Jennifer Massoni Pardini

Pinterest… and Other Thoughts on Becoming My Mother

When I was little, my mother might spend a Saturday afternoon scouring scores of home and design magazines. She would tear out particularly dazzling pages by their full-bleed edges and slide them into clear plastic inserts before filing them into three-inch-ringed white binders. She would then line the binders up along a shelf, where she could occasionally pull one down and peruse it with a cup of coffee in one of our home’s many wing-back chairs. (She had similarly packaged recipe collections.) When I was, say, 10, I would imitate a like-minded ritual, but with my sticker book instead, prepping it for a trading session with my neighbor Samantha. (Samantha was four years younger and the sticker book was a golden go-to activity when I would babysit her. I obviously secretly cherished the activity just as must as she did.)

1982? 83?

As years passed, I sort of turned up my teenage nose at the whole “home decor” thing. I mean, I lived in an impeccable home at the time so I wasn’t wanting for beautiful surroundings. Our little rancher from the ’60s was there for us when we struck out on our own as two fearless gals, and my mother spent the next decade and change completely re-imagining, re-furbishing, and re-decorating it into something very worthy of those glossy magazine pages. But I was too young to relish the root system implied by a 30-year mortgage.

When I was 15, I thought I would surely spend the next 30 years traveling the globe instead, having adventures, and attempting to commit them to the page. It’s not lost on me that I’m living down here at the bottom of the earth where our circumstances have completely ruled “location” out of the five- and ten-year plans. While I welcome that spirit of new horizons and transformation, I’m sitting in our apartment stocked with rented furniture and concrete walls we’re not allowed to hang anything on and I’m starting to dream about a little house of our own somewhere someday…

What I’m getting at is that it’s happened, people. While our international living accommodations delegate U.S. magazine deliveries and endless shelf space to the realm of fantasy, Pinterest has come along just in time to turn me into my mother. Don’t get me wrong — I’m embracing this development. For all three of you who may not already know about or be using this service, it’s a virtual pin board for everything you fancy — from those home decor cut-outs my mother loves so, to recipes, clothing, accessories, dream travel destinations, artwork, books, crafts, hairstyles, etc. Take a look at my profile for a better idea. The eye candy options are truly limitless.

1993

So, here I am in Chile, “pinning” recipes and kitchens and bathtubs and outdoor living sanctuaries that I could surely never afford, but I nonetheless indulge in. I think that was the point of my mom’s daydreaming too — to escape for an hour or so into a realm of spotless taste and decadent design and inspiring possibilities. As further evidence that I am becoming my mother (and in part thanks to the few English channels we have here in Chile), I’ve also become quite the fan of cooking shows (the bland culinary adventure that can be a Chilean market is also a driving force).

On screen, I can at least salivate over Jamie Oliver‘s skillful ways with lemongrass or crusted fish or bacon vinaigrette, not to mention Anthony Bourdain‘s “No Reservations” antics in culinary crosshairs the world over. Sure, I can recreate some of these things, but the second the recipe calls for mint paste or ginger or ground turkey, I know anything within a comfortable distance of the apartment has been ruled out. So, I have Pinterest to ogle at — there are worse preoccupations.

So, when did it happen to you? When did you notice that something your mom (or aunt or dad or big sister) says emerge from your own mouth? When did you start a collection you know was inspired by someone who inspired you? At base, Pinterest may just be another social network of sorts that lets me like and repin images that my friends have liked and repinned, but it’s also an homage to a maturation process rooted in those weekends spent close to my mom’s side, as she flipped through magazines and dreamed of the spaces she might try to replicate around us in our safe little home.

2011

And that is really the kind of home I dream about creating one day. I’m not sure there’s any picture that could quite capture it except for the one in my mind’s eye right now.

