Conocer

By: Kether

We biked away from Bariloche the other day, my heart heavy with the weight of new people to know and miss and wonder about.

For the first time, conocer makes sense to me.

Conocer, the verb to know people or places or things; but it’s more than that. Conocer is recognition and familiarity and the knowledge that his eyes are blue and she prefers a crisp apple. It’s the bits of information you compile in your head to be able to say, yes, I know her, or yes, I know that place.

When I learned the verb, reconocer and learned the English translation, to recognize, I broke the word down and I wondered what it could mean, to cognize. I thought about cognizant. Based solely on the context in which I have heard it, I assume it means to have the ability to process information. People wonder when babies become cognizant, when they can take information and use it again in the future.

A while ago, I saw something in English, written by a young man who didn’t speak perfect English. He wrote that he had traveled to visit his family and to know his new baby nephew. It was clear to me that he had made a direct translation from Spanish to English because when you meet someone for the first time in Spanish, and then speak of it later, you might say, “Conocí mí sabrino nuevo.” The same way he translated directly, I would do the same and assume that “conocí,” means, “I met.” In fact, it means much more. Not only did he meet his new nephew, he learned the color of his eyes, the feel of his hair, the shape of his full belly. It’s possible that he actually meant, “conocía mí sabrino nuevo” which would make the story less final. Conocía is the imperfect form meaning that something happened in the past but it was more than once and for a long time. For example, “cuando era niña,” “When I was a young girl,” something that didn’t happen just once, it spanned a period of time but is not the current moment. This fellow met his baby cousin and spent time getting to know him.

I had a boyfriend once who told me that you never stop loving the people you once knew and held in your heart, your heart simply grows larger: larger to accommodate new folks and places and things. I hated that he said that, but it makes sense to me now. How can you forget the things you learn about people that make you love them or hate them or simply recognize them on the street?
I see now that knowing people, places, and things is so much more than simple knowledge. It’s knowledge you compile in your head and in your heart in order to be able to say, “Sí, yo conozco.”

It’s not the pieces; it’s the combination; knowing where to get the freshest most beautiful fruits; the tastiest, tenderest, least expensive churrasco; where to find the most delicious chocolate ice cream; the sandiest, least populated beach. Conocer is being recognized on the street and preparing yourself in advance for the same dirty look from the girl at the chocolate store; it’s knowing the route home and away without the map.

Early on in this trip I got an email discussing what it’s like to unpack your bags, stay for a while, and know a place. This is conocer.

Viajo para conocer, pero me quedo para reconocer y para estar conocida.

Team Inquinceable

By: Rayna, the Quinced

You might be wondering what in the world is “inquinceable?” Well, Ill tell you. The word comes from “quince,” which is a fruit. People describe it as a mix in between an apple and a pear. Sounds delicious and juicy, right? Unfortunately, that is a misconception. They are often very dry and bitter and if you are working on an organic farm, worm infested.
Maud´s farm, Finca Utama, has about 40 quince trees. This season has been so rainy that she has more fruit than she knows what to do with. A team of WWOOFers (World Wide Opportunites on Organic Farms) have been harvesting these quince. It´s harder than it sounds. Maud, being a sustainable thinker like us, does not want to see a single fruit rot. So what can we do with all of them? No one will eat them and they are quickly rotting as they fall in hundreds onto the ground. Well, we make delicious jams, jellies, juices, and a thick paste that we call “quince bread,”or “dulce de mebrillos.” Haha, simple. Wrong again!
These processes are several 12-hour days of chopping, drying, stirring, sifting, squeezing, sugaring and straining. For example, to make quince bread one must collect the ripest quince (the yellow ones) and cut hundreds of them into half. While chopping, it is important to get the rot out. After that, one must boil the halves in a pot the size of Rhode Island over a fire for about 2 hours. The quince are then soft enough to push through a sift (with really small holes) to make a sort of pulpy goo. Soon after, one adds half the amount in sugar and mixes it up.

Then comes more boiling. In another large pot with a large wooden spoon, that looks more like hockey stick, Team Inquinceable will take turns stirring the mixture over an open fire for about 7 hours. Once the paste is the right consistency and color, one pours the mixture into a wooden structure that creates blocks of quince bread. They dry for about a week and then one must cut the jam blocks out of the form and allow them to dry for a couple more days. When they are dry, you can wrap them up and give them to family and friends. Although this process is exhausting and long, it is reliving to know that no quince goes to waste. Even the parts that do not get used in the quince bread get boiled up and used to make jelly. Oh ya, and then the seeds get boiled again for jam. And of course we drink the extra juice. And then there is the dry quince for tea. And the rest goes to compost to make more beautiful and healthy quince trees for next year! What a great model of sustainability!

