On December 1, 2017 – about 13 months ago – while visiting Phnom Penh, Cambodia, I wrote in my blog:

The Killing Fields were active during the 1975-1979 period. More than one million Cambodians were executed; up to three million died in all. “Dissidents” included anyone loyal to the previous Lon Nol government and those supporting “CIA and KGB” operations in Cambodia. 

The Killing Fields have been made into a public memorial. The central 200-foot-tall pagoda is stacked with hundreds of skulls and bones found nearby. The rest of the mass gravesites have not been disturbed. 

Long (our OAT guide) and his father did go to the site and took home a few small remains (teeth) of some unknown person and placed them in the family stupa, which is the resting place for their family members’ ashes. They believe in this way the spirit of Long’s grandparents, uncles and aunties (who died in the Killing Fields) are with the family.

So here we go again, this time visiting Chile’s Museum of Memory and Human Rightsa large five-level museum opened in 2010 to memorialize the atrocitiesin Chile during the Pinochet years of 1973 – 1990. The numbers aren’t as staggering – 2,800 or so killed and “disappeared” and 30,000 or more tortured during interrogation to find other Chilean citizens who participated in the Marxist Allende government and who should therefore be rounded up, interrogated, tortured and executed.

For us, understanding the details on a personal level is not possible. But to see an elderly woman, supported by her daughter, contemplating and probably reliving those details is indeed sobering. Just as we experienced with our guide Long in Cambodia, these events are fresh in the minds of Chileans who lived through those years and in the minds of their children who witness the never-ending grief of their parents and grandparents.

The encouraging message from this memorial is that the Chilean society places great priority on attempting to heal wounds and to provide a constant reminder, as in Cambodia, that this can never be allowed to happen again.

On a lighter note, we demonstrated the modern way to deal with a new city’s metro system. The old fashioned way is to study maps and schedules in one’s hotel room, plot a course in great detail and executing that plan. The modern way is to go with a vague idea of the system, ask the ticket kiosk man for directions, follow his direction, which results in boarding the wrong train in the wrong direction. Get off at the next stop to reverse course, proceed to the station closest to the museum (our destination) and then walk for half an hour to complete the trip. That’s what we did and let the record show we arrived, observed and returned home, this time on the correct line without mishap.

But I’m confusing the chronology of the day, probably because we got high today not once, not twice but three times. The first was our ascent of Cerro San Cristóbal , a 300 meter hill in Santiago topped by a statue of the Immaculate Conception. We rode the funicular up and climbed from the station to the top. The views were magnificent, the day was clear and we could even see Mt Renca, discussed in yesterday’s blog (the lady mayor with the implants, etc.).

After descending we did the Memory Museum jaunt already discussed.

The return from the museum dropped us off at the Belles Artes station on the Green line, serving the Barrio Lastarria. Our OAT guide-to-be Luis suggested that we “start with a cocktail in one place, have dinner in another and dessert in a different one!” We almost obeyed; we had Pisco Sours in one place and then moved down 100 feet to a second for a dinner package that included soup, an entre, dessert and coffee or tea, all for less than $7.00. Two out of three ain’t bad!

So, after getting high a second time, we had a choice: walk around the nearby park to our hotel or climb up the hill in the park to the fortress for yet another high altitude view of the city. Of course we climbed and the views (and people) made it worthwhile. I had fun talking to a young lad being held in his father’s arms. I asked him his name (mumble), his age (4 fingers) and told him my name was Abuelo Juan (Grandfather Jon). He and his dad got a kick out of that.

Sobered up and ready to call it a day we exited the park almost directly across the street from our hotel. One problem: we figured out from the park vantage point that there is a market complex near our hotel. So off we went to visit stall after stall of alpaca stuff. Judy and Sharon fill in the details someday. But somehow we made it home with no more items to pack.

Tomorrow it’s another story. The alarm goes off 4 AM ish, breakfast is at 4:15, the taxi comes (we hope) at 4:45 and our flight is at 7:30. We arrive in Buenos Aires at 9:30 at which time we’ll be delivered into the warm embrace of Overseas Adventure Travel and Luis, our guide, who will direct our every movement from here on in.