The Chile I Want to See

Before I begin, I must implore you to watch “A Story for Tomorrow,” a stunning five-minute video by Gnarly Bay Productions that a good friend recently sent my way. The friend and I are both relatively recent expats, both on the move with our relatively new husbands, and both trying to sort out what our new terrain (Chile for me; Canada for her) means for our writing, our livelihood, and our friendships. I recommend viewing the video (trust me, you won’t be sorry) before proceeding with the rest of this post because I want you to share the feeling I’ve been carrying around with me since I first watched it (I may or may not have watched it every day since… and made my students watch it :). The feeling is one I can only describe as equal parts eye-opening, invigorating, emotional, and humbling, with a healthy final flourish of adventurism that makes me want to cut strings, lift up, and float across every single mile of this country.

City vs…

You see, I’m starting to realize — or, rather anticipate — the differences between Santiago and Chile. This statement might invite some head-scratching. Of course, Santiago is just as representative of Chile as any other city, town, longitude or latitude. But it wasn’t until I watched this video that I realized how much I hold them in separate hands, if you will, and allow each their own temperature, population, sounds, and sights. They are separate to me because I know one much better than the rest. So, perhaps in one day getting to know the whole of Chile, I’ll also get to know a different version of myself and my relationship to the land, culture, and people here.

I can’t say I maintain a similar mental separation of San Francisco and California, where I’m coming from. The more appropriate comparison would be California and the United States, but that seems too geographically vast, with countless differences in accent, climate, median income, and voting preferences for which to account. While I fully respect Chile’s rich variation, I can’t help put picture a long, stretched-out California, with a giant city, lit up day and night, right there in the middle. It’s easy to reach for the comparisons between there and here; both boast miles and miles of coastline, snow-capped mountains, epic conditions for wine-making, and that existential feeling of embodying “the west.” You might say Chile wins the comparison game every time though, with its drastic range in climate and geography: the driest desert on earth is to the north and icy fjords are to the south and Antartica beyond.

Do you understand a bit of what I mean when I mentally dissect Chile into Santiago and, well, anywhere outside Santiago? While I haven’t ventured much farther than a three-hour drive’s radius, I’ve seen enough to know that the differences are obvious from nearly the moment you exit the city. Uninhibited farm land, vineyards, and pasture begin to stretch out from either side of the highway. In mere minutes, you drive through small towns where you can peer inside open-windowed markets and see what they offer. You start to see animals on the move and big sky pierced by a jagged mountain range.

… Country.

Having just exited an over-heated, jam-packed metro train, forgive me if this post is also something of a fantasy about open space. Because once you leave, you might, like we do, welcome the absence of, well, six million people. As I’ve mentioned before, a third of the country’s population lives in this one city. I don’t know enough about Chile’s history to posit why it is that Santiago holds the trump card when it comes to size, population, industry, and infrastructure.I do know that this feat of centralized development leaves epic stretches of unencumbered land to explore. We’ve seen Pichilemu’s dirt roads and Santa Cruz’s velvety rolling vineyards. We’ve welcomed the clear, coastal air deep into our lungs. We know that the eastern Andes journey, uninterrupted, all the way to Argentina to the west and run for over 4,000 miles north and south. But that knowledge is confined to isolated weekends that puncture many months of city living. Most of our experience of Chile has been within the confines of Santiago, resulting in impressions of Chile that are sometimes lined up with work commutes, smoky restaurants, the craning necks of construction equipment, five undeterred months of summer, and evening respites in a friend’s backyard that feel as refreshing as a bold dive into a lake. The rest of our home life hovers here on the fifth floor.

So, when I watched that video, I was willing to bet that the more I see of the diverse landscape beyond Santiago, the more I might fall in love. Even though our vacation days are either limited or happily used to head home to our families, we’ll have to be better about planning ahead for those long weekends that do come around with pleasant frequency here, even though many of these places deserve a week at least to properly explore. I’ve already worried I’ll be the girl who moved to Chile and didn’t learn Spanish! I definitely don’t want to also be the girl who moved to Chile and only saw Santiago!Dear fellow city-dwellers, I hope you’ll empathize with the fact that some places speak to your soul immediately (for me, London) and others need time to get to know (Boston, for example). That doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate this opportunity to live and learn amongst you; presently, I’m simply lost in daydreams of sandy desert dunes, turquoise lakes, smoking mountains, rushing waves, quiet stretches of road, star-packed night skies, rolling rivers, and every other wonder this country holds. I don’t presume to think they’re waiting for me. Rather, I have a restored faith that I am very much waiting for them.

