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Mar. 4, 2010 The earthquake in Chile was 900 times stronger than the one that hit Haiti. It struck at 03:40, while I slept in Santiago. The bed vibrated gently and it took me some time to realize it was a tremor. I stayed in bed waiting for it to stop. A giant fist hit the building. Out of bed I had trouble keeping my balance. I stood under the doorframe holding onto the wall so as not to tumble all over the place. The building swayed like a boat and rattled like an old bus on a rough road. All at once. After about a minute, the noise and shaking increased. Outside, bright white flashes revealed exploding transformers or electrical substations. The city grew dark. The rattling increased. The noise was similar to that of a freight train, but more chaotic and much louder. I wedged my back against the door. With my hands pushed against the wall to stay in one place. I could barely hear the noise of bottles falling. A glass sliding door to the balcony unlocked and slid back and forth. The building added howls of its tortured structure to the chorus from hell. To my disbelief, the violence of the movements increased. I expected to see other buildings collapse any second. How long was this going to last? I had to spread my feet wider to stay in place. Then, it stopped. In the kitchen none of the fallen bottles had broken. Dishes were still in the rack. Amazingly the apartment showed no damage. A lamp had fallen over. That was it. The city was deathly dark and quiet. Only the soft throb of generators indicated something was going well. I thought my legs were shaking—aftershock! That early vibration was back again. I quickly put on trousers, flannel shirt, leather jacket, grabbed laptop and joined my neighbors quietly evacuating the building. We filed to the middle of the park-like plaza out of reach of falling electric wires. A woman asked me for a cigarette, she was Polish and never had experienced a tremor. She was shaken after seeing a house split in two. People in their pajamas strolled as if on a Sunday morning. Sitting on a park bench a woman had a radio on. A crowd gathered around her. First news came from the United States. The USGS had detected a large earthquake with epicenter 60 kilometers northeast of Concepcion. What? We are 500 miles away. Local seismograph measured earthquake intensity at 7.5 in Santiago. Just past 04:00 radio stations linked up into national chain. President Bachelett said she was at the National Emergency headquarters and announced Chile had been hit by the second largest earthquake in its history. All communications with the south were down. A bridge in Santiago had collapsed. Two bridges on the main north south highway were reported down. So far, seven deaths reported. Airport closed. All incoming flights diverted. All outbound flights cancelled. Navy issues tsunami alert Someone cancels alert. Several houses in city have collapsed. Highway 5 is closed, huge traffic jams caused by fissures and buckled pavement. As reports roll in, a picture of enormous destruction begins to form. The main headline, no news from the south. At three minutes and thirty seconds, this earthquake is the longest in recorded in history. With only light aftershocks, after two hours, people begin to go home. In older parts of Santiago, for many houses, this has been one earthquake too many. People have moved furniture to the street. The Ministry of Transport asks people to remain home and not go to work. 400 buses are stuck in a terminal as gates are blocked. Freeways are blocked by collapsed overpases. Back in the lobby one of my neighbors has an elegant coffee set out and offers coffee. His apartment, he says, been completely trashed. The concierge distributes large garbage bags. In my apartment I return the lamp to its place. The TV set had traveled across the room and back to its original location. That ends my earthquake repairs. While I shave, I listen to the radio. Few buses are running, the Metro is closed. Chemical fires in an industrial area are out of control. The sun rises. A black cloud of smoke soars from behind San Cristobal Mountain. A walk reveals a fallen brick wall surrounding a water reservoir a block from my building. The owner of the local booze store is connecting a portable generator to keep beers cold. The grocery next door has bread. A two storied carport has collapsed on top of cars parked on the floor below. My pub is surrounded by yellow tape. Stucco had fallen off revealing adobe. One of the wall has a large crack. Here and there is glass on the sidewalk where windows got wrenched off. A number of buildings are taped off. On the main boulevard is a bit messier. A number of storefront signs are down. Lots of broken glass. On one of the side streets, a sink hole broke the pavement. Half of the eight lane boulevard is closed. A crew is clearing debris from the collapsed dome of the Providencia Church’s bell tower. Several businesses are opening their doors. Santiago is recuperating, but still there are no news from the south. Soon:
Aftermath.
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