Kindness of Strangers

Tuesday, February 4, 2009

I was trolling the streets of Chiloe, a small island community that has developed in relative isolation from Chile’s string bean mainland. Boasting its own culinary traditions, architecture, handicrafts, folklore, and even farming implements, I was feeling very cultured just breathing the same air as the Chilotas. We had exited a local artisan market, the only international tourists in the bunch. As I fingered the fine wool goods, a swarm of Spanish swirling around my head, I delighted in the fact that I could stop and have a conversation with a vendor who couldn’t guess where I was from, and wasn’t (yet) jaded by gringos. For the first time in weeks, I was a novelty. We purchased goofy wool hats and made our way up the street towards a fair that was spilling out from the church’s courtyard, a wooden relic protected by UNESCO, feeling very much at the end of the world.

Then, I saw it. At first I thought my eyes were deceiving me, but after a quick double take, the telltale lime green thumbprint registered in my brain. It was the van from The Mole, my favorite reality show of all time. In fact, it’s the only show I’ve pined for, obsessively monitoring CBS’s website for upcoming auditions. Once a program focused on contestants solving intellectual puzzles in exotic locations, the show took a turn for the worse in recent years, hitting bottom with Celebrity Mole Hawaii, which included such B-list gems as Stephen Baldwin, who starred as Barney in The Flintstones: Viva Rock Vegas, and Kathy Griffin. I was thrilled when the show was resurrected this summer, but disappointed when it debuted as a shadow of its former self, focusing on brawns over brain.

When the green thumbprint flashed before my eyes, emblazoned on a dented slate-colored van, my first thought was, “Oh my god, The Mole is filming their next season right here on Chiloe.” Suddenly, I had been transplated from the ends of the earth to Hollywood, and I found myself frantically scanning the church courtyard for obtrusive cameras. It was perfect, I thought, noticing that a variety of different games tables had been erected in the courtyard, imagining the contestants dashing from station to station. There would be quizzes on folk tales and races in the trineo, a Chilota farming invention used to ferry through muddy fields. There were be curanto eating contests, Chiloe’s native dish, a curious mix of pork, chicken, shellfish, and potatoes. The Mole: Chiloe would be the best season yet!

Then, memory and reason took hold. Last season had been filmed in Chile. I remember because I drooled over the dramatic Patagonian scenery and frosty pisco sours as they dashed around the country in a slate-grey van with a lime green thumbprint on the door!!! Clearly, after production had ended, the van had been sold to some Chilota, who probably wondered why they were driving a vehicle that looked like it could be some sort of crime solving machine.

Just as quickly as I had been reveling at finding myself in this remote location, I suddenly wanted nothing more than to plop myself down on my couch with an evening full of reality television at my fingertips.