Good folks

I appreciate the things in life that remind me to be a better person.

Summiting the pass from Chile, I wanted to cry. My legs were tired, the sweat stung my eyes, and demon bugs swarmed. I reminded myself to stay calm and take deep breaths.

I was sort of panicking.

Johanna was walking toward me, also clearly uncomfortable.

We decided to take a quick picture, skip lunch for the time and begin our descent.

A woman was standing nearby and we asked her to take our picture.

“Of course.”

She took our photo and chatted with us for just a bit.

She and her husband had each retired and decided to travel the world, opting for a slightly less physically demanding adventure, a rented motor-home rather than a couple of bicycles.

As the clouds gathered, she offered us a cup of coffee.

Johanna hesitated.

“I’d love a cup of coffee.”

So, she invited us inside her home on wheels, offered us a seat, put a tea kettle on to boil, poured some cookies into a bowl and sat down to chat.

When the water boiled, she pulled from the cupboard four mugs, two for us and two for she and her husband.

She pulled out the instant coffee, the powdered milk, and the sugar packets collected at rest stops.

I stirred my coffee, sipped and smiled.

We made small talk as my confidence in the day and good people was slowly restored.

I appreciate the Hollanders that welcomed us into their tiny home.

Manjar

It wasn’t early; we were running late by our current standards.

The other girls biked off into the distance.

My chest squeezed a bit with the thought of being without them and their decision-making skills. I questioned briefly if I was actually prepared to travel without them. Five months with very little separation has left me a bit dependent.

The remaining two sat down to breakfast.

I drank my tea and chewed my bread slowly, contemplating the prospects of the coming week or two. I thought about the road ahead, the increase in probability of getting my way and the things I’d like to accomplish in our time apart.

We loaded our trailers and paniers and started our way down the road.

It was a chilly, overcast morning; I started the day in pants and wool.

Slowly the sky cleared and the last remnants of fluff melted away with the afternoon sun.

An apiary on our right beckoned. We stopped for honey and our now traditional lunch of bread, cheese, cucumber, mustard and for me, ½ palta, sandwich.

Extra energy afforded by spoonfuls of ulmo honey propelled us the remainder of the way around the corner of Lago Llanquihue.

As we arrived in Las Cascadas, we stopped at the first camping spot we saw.

$5000 (Chilean pesos, that is) por las dos. Done.

We set up our tent and made our way down the main street where we found a verdulería and a panadería.

The first was a plain white house with three small signs alerting us that we had in fact found frutas, verduras and mermeladas. We bought the items for dinner. La dueña (owner) insisted we try her frambuesa mermelada.

I opted instead for the frutilla kuchen prepared in her wood fired oven.

The cake baked only so long that golden barely graced the creamy top.

I didn’t wait for dinner to enjoy my dessert.

I may have finished it before we paid for our vegetables.

Over dinner we concluded we were staying an extra day. The town was small, the people were friendly and the sun shone bright in the afternoons.

The following day we made our way to the waterfall for which I assume Las Cascadas was named.

The waterfall was beautiful but what made it worth the trip was the woman on the right side of the little dirt road with a small kiosk full of galletas, mermeladas and licores. Without thought, we had left our money behind, but I told her I’d return.

We made our way to the cascadas and then back home. I picked up my bike and rode right back down that dirt road. She saw me coming and met me in the kiosk.

“Has regresado!”

(You've returned!)

I purchased galletas surtidas, chocolate alfajores, and classic alfajores like the ones I described before.

These were rolled in coconut, a note I failed to mention the first time around.

I ate one of each as I walked away.

I saved the alfajor for last, hoping I wouldn’t be disappointed.

Alas, it was perfect.

I stood there with my bike in my hand. I knew she was still there. I turned around and walked back.

“Permiso? Quisiera saber como preparar alfajores. Usted puede decirme?”

(Excuse me? I would like to know how to make alfajores, could you tell me?)

I wish I could tell you I had a pen and paper on hand to take down the recipe.

“Ah! Y, la manjar? Usted compra la manjar?"

(Ah! And the dulce de leche? You buy the dulce de leche?)

“No!”

“O, usted hace la manjar de leche condensada?”

(O, you make the dulce de leche from condensed milk?)

“O, no!”

I’m sure she say my confusion.

“Es possible que usted puede decirme comó preparar manjar?”

(Is it possible that you could tell me how to make manjar?)

Warm 1 L of milk until nearly boiling

Add 1 Tbs of cream

Reduce heat significantly and add 400 grams of sugar, stir continuously until dissolved.

Add 1 TBS butter

Stir frequently for six hours [or until you have the consistency of something like nutella]

I haven't tried it myself, but I'll let you know when I do.