Continental Drift #6: Salty Sacredness – Chile

By: Adam Carter

Salty Sacredness

As I stroll through Humberstone, a salt-mining ghost town in the harsh desert of northern Chile, I ask myself (and all of you), what is sacred? Let us imagine a city, artificially constructed in the middle of nowhere. People are brought in from thousands of miles away to live and work in this simulated “City.” Each family is provided with a “House,” all of which are neatly arranged in rows. The men work twelve-hour days of hard labor, while the women take care of the house, go to the “Market” and prepare their family’s meals. The children walk to the centrally-located “School” and then play at the “Playground” or swim at the “Pool.” The workers are paid, not in cash, but with vouchers that they can use to buy food, clothes and “amenities.”

On the surface, it is a rigid, regulated, almost robotic society. Though it sounds like the setting of a George Orwell novel, I can attest to the existence of this automated conurbation. But in the midst of such municipal control, I ask you, is there room for humanity to blossom? Can people be amused, surprised or hopeful in such a strict society? Sure, along with a library and a basketball court, there is also a church, but can people live spiritual lives in such an artificial setting?

Ruins are often renowned for their spirituality. Anyone who has been to Machu Picchu in Peru or Angkor Wat in Cambodia can attest to the holiness of these places. These ruins were religious capitols, often built in places that were recognized for their inherent sanctity. But ghost towns often do not possess this air of purity. For this reason, they are often even more surreal.

Strolling through Real de Catorce, a silver-mining ghost town in the mountains of central Mexico, I felt like I was living in a dream, as I wandered into houses that had been deserted since 1905, yet were still furnished with basic turn-of-the-century items. Besides being known for its surrounding deserts full of the hallucinogenic peyote cacti, Real de Catorce is renowned as a true ghost town, as all the inhabitants immediately left when they learned that the mine had been tapped dry. While in Poland, the nightmare of the Holocaust came to life as I wandered through the remains of Birkenau, the most infamous Nazi concentration camp. There, the absence of life was chilling, as I was haunted by the empty bunks with engraved names, the piles of shoes without owners and the train tracks that come to a deadly stop. Places such as Birkenau give new meaning to the term ghost town, for the inhabitants did not just leave suddenly due to economic factors; they were murdered there in cold blood. The knowledge of the horrors committed in such a wretched place made me realize that for millions of people, this concentration camp has taken on a very sacred meaning. To me it was the utter emptiness and absence of life that was especially sobering. A memorial monument can offer tribute, but it was the ashes of the dead beneath my feet that made the camp such a consecrated spot.

Humberstone does not possess this air of death; it was not the site of a giant massacre or a deadly epidemic. Actually, once the owners learned that a chemical substitute for saltpeter had been discovered, they closed the mine immediately, literally flipping the switch, walking away from the city, leaving it as it was. Thus ended the “White Golden Age” industrial boom of northern Chile, forcing thousands of families to flee their desert city in search of new lives. Today, strolling the streets, it almost looks like just a quiet Sunday; the doors of the theater are open, the market stalls are empty and the noise of the mine has ceased. As I explored the old rowhouses of Humberstone, I came across some graffiti that read simply, Mi Abuela Vivia Aqui. The writer’s grandmother slept in this very room, perhaps waking up early to bake bread for her family before her son-in-law left for the mines.

Though places like Humberstone may not seem to be holy, the presence of life makes them so. Though there is not a soul to be seen, their spirits remain. Over there, working at the fruit stand is Pablo Chang, the man everyone calls “The Chinese Chalupa.” Watch him, he doesn’t need to use the scales to weigh those peaches; he can give you an accurate weight just judging the heaviness with his hands. Oh, and there is little Juanita, she is the fastest swimmer in Humberstone, but don’t tell her parents that she sneaks out of the house at night to swim in the pool when everyone is sleeping. And see that woman there, her name is Claudia, but everyone calls her Senora Flora because she brought flower seeds from her family home in southern Chile and she has managed to build a beautiful little house garden in the middle of this arid desert. Here comes Giordano; his family is from Italy and he has lived in Austria, England and Argentina. Ask him a question and he can answer you in five languages. Stop where you are, because if you listen really carefully, you can hear the faint sound of laughter, kids at recess, women chatting at the market, babies crying and the endless drone of the mine.

For eighty-eight years, in this very spot, people were eating, crying, singing, making love, drinking and dying every day and for that reason, it is hallowed ground. Accounts of life in war-torn countries and concentration camps have proven that humanity is indomitable. No matter how dire their situation, people still find a way to express themselves, comfort others or just laugh out loud. Whether it’s Mayan ruins in Guatemala, an abandoned village in Zambia or a dilapidated crack house in DC, the imprint of human life is sacred.

In today’s fast-paced society, we often lose sight of the sanctity of our daily lives. We get caught up in such trivial matters such as the plunge of our stocks, the ineptitude of our leaders or the parking tickets we seem to accrue with such regularity. Maybe it is time for us to reconnect with the humanity we share with the rest of the world, with those still alive in other corners of the globe and with those that have passed on. I urge you all take a deeper look at your surroundings, study your own culture as if you were wandering through the remains of your house a hundred years in the future. Keep in mind that one day your homes will also be deserted, your cities will cease to exist and a new generation will come along to study the way we have lived. How do you want to be remembered?

I realize that many aspects of our lives are not outwardly obvious to a casual onlooker; after all, archaeologists search for deep meaning among potshards and flintstones. But there is a spirit we all possess that cannot be excavated. All of our lives are holy, for as the Ohm around my neck symbolizes, The sacred is within. Hopefully, we can all appreciate the wonder life brings and the sacredness of our everyday lives, whether we are in Chile, Chicago or Cape Town.