime. I re-learned to not take things for granted that day.
If you've come this far thanks for sticking with me. Please check out my story, if you haven't already:
Overcoming obstacles at Chile's La Parva ski center
Until next time,
Avery Cropp
What I've been up to this week
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