Sorry, Pato.

I didn't mean to do it. I thought it was just some innocent horseplay. I thought it would be fun to Surf the 'Net and learn some Kool Lucha Libre Moves and try them out on you. But when you stopped breathing, I became frightened.

Upon returning with the paramedics, my worse fear came true: someone had already gotten to you. I had left you looking pale and limp, but words cannot express my horror at seeing your lifeless corpse beaten to a bloody pulp (see comment #16).

Gulp.

Looks like I've got some splainin' to do.

I'll try.

It all started when Pato (R.I.P.) said, "I'd love to now what the hell you're doing in Chile". Unwittingly, he touched on an question that I'd already had in store for my new Chileno FAQ. But a FAQ, even a Chileno FAQ, can't explain a bloody corpse. So I continue:

Tomás Dinges, who is soon to grace the Halls of Columbia University Graduate School of Journalism, whose family hosted the Queen of England during her Visit to Chile, chose a more delicate yet equally poignant form of expressing Pato's sentiment when he nudgingly proposed not only that I leave Chile but that I "go suck dick in Argentina".

Both Pato and Tomás are Chilean. When confronted, Pato was unable to coherently defend his position and he died. Tomás, however, showed lucidity. Tomás lives on. A much better choh than Pato's pathetic, slightly nationalistic ramblings, it was relegated to a series of email exchanges which Tomás and I agreed should make their way online at some point. This is that point. (And I hope, officer, this serves as an explanation). So without further ado, I welcome you to:

TOMÁS VS CHILENO...FIGHT!

Tomás starts out swinging, showing no sign of backing down. He calls it "tiresome" to hear my constant complaints about Chile, and notes that it can't be healthy for me to stay on here. If the air is so SMOGGY, the food so SOGGY, you really, really should leave.

Bam.

I'm stunned, like being head butted in the face, I fall back against the ropes. Tomás circles round the ring waving two fists in the air to an uproarious crowd, a million flash bulbs flashing. He comes back to where I am, climbs up the railing and bellows:

For me its the fresh fruit markets...but that is something you can probably find in Argentina...But I want to be here and find particular joy in the fresh fruit markets HERE, and no where else.

The stadium is converted into a sea of red, white and blue Chilean flags and the sound becomes deafening. Somehow his voice, like a bugle call over the din of War, manages to be heard by all as he cries out that my blog is "painful to read" before dropping down in a tornillo with an intent to planchar.

In the nick of time I spin out and Tomás slams into nothing but his own shadow and a few smudges of blood I'd left behind. With my foot pressed against his face, I speak to a dumbstruck crowd, my words punctuated by the gurgling sound of Tomás' resistance.

Leave Chile? Why the urge to usher me out? What's the sentiment?

Enjoy Chile, or leave Chile. Colgate or Crest. Is that the mentality? An exploitative north American sampling the local culture and taking pictures? Should I apply for a refund if I'm not satisfied with my experience? This "love it or leave it" mentality suggests that tourism is the only capacity of a foreigner, and it's insulting.

Xenophobia? Not you Tomás, but [turns to crowd] all of Chile. Okay, not all of Chile, but rather the typical provincial xenophobia that seems to be so common a defense in uncomfortable encounters here. When, on the metro, I complain to people for standing in the doorway as I try to get on, forcing me to push into them and potentially knock the baby out of their arms -- they stand there when there's plenty of room further back -- I complain and inevitably will overhear "oh, it's because he's a foreigner".

Or when I knock on a neighbor's door and ask her to turn her music down, or Tío José, the bus driver who let's his car alarm whistle for 10 minutes straight, the typical response is: oh, well, in your country...

...which is fine if we're talking about backwater Chile (like backwater US). But this is the center of the Capital City, Santiago de Chile. Could it get more provincial and xenophobic than this?

Culture of Exile. Deal with your problems by leaving Chile. Whether you're an aristocrat packing up when Allende comes into office or a leftist escaping torture and death, Exile has been a prominent feature in Chilean history.

Yet I would caution both Tomás and Pato to be very, very careful when recommending Exit as a solution to anybody unhappy with some or all aspects of Chile. (Btw: for me it's obviously some. Any intelligent reader can review the Archives and find a huge collection of positive entries about Chile. Tomás acknowledged this, Pato tried to take credit for one of them, the fresco). Anyway, Exile is part of your history which you should not forget, but I would humbly recommend you not see it as a solution for those who are dissatisfied with certain aspects of Chile.

At this point Tomás' gurgles grow increasingly loud so I release pressure and allow him to talk. Seeing an advantage, he grabs my calf and with the other arm applies pressure to my knee, sending me down. He says:

Generally those who detract constantly, in a democratic society, without seeing anything positive or worthwhile, leave. This describes the experience of exiles who have returned after their stay in the Bay area, Paris, Mexico or DC. They are all bitter and resentful at the Chile that they see or experience, don't see anything worthwhile, and leave on their own terms, to where they are more comfortable. The people who stay, stay because they like it and if they choose to partake in changing the negative environment they see around them, they apply their positive energy towards this situation.

The argument is that I don't apply positive energy to changing Chile, just predictable expat bile. But I'm not down for long. I quickly spin back and hurl him into the side of the ring. I say:

I'm against whitewashing Chile, bitch. Let's open our High School history books:

1939 -- Controversy over John Steinbeck's book The Grapes of Wrath led to a decision to ban it from Kern County libraries and schools. The Bakersfield Chamber of Commerce ran a 3-reel film called The Plums of Plenty in rebuttal.

PLUMS OF PLENTY!

Sure, I like fresh fruit markets here too, I'm into the authenticity, great prices, and folksy, distinctly Chilean experience. Sure.

But let's not pretend that Chile is a haven of gusto and good cuisine. Far from it. Sure you can find good food if you really, really look hard.

But the other day I was walking near the Alameda and we overheard a group of Chilean kids laughing about the mayonnaise they'd been served somewhere. "So rotten it was black" one of them yelled to the screams of humorous delight of his compatriots. Tomás, tell me with a straight face that's a surprise in a town like Santiago. Or badly-prepared, dry, hormone pumped meat at cualquier chicheria. Beer with metallic aftertaste, smells of sewer mixed with car exhaust, Santiago was once a fertile valley, whose earth has been plowed with salt.

There are also good things about Santiago, and I don't refrain from talking about those. But if I were to go on about the fresh fruit market without giving an honest assessment of the sickening nature of Santiago, I'd be dishonest.

Picking up Tomas, I throw him over the ropes, saying:

And a note about self-criticism, which Chileans like Pato and sometimes you seem to have such a hard time with. I know why it might be hard for you; it might be confused with 'positive discrimination' which in simpler words is kinda like self hatred, a lack of feeling of self-worth that Chileans are slowly emerging from after Pinochet. Yet there is a difference, and now is the time for Chileans to acknowledge that difference and learn to constructively criticize themselves.

[Despite being thrown out of the ring Tomas lands easily because he is good at constructively criticizing Chile]. But nevertheless the crowd liked the stunt, and I follow up by yelling:

On the world-scale, nobody really gives a shit about Chile, and so the Plums of Plenty crowd gets away with murder. I give a shit about Chile, and I bitch.

With that the crowd becomes a sea of red, white and blue Chilean flags and the sound is deafening. I'm picked up and transported out of the stadium in a human wave of adulation. Once out the door I dart away, escaping Justice:

Pato is dead, and I don't think the officer is satisfied with my explanation.