Flying High Over Valdivia

Katie D.

December 23, 2008 - 6:59 PM

I don't think I'll ever be able to write a full blog about my time abroad in Chile last spring. It's too big of an experience, and too wonderful a series of memories for me to put it all down in a single short piece of writing. But I can write about it in bits and pieces, taking apart my experience and letting you put it back together if you want.

But by way of introduction, I spent four months in Chile spring term of 2008. Spring term is, only "spring" by North American standards. I arrived in Valdivia in South American fall and was there through winter rains more torrential even than Oregon's best.

But this blog, like I said is not an overview. This story is about how I ended up in a tiny four-seat airplane over the city, heart in my throat and completely overjoyed.

If I remember right, it was either the first or second time that I talked with my host brother, Felipe, when he mentioned that his best friend was into flying. He offered me a seat on the plane someday, if the opportunity ever arose. Felipe was a great friend and a real help to me: he had lived in the US for a winter, working at a ski resort and perfecting his English. So I would speak Spanish to him and he would answer in English, and his infrequent mistakes made me feel incrementally better about my own frequent ones. He was also a source of information for me: someone I could go to with slang terms and get an exact translation and someone close to my age I could go to with youth culture concerns. And he offered to take me flying.

Weeks passed with no word on the whole flying thing. Whenever I thought of it, I felt an uncomfortable mix of super charged excitement, an uneasy feeling that it might never happen, and the guilt over never having mentioned it to my parents at home in the US. I was also experiencing a mixed reaction from the Chileans I talked about it with, but that was eventually cleared up by my discovery that the verb "to fly" was also a Chilean slang word for "to get high."

We had one false alarm, when I spent several hours keyed up waiting for a phone call confirming that we'd be in the air that afternoon. But that trip fell through, I don't remember why, but with that let down I think I sort of assumed that the flying was never going to happen.

So imagine my excitement when, weeks later, Felipe burst into the computer room (where I was desperately writing a last-minute essay) and said "If you still want to go flying, be ready in five minutes." I immediately sent my little sister a quick email saying that I was going flying and to not tell the parents except in the event of my untimely death, then donned some warm clothing and was off to the tiny airstrip outside of town.

I tend to become rather fearless in these situations. Especially once you've committed: what good could it possibly do you to bother with fear? Despite this, my first view of the plane was a little intimidating. It was tiny. Tiny, tiny. But after being introduced to the instructor (who would be doing most of the flying), and clearing up some confusion over Felipe's introduction of me as his sister, I was clambering into the plane and assuring everyone that I didn't have the least bit of fear. I'm not sure they believed me, but it was true. This was the unique experience I'd been hoping for during my time abroad: something tourists don't get to do. Something truly individual to my experience.

And then we were off. It was a surprisingly smooth ride, and the city was so beautiful. Valdivia is surrounded by rivers, and as we flew we could see the bridges and the riverside farmer's market with the sea lions that came scavenging for fish market leftovers years ago and now live there permanently in the freshwater. The market is colorful and always busy, full of bright colors there beside main plaza. We flew low enough that we could see the university where I studied and the house where I lived. Both are located on the Isla Teja, which is a largish island formed by the convergence of three rivers. It was all laid out below us: the buildings downtown, the markets and malls and homes. We could see it all.

Then we turned west and flew the short distance out to the ocean. And oh, the Pacific was so beautiful. Valdivia is in the far south of Chile, between the ocean and the Andes Mountains, and is wooded and green in a way that reminded me strongly of Oregon. There were trees rolling out beneath us, and then ocean, and then we were turning to fly over Niebla, a small town on the coast. And my three flying companions were each pointing out the sights to me, the town, the old Spanish port protecting the mouth of the river, the boundaries of the National Park. They also kept looking back at me, checking either for airsickness or lack of Spanish comprehension. But I was just smiling and drinking it all in.

The sun was going down over the ocean as we turned for home. And the first view of Valdivia returning was one of complete beauty, outlined in lights against the coming night. It looked like something living, like a leaf spread out below me, with the arteries of the city glowing with light along the major streets. Cars passed over the bridge and then fanned out around the city. I took pictures of the city that I would later present in a project for an art class, and say that Valdivia itself was a work of art.

Seen from above like that, silent and shining, it was indeed a beautiful piece of art. And at that moment, too, it was home. I saw my house, my university, my path downtown, my favorite cafes and the houses of my friends. The streets were familiar, and their pattern was foreign only in its astounding beauty that evening.

We landed in the increasing darkness and returned home, where I first assured my host mother that I hadn't managed to kill myself on her watch, and then got my parents on Skype to talk them through the adventure (I was absolutely right not to tell my Mom before I was safely back on solid ground. After all, "to ask permission is to seek denial"). Then I bragged to all my friends who would listen: I flew over Valdivia in a four-seat plane. How many people get to do that? And no, I wasn't scared a bit.

And I continued to exclaim to my Chilean friends, "how beautiful your city, how wonderful your people, how happy I am here."