Which way to go?

What have you seen and found in Chile? What should we not miss?

Chile, In List Form

Many of the travel articles I read online these days are formatted as lists. Hypothetical and real examples include: “Five Places to Drink Coffee in X City;” “Ten Things You Should Always Pack for X Country;” “25 Places You’ve Never Been To;” and Matador Network’s “How to ask for ‘one more beer, please’ in 50 languages.”

Well, I wonder if I could synthesize my experience of Chile thus far into a single list. Dear me, we know I’m a fan of the list to begin with. On my desk right now, I have my daily commitments listed in my planner, items “to add to the novel” scribbled on many sheets of an old VF notepad, as well three visible post-it reminders, a splayed open journal, and various email print-outs with outlined medical and legal research. While they may not all be satisfyingly check-marked (at least not yet), these lists are a vital part of the vast territory between any project’s beginning and end.

So, I respect the list. I understand its logic, though I wish a few more publishing outlets trusted that I still retain an attention span worthy of 1,500 paragraphed words and don’t necessarily require bullet points and bolded subtitles in order to follow along. Crankiness aside, I do glean a certain satisfaction from anticipating the three or five or 10 things I’m about to learn about any given thing. Perhaps you do, too. Herewith, I give you 30 things I’ve seen, heard, done, or pondered since I moved to Santiago. Consider it a little eight-month time capsule:

1. Very young children helping their mothers and grandmothers sell things (orange juice, calendars, shoes) outside the metro stations. Sometimes, I see the same children when I leave in the morning and arrive back in the evening.

2. Two entire aisles of the grocery store comprised of soda products (not to mention half an aisle dedicated to hot dogs alone).

3. A startling absence of hummus (and bagels and burritos and mac ‘n’ cheese and sometimes limes… )

4. Panoramic views of Santiago from two hills right in the middle of the city.

5. Many, many red lights run.

6. A classroom of students where our shared language allowed us to exchange greetings only. We smiled and survived.

7. A (harmless) tarantula.

8. The number 63 on a red screen at the visa office when the number I held in my hand read 197.

9. All of my worldly possessions pushed to one side of my bedroom in San Francisco and unpacked in my living room in Santiago.

10. Hisses, whistles, honks, and stares. The honks are what really get me.

11. The Pacific Ocean of Punta de Lobos, both on our honeymoon and a bright birthday morning last week. And the waves farther north in Zapallar.

12. More avocados than I’ve ever seen in one place at one time.

13. A grove of almond trees and fresh cherimoya fruit (on separate occasions).

14. Crystal-clear snow-capped Andes one day and so much smog the next I can no longer use the mountains to know I’m heading east.

15. The faces of friends and family through online chat windows.

16. Many fountains and many statues. Santiago likes both. And street dogs drinking from the fountains.

17. A blood bank, which I now know is called un banco de sangre, at quite possibly the cleanest and most efficiently run hospital I’ve ever been to (don’t worry… just needed some standard blood work).

18. “Happily of Household” pregnant imitation barbies.

19. Kind strangers who have stopped to ask me if I need help when I must look very lost.

20. One mall that sells clothing, furniture, food, cars, internet service, time shares, and movie tickets, among much else.

21. Pavement, glass, heat, misting metro fans, cigarette smoke, and snippets of Spanish everywhere I go this summer.

22. Fake Christmas trees on display in 90-degree weather.

23. Street dogs who have walked with me for blocks at a time.

24. Pablo Neruda’s “eyes.”

25. A tall set of stilts walking by the window of an Indian food restaurant at lunch time.

26. The Andes from 8,000 feet.

27. Countless beautiful murals that always give me pause.

28. NFL games moderated by sportscasters from Argentina.

29. A lot a lot a lot of acid-washed jeans.

30. Protest horns as well as chairs and desks crammed into the chain-link fences surrounding Santiago’s schools.

I already have a running mental list of the places I’ve yet to see and the things I’ve yet to do, not to mention the surprises you can’t anticipate, no matter how many lists you make or travel articles you read. Stay tuned for the next time capsule.

