Chilean Passion

     I love the Chilean passion. It's everywhere. The bus lurches and the old woman next to me grabs for the bar and we both brace ourselves. Her hands are dark and wrinkled and mine are light and less wrinkled yet we are together for now, fighting for the same thing. A young man behind the glass is dark, thin, strong and good looking. He knows it. He is not humble. At the lurch he reaches the glass in front of him with the flat of his hand, and almost his cheek. Life is so real in Chile, here on the bus. There is camaraderie. On the bus, a group of college students enjoy trying to talk to us. I even attempt a joke of poking fun at them, in Spanish. We are all laughing and it feels like we are all loving each other.
     In conversation there is fear and weakness and failure. We are weak together. We want to connect or communicate but will we be able to understand each other? We begin with "buenas dias", which is formal. If a simple thing is successfully communicated both of us are happy. If not, we usually still part with, "chow", which means we are now friends.
     On the subway I sit and hold 3 little ones close. We are sharing one seat. To my right and very close is a man with both arms reaching up and holding the overhead bar. His midsection is close to my head, but we are all close on the subway. The old woman across from me holds my own Elsie who has fallen asleep. Our knees are so close that they touch if either of us moves. When our stop comes Leon quickly scoops her up and we pat the shoulders and say, "permiso", to anyone in our way, in our rush to get off of the train together before the doors close.
     Once Havilah left her sweater on a seat and everyone watched as she stood on the platform, her face inches from the train, trying to decide if she had time to dash in and grab it. She had an agonized look on her face because she knew that she couldn't risk it, but it was her new sweater. Quickly a Chilean realized the situation, grabbed it and flung it through the door just as the door was shutting. Havilah and everyone watching smiled, relieved as the train sped away with our new friends that we would never see again.
     Passion. Walking through the open air market you are constantly hearing the vendors yelling out the prices and calling you to their table. There is no passive selling or passive anything. They offer us a special deal on strawberries knowing that we will buy 10 kilo's Then they want to know why we didn't bring the little one with blonde hair.  It doesn't matter that you are not Chilean. There is a closeness. We are all doing life together and It's a passionate thing.
      I have been told that we would not find the same warmth in the upper class. I don't know because we haven't been here long enough.
     I believe that the passion is sometimes misplaced. Some of the clothes that people are willing to wear in public seem highly inappropriate and it is very common to see couples making out in the mall, at bus stops or even on the bus. Yet it is refreshing to see people who are not embarrassed to purchase their bras, panties, even girdles, from the tables beside busy streets with many people milling around and jostling their elbows. I buy mine there too,.now. The milling and jostling are friendly. After all, everyone has to buy underwear, right?