Pinocho's grandson

I don't know about what write because is a free topic and I don't know what to do when the freedom touch my life. So, I go to write about my best reporting story . This happened the last year, while I was taking the chronica course and interviewing with the Professor Faride Zerán (I love she so much). The teacher asked to do an interview in a public figure, and a few weeks ago I had been interested in the far-right nationalist political party "Republican Order Party My Country," so I wanted to write something related to that (and really is that it a exciting topic for a political issue.

 The first step was to contact the communications chief, Mr. Eduardo Toledo, the right-hand man of the party's president: the grandson of the dictator Augusto Pinochet Ugarte; Augusto Pinochet Molina.

I contacted him as a graduate (something very common in this career) and telling him that I worked for an online right-wing. I told him that I wanted to interview him, and when I did not hear him very interested, I said that I would like to be part of his organization. There the man became interested and immediately scheduled a meeting. 

This was in the party headquarters, and I went with my friend Francisco, who was supposed to be my cousin: Gustavo Inostroza (yes, we were so scared that we changed the name). We were greeted in an office with colonial decor with a giant photo of the dictator, and next to an image of the Virgin of Lourdes. When we sat down, and while they offered us drinks, I started this conversation with my "cousin":

-What a nice office, the chairs ...

-Yes, they are like the Tata's

At this, we could not laugh, we had to be serious, but we just wanted to laugh, get out of there and take off the tight formal clothes.

The interviewees were Eduardo Toledo, vice president, and the treasurer whose name I do not remember. He, in particular, was a recalcitrant rightist, who denied the dictatorship and spoke of communists as rats. The president, my target, was out of Santiago.

Throughout the interview, which lasted about two hours because it was entertaining to hear so much fallacy and ignorance of sources, the treasurer called him by phone, to which sounded a rather special tone: the hymn of the armed forces.

With Francisco we just wanted to go out and pee. Much pee. But the man did not shut up, nor did I keep silent, asking him why they were against abortion and in favor of the legalization of hard drugs.

Finally we left, with the promise to publish the content in the rightist medium and to be in contact to register in the party.

The weeks passed and I still did not use myself as a pure interview, because it was only the ideas that had taken its weight out of Pinochet's mouth, so I called Eduardo saying that the editor was asking me for testimony from the party president, that if he could give me the number. He give me his number, but this is other story.

My best holidays

I don't believe in the holidays, I think is so empty travel only in a part of the year, and the rest only work. BUT I can't escape of the society rules and I have to travel in this time. 

All my life I've been on vacation with my family. Before with my older brothers and now that they are old and married, with my little sister. We love to travel to the central coast, specifically to a beach called Loncura, which is next to Ventanas and Quintero. This beach is giant and beautiful, very wide and somewhat unknown, which is good because it never fills up jaja. 

In the past, we stayed in the rooms that an aunt, my grandfather's sister, was renting. They were very simple rooms, with a cabin and a double bed. There was a wall that led to a kitchen with dining room, where we had the best breakfasts with bread and butter. 

I do not know how many years we went to summer to that house until the lady came to give her inheritance in life and her children wanted to sell everything. After that they put in plans to fix that house and sell it and not accept anyone else in the rooms. I think the best year of the holiday was when I was little and I could sit on the patio. That courtyard was the most beautiful thing in life. A giant esplanade surrounded by beautiful plants, four types of creepers and flowers, a thousand flowers. One could get lost in the bushes, and I loved doing that and imagining it was one with the leaves (what a hippie thing and I hate hippies). Then he spent hours contemplating the beautiful garden in that corner house, Auntie Rosa reading the bible for the same hours sitting there. 

So if I was not on the beach meeting a new friend every day and swimming like fish in the waves with my one-piece pink suit and my 11-year-old little belly, I was in that garden with bees. The rest of the time was spent looking at her husband, my Uncle Max in his radiator workshop. Sometimes trucks would arrive and settle in the other yard and spend a couple of days there for the uncle to fix. He would climb and do his magic. He died years ago. 

The aunt now, after her children banished her, lives in Linares alone and says she is very happy. Aunue we know, that like all the nephews, very much misses much that patio and its nature.