Birthdays Abroad Are a Little Odd

In the past, my birthday has usually been a swell excuse to gather as many friends as possible in a certain city establishment and let the night go where it may. We’ve taken the silly photos and sung along to the silly songs and by the end of it, I’m usually most definitely telling everybody how much I love them and couldn’t imagine my life without them and never want the night to end.

Punta de Lobos, February 2012

Well, that’s a little hard to do from 6,000 miles away. I really didn’t expect the birthday to add even more miles to this physical distance. Ryan and I (born two days apart) made plans to head to the beach, which provided an ideal way to celebrate… by the water, with the salty air, screens out of sight, staring out at the same Pacific Ocean we had our first official date alongside. After all, if we can’t have our friends and family, we Aquarians better have the water!

The surf contest was a surprise!

We’ve been to Pichilemu and Punta de Lobos before, when we arrived on New Year’s Eve 2010 to honeymoon there and start a new marriage and a new year in a new country. We’d been looking forward to returning for our birthdays for awhile, as February is most definitely a winter month at home, but a peak summer month in Chile. That means we were not the only ones seeking out the beach. Far from it! The grid-lock traffic, surf contest, and old ladies knocking me out of the way at the only grocery store in town were evidence of that. But we had–and held onto–each other.

With fog or without, I’ll take it.

Last year, Ryan and I were apart. You guessed it; he was down in Chile and I was back in California, in the heart of my last semester of graduate school and using every non-thesis-izing moment to catch up with friends. Even though it meant ten months in a different hemisphere than Ryan, I really feel like I got a bonus year to say my long face-to-face goodbye, but I’ve never for one moment accepted that I can’t be in their lives or they can’t be in mine just because we live in different countries. Yes, we can’t see each other or attend all the special occasions or go on the long walks, but technology is pretty satisfying these days. I make an honest effort to stay on top of the important things going on in their lives, to check in about the mundane, to schedule the skype dates, to see how the job searches have been going, and to try to generate those laughs and good times that are so much easier to do when you’re in the same room with somebody.

Surf contestant in the distance.

This year, Ryan and I got to celebrate together. We walked the beach. He rode the waves and I let my toes dance on their edges. We both got to reconnect with the ocean that has meant so much to us as we grew up and made lives in Northern California. Even though we live a minimum of 90-minute drive away from it now, just knowing it’s there has been an important link between my two homes. I may be here and you all may be there, but there is this vast body of water that touches both shores. I wondered if the waves we were in were once in California, and if they would one day make it back.

Ryan paddling out.

Still, it was strange to be so far away this year, from the easy unlimited text message, from the birthday dinner, from the people who know me best and with whom I’ve celebrated all things time and again. Thanks to Facebook and email, I received many-a-lovely message from so many of you, and that meant the absolute world. It’s amazing how a little sentiment and the time it takes to send it my away really does lessen the distance between us. I thank you for that.

Everyone else on vacation with us 🙂

That said, I didn’t expect the wave of homesickness, larger than I’m used to riding out down here (pardon the pun). It was one of the first times in eight months that I started to accept that we can’t always be there in the same ways for each other. We lead busy lives, we aren’t always around when the other person is, especially given time changes and spotty internet connections and last-minute schedule changes. But consider yourself warned–I will keep on trying! Thank you in advance for continuing to make the effort to stay in my life, just as I desperately want to remain in yours.

The sun always comes back out.

Friends and family! You are my sunshine!! In addition to the waves, I at least imagined a top-notch birthday party in my head. You were all there and you had a great time and I never wanted the night to end 🙂

Laspostolle Dreams

So there’s been something I’ve been wanting to tell you all about. It involves a devine #1 bottle of wine, an infinity pool, rolling blankets of vineyard, personalized menus, a private casita, and a tarantula. Let me guess, I had you at tarantula? No? How about a “#1 bottle of wine?” Yes, that’s better.

Good idea: collect your corks in a wicker basket.
(And this way, I’ll remember what labels
to recommend to everyone back home!)

Back in November, the stars aligned in one of those reassuring ways that remind you you really are in the right place at the right time–even if that means 6,000 miles away from the places and people you know best. In this case, it was when my former editor at Gentry emailed with one of those opportunities you say an emphatic YES to immediately! It just so happened that a press trip had come in to none other than Lapostolle Residence and Clos Apalta Winery in Santa Cruz, Chile, about a two-and-a-half hour drive south of Santiago. I guess my joke about opening a Chilean bureau of the magazine wasn’t too far off? At least for the weekend anyway.

I don’t think anything I could write here would add to the above.

We arrived on a cool late morning… Well, for the real story, why don’t you read the finished product here (on pages 44 and 45). It includes details about the label’s founding in 1994 by Alexandra Marnier Lapostolle (the great granddaughter of the legendary creator of Grand Marnier liqueur); Lapostolle Clos Apalta Winery’s opening in Chile’s Colchagua Valley in 2006, as well as the prized varietals that Chilean soil and French practices so deliciously lend themselves to: Merlot, Cabernet Sauvignon, Petit Verdote, and Carmenére, now regarded as the signature grape of Chile.

The article includes stunning photography by the most amazing Matt Wilson, who deserves photo credit! Ryan and I had the rare pleasure of dining with Matt and Lapostolle Winemaker Andrea León (who also happen to be married). The special treat of the night was a Grand Marnier tasting in chocolate shot glasses no less! Yes, chocolate shot glasses.

I’m going to start calling him “Mr. Ryan.”

I will also add a few extra highlights that didn’t make the final cut for publication. For instance, Lapostolle’s winery is 100 percent certified organic and fully biodynamic. As Andrea explained on our private tour of the vineyards, the property functions as a self-sufficient closed system, consisting of plants as well as animals (bees, chickens, cows, goats, and geese included), the soil, and even the cosmos (the winery is oriented toward the Southern Cross, the Southern Hemisphere’s most important constellation). All elements function in tandem over a two- to three-year cycle, to ensure balance, diversity, health, and growth. That can mean that the flowers we saw sprouting between the vines (California’s iconic orange poppy included) are just as vital to the health of the soil (and the grape) as sunlight and water.

The shadow of the sundial
and many of the 24 beams that represent each month
a Clos Apalta vintage journies from seed to sip.

While its French influence is pronounced, Chilean practices are also very much at work (“French in essence, Chilean by birth” goes the motto after all)–from the soil (the vineyards are dry farmed rather than irrigated), to the architecture (rauli beech, a tree native to Chile, is used throughout the architecture), to the menu (Chef Francisca Urzua, originally from Santa Cruz, has been with the Residence for nearly three years.) You don’t even have to be a member of the press to gain access to the kitchen; Chef Urzua will kindly grant a cooking demonstration for any guest. (She’ll also hand you a wooden spoon, so be prepared to participate!) We tried our hand at Charquicán, a traditional spoon-end-crushed mash of onion, potato, pumpkin, and bell peper and seasoned with paprika and oregano. For amazing culinary shots and another trusted opinion on just how gaga-worthy Lapostolle really is, check out friend and fellow blogger Emily’s great write-up.

We have been putting these aprons to good use
(for anyone who thinks I still don’t cook 🙂

Talk about a kitchen with an epic view.

At least for the weekend anyway. Any further indulgence is entirely up to you to seek and enjoy–an in-casita massage, a dip in the pool, the pause offered by perusing a book in the main house, or a stroll through the herb gardens. If you do have the opportunity to find yourself there, be sure to stop still in your tracks in order to look out at the winery’s velvet stretches of vine–and do so often.

Seeing blue: The 2005 Close Apalta,
preserved in the Marnier-Lapostolle private family wine cellar.

At least for the weekend anyway. As for that divine bottle of wine, it’s the 2005 Clos Apalta, Lapostolle’s prize cuvée, which only had to beat out a mere 20,000 vintages to be named the #1 wine in the world in Wine Spectator‘s blind tasting.

And because it’s all just so pretty: