May 24, 2003 By CHRIS WATSON SANTA CRUZ SENTINEL STAFF WRITER

Too many people in Isabel Allende’s family have called her a liar for her to dismiss the charges completely. x They say she spins family stories until they’re unrecognizable.

That she imagines and fabricates characters that never existed.

But the author of these tales — and of novels like "The House of the Spirits," "Eva Luna," "Paula," "Daughter of Fortune" and "Portrait in Sepia" — shrugs off the accusations.

"To be called a liar is awful," she said recently, "but I don’t care.

"And as Mario Vargas Llosa said in his essay ‘The Truth About Lies,’ a fiction writer must use lies to get at the truth sometimes."

It comes with the territory of fiction.

One story no one has a quarrel with, however, is Allende’s story of where she was on Tuesday, 9/11.

But if you ask her about it, be sure to specify which 9/11, which Tuesday — 2001 or 1973 — you want to know about.

On Tuesday, at the Capitola Book Cafe, Allende will talk about her new book, "My Invented Country: A Nostalgic Journey Through Chile," which orbits those two significant years in the two countries she calls home — Chile and the USA

"On Sept. 11, 2001, I was at home in California, having a shower, when the phone rang," she said recently from her home in Northern California. "It was my mother from Chile, and she was crying.

"I thought she must be crying about what happened in Chile on Sept. 11, 1973; but she said, ‘no, no, turn on the TV.’ ’’

On the very day the World Trade Center was destroyed in New York, Chileans were remembering the bombs that had leveled the presidential palace in Santiago, Chile, on Tuesday, Sept. 11, 1973 — the bombs that signaled the military overthrow of president Salvador Allende, Isabel’s uncle.

"In 1973 in Santiago," Allende remembered, "I got up early to go to work. The streets were empty, no buses, no traffic, only military convoys going by.

"I drove downtown and stopped at a friend’s house who had a telephone and tried to call my in-laws. Then I heard on the radio that there was a military coup.

"My friend’s husband, a teacher, was trapped downtown, so I went to pick him up. The school was empty, and he was listening to the radio and crying. The radio announced that they were asking the president to surrender, and he wouldn’t and that they would give him half an hour and then they would bomb the palace.

"My friend and I went up to the roof of the school and watched the bombing of the palace, watched the panic, the fires."

For Allende, the terrorist act in New York and the CIA-orchestrated terror in Chile still resonate harmonically.

She writes in "My Invented Country":

"That distant Tuesday in 1973 my life was split in two; nothing was ever the same, I lost a country. That fateful Tuesday in 2001 was also a decisive moment; nothing will ever again be the same, and I gained a country."

With "one foot in California and one foot in Chile," Allende writes that were it not for the events of 1973, she would never have become a writer, never have married an American, lived in California or "lived with nostalgia for so long, or be writing these particular pages."

"My Invented Country" is Allende’s salute to the places, people and events that turned her into the writer she is today. It is a book filled with the geography, politics and history of Chile and with stories about the author’s "weird" family and the places that served, for a time, as her homes-away-from-home — Bolivia, Venezuela, Brussels, Beirut.

A memoir that contains more delight than angst, "My Invented Country" serves also, at times, as a travelogue of Chile, the most civilized of Latin American countries, in some opinions.

Allende’s memoir also works as a vindication of her trademark blend of magical realism — a heady mixture of what is mythic, what is real and what is remembered by the heart.

She writes:

"(My grandmother) introduced me to magical realism long before the so-called boom in Latin American literature made it fashionable."

"Besides," she said, "with my family, you don’t have to invent much."

In the memoir, Allende rationalizes her blurring of fiction and facts. At other times, she carefully profiles the real people who were the models for characters in "The House of the Spirits," "Eva Luna" and other stories.

Still, anyone who’s read her novels will be hard-pressed to distinguish absolutely between what is real and is imagined.

And in truth, that blurring of exterior and interior worlds has affected Allende’s personal life.

In "The House of the Spirits," for example, she discovered that a character she thought was a total invention — the French count — turned out to bear frightening similarities to the father who abandoned her when she was little.

It was only when literary critics began to point it out that she began to recognize the impact of his abandonment on her life.

"I thought I never missed him," she said, "but there are no loving fathers in my fiction, and all the women in my books are strong."

One of the spookiest blendings of fact and fiction occurred around the writing of Allende’s second novel, "Of Love and Shadows," based on a true political crime that occurred during the dictatorship of Pinochet.

"The novel was based on a real case, about people who disappeared during a dictatorship and whose bodies were found five years later in an abandoned mine."

What facts she didn’t know — who found the bodies and how— she invented.

Only later, when a Jesuit priest visited her and asked how she knew he’d heard about the murder in confession, how she knew what he was wearing and that he drove a motorcycle to the mine, did Allende feel a shiver go up her spine.

"When I found out that, to the smallest detail, it was true, I felt panic. I felt that all stories do exist, that I just tap into them.

"And I felt," she added, "that the written word has tremendous power and that a writer has a terrible responsibility."

Allende’s talent, though, is wider than the grave politics that so deeply etch her work.

Her sense of humor, for example, has survived, and is well-displayed in this memoir.

She writes:

• "In my family . . . the national sport is to talk about the person who just left the room.
• "We Chileans are enchanted by states of emergency.
• "We Chileans enjoy funerals, because the dead person is no longer a rival, and now he can’t backstab us.
• "In my family nearly all the men studied law, although I don’t remember a single one who passed the bar. Chileans love laws, the more complicated the better. Nothing fascinates us as much as red tape and multiple forms." Allende hopes, if nothing else, that her memoir incites travelers to visit one of the most enchanting places on earth.

"You should go during our winter, when it’s summer there," she said.

"Take a tour to the south, cross the seven lakes to Argentina. There’s wonderful food everywhere, and the transportation is safe and modern. Chile is not like other Latin American countries where things don’t work. The coffee is good, the beds are good and the bathrooms are clean."

Could she be telling the truth?

Should we believe her?

While we decide, let’s relax and drink a toast to weird families everywhere.

What follows is Allende’s mother’s recipe for Pisco Sours, a preferred drink at summer gatherings in Chile.

Pisco Sours

Mix in a blender:

1 portion lemon juice 4 portions of Peruvian Pisco (a clear liquor similar to tequila) a little whiskey sugar to taste crushed ice Add one egg white (not whipped) and blend again.

Contact Chris Watson at cwatson@santa-cruz.com. If You Go WHO: Isabel Allende, ‘My Invented Country.’ WHERE: Capitola Book Cafe, 1475 41st. Ave., Capitola. TIME: 7:30 p.m. Tuesday. DETAILS: 462-6035.

Sat May 24, 2003 12:13 AM ET By Pascal Fletcher

CARACAS, Venezuela (<a href=reuters.com>Reuters) - Venezuela's government and opposition, seeking to end months of feuding, have agreed a political pact to hold a referendum on Hugo Chavez's presidency after Aug. 19, officials said on Friday.

The accord follows more than six months of negotiations between the two sides, which have been locked in fierce conflict over Chavez's rule.

Organization of American States Secretary-General Cesar Gaviria, who has brokered the talks, achieved a consensus late on Thursday on the framework agreement, an OAS official said.

"There is an agreement," the official told Reuters on condition of anonymity. He added the accord should be signed by Wednesday.

Despite the accord, an opposition party, Accion Democratica, planned to go ahead with an anti-government rally Saturday in a strongly pro-Chavez district of west Caracas.

Defense Minister Gen. Jose Luis Prieto and Interior Minister Gen. Lucas Rincon appeared on national television later on Friday to appeal to both sides to avoid violence during the rally.

Rincon said 2,000 police officers, supported by National Guard, would be on duty to prevent trouble at the protest.

International mediators and foreign governments have been pressing Chavez and his opponents to commit to a referendum to end the cycle of protests, strikes and violence that has gripped the world's No. 5 oil exporter since 2001.

Chavez, who survived a coup last year and a general strike in December and January, has said he is willing to submit to the constitutional referendum on his mandate. But his foes accuse him of trying to avoid a vote.

Chavez opponents say the populist president is ruling like a dictator and trying to install Cuba-style communism.

In the 19-point accord, both sides agree to shun violence, respect democracy and hold referendums for the president and other elected officials as laid down in the constitution.

The accord also endorses plans to disarm the civilian population. At least 50 people have been shot to death and several hundred injured in political violence over the last 18 months.

Both government and opposition negotiators hailed the political pact as a mechanism to reduce tensions.

"This clears the path to a referendum as an electoral solution to the political crisis," opposition representative Alejandro Armas told reporters.

Venezuela's constitution allows for a recall vote on the president's rule once he has completed half of his six-year mandate. In Chavez's case, this is Aug. 19.

To trigger the referendum, the opposition must collect signatures from 20 percent of the electorate.

The government also insists that the National Assembly must first select a new National Electoral Commission.

But the assembly, where pro-Chavez deputies hold a slim majority, is still haggling over candidates for the electoral authority which would verify the signatures for a referendum and set a date for the vote.

ELAINE SMITH, London Free Press Reporter   2003-05-24 03:06:35  

London's immunology researchers are now on par with those at Harvard and the Mayo Clinic.

A team of scientists from the Robarts Research Institute, the Lawson Health Research Institute and the University of Western Ontario landed a prestigious international research designation aimed at accelerating the discovery of treatments for immune system disorders.

"We are among what I would call a unique crowd," said Dr. Joaquin Madrenas, a Robarts physician and scientist and UWO professor who spearheaded the drive to become Canada's only FOCIS Centre for Clinical Immunology and Immunotherapeutics.

"This is a very important club, a very prestigious club whose members have the keenest minds in the world in immunology," added Dr. David Hill, scientific director of LHRI. "This is to be celebrated. We're a member of this club on merit."

The researchers involved in the collaborative effort represent four medical departments and eight clinical divisions at the three institutions.

"It's a virtual centre," said Madrenas. "That's the beauty of it. The institutions represented will continue to support the researchers, but we'll foster communication and interaction and drop the usual barriers."

The researchers will concentrate on immune-mediated diseases such as rheumatoid arthritis and multiple sclerosis.

"One in every four hospital admissions is related to an immune disorder, so both from a clinical and a financial point of view the implications are significant," said Madrenas.

The centre's projects will have a research component, a care component (for example, a patient registry for clinical trials) and an education component, such as a Web presence, which will allow for community involvement.

In the coming months, the centre network will have funding available for such items as the implementation of clinical trials and for assistance by young researchers.

The FOCIS centres selected by the Federation of Clinical Immunology Societies are confined to 22 in the U.S. -- places such as Stanford and Yale -- and eight more worldwide, including England, Italy and Venezuela.

"Here in London, we're finding treatments, cures and ways to affect people throughout the world," Mayor Anne Marie De Cicco told an audience at Robarts where the announcement was made. "We know how to come together in a strategic way."

Dianne Cunningham, Ontario's minister of training, colleges and universities, added congratulations on behalf of the province.

"This is a scientific first for London, for Ontario and for Canada," she said.

"We don't brag enough. I'm looking forward to the day we're announcing a new treatment for an immune-related disorder as a result of this FOCIS designation."

Patricia Yollin, <a href=www.sfgate.com>San francisco Chronicle Staff Writer Saturday, May 24, 2003

Manuelito Juarez, a strong-minded boy of 5, wants burgers for dinner. But his brother Osberto lobbies for "the chicken place." They bicker and balk until their father intervenes and tells them to arm-wrestle. The winner gets to choose.

It is the most ordinary of squabbles except for a few things: The boys are in Guatemala City, their father is in San Francisco, and they're in the middle of a videoconference.

"People don't believe it's real," said Gabriel Biguria, whose company, AmigoLatino, had arranged the session. "It's like something out of a science fiction movie."

Although videoconferencing has been around since the mid-'70s, mostly in corporate boardrooms, it's a new medium for immigrants and those they left behind -- especially in Latin America, where many families lack phones or computers. Businesses like Biguria's also have surfaced recently in New Jersey,

Florida and North Carolina.

"With more and more transnational families, this is going to happen more often," said Belinda Reyes, a research fellow at the Public Policy Institute, a nonprofit think tank in San Francisco. "It's just a reflection of globalism."

Biguria, who immigrated from Guatemala in 1987 and from Silicon Valley last year, decided that videoconferencing could help melt the distance.

He chose to open AmigoLatino in the Flood Building on Market Street because it's next to Muni and BART's Powell Street Station and because it houses eight Latin American consulates. Biguria depends on flyers in their offices, ads in Spanish-language papers and word of mouth to attract clients.

He and his wife, Estefania, have decorated their three-room office with objects from Latin America. Burlap bags of coffee, Indian weavings and ceramic fruits coexist with a $3,000 Polycom Viewstation camera.

HUGGING THE SCREEN

Although Biguria tells clients exactly what to expect, there is, inevitably,

a surrealistic jolt as they stare at a 29-inch Sony TV screen and watch relatives materialize in a Guatemala City office with posters of San Francisco Victorians on the wall.

Sometimes they freeze. Or try to hug the screen. Once the shock and awe subside, the mundane frequently takes over.

"They'll say, 'You're so fat! What happened to you?' " said Carlos Bedoya, whose videoconferencing business in Miami serves Colombian immigrants like himself.

"Sometimes they haven't seen each other for a long time," Biguria said. "The record is 25 years."

During sessions at AmigoLatino, a few things are guaranteed: tears, laughter and requests for more money.

Mario La Torre, who's based in Passaic, N.J., and has targeted the state's 20,000 Peruvians, said, "It's a roller coaster of feelings."

"It really is a powerful tool for uniting families," said Erika Pineda Sharron, consul general of Guatemala.

There are now 28,000 Guatemalans in the nine-county Bay Area -- among a total of 149,000 Central Americans -- according to the latest census estimates.

"Migration has been going on for decades for different reasons," Biguria said. "The result is the same -- split families."

LOGISTICS OF LOVE

For Biguria, the result is a videoconferencing business.

Since starting AmigoLatino in October, he's held exactly 100 sessions. Encounters run $30 to $40 for a half-hour, $60 to $80 for an hour -- more expensive than the widely used prepaid phone cards but less costly than collect calls.

"That's a fair price," said Glenn Adamo, a telecommunications consultant in Miami. "It's an exciting thing and an interesting thing. But it's also a logistical thing. How do you hook up critical masses of people with critical masses of people?"

Since the mid-'90s, a handful of entrepreneurs have tried. Most attempts failed because the technology was too expensive or problematic or the ventures were underfunded. These days the equipment is cheaper, and it works better.

"Now things are a lot more cost effective, so there's a greater likelihood of succeeding," Adamo said. "But it's not an easy proposition."

In December, Mario Martinez opened Enlaces, a videoconferencing service for Salvadoran families, in San Francisco's Mission District. Although the San Salvador native has had only a few clients, he's not discouraged.

"I think there's a market for it," maintained Martinez, who uses an ISDN phone line and charges from $35 for 10 minutes to $170 for 60 minutes. "I heard so many people say, 'I haven't seen my children in seven years.' I said, 'Man, that's a crime with the technology that exists.' "

Elliot Gold, who's put out TeleSpan, a teleconferencing newsletter, since 1981, said, "If you could see your family, of course, you would want to pay for this. I bet they will take money they've allocated for food."

Still, he added, success is unpredictable. "Consumer markets are really fickle," said Gold, of Altadena in Southern California.

FORMING A NETWORKING

Biguria only lately discovered his counterparts in Florida and New Jersey. Together with a Nicaraguan immigrant who operates a similar company in Charlotte, N.C., they've formed a network. Besides their home countries, they can connect to Argentina, Mexico, Brazil, Peru, Venezuela, Spain and Japan.

Eventually, these young Latinos want their companies to be places to send money back and buy goods for their relatives -- one-stop shopping.

"Once you're able to connect families, there are a number of parallel services you can provide," Biguria said. "You're managing their relationship already."

At 34, Biguria is a veteran of Silicon Valley. He worked for Hewlett- Packard and high-tech startups before opening AmigoLatino with his savings and a loan.

The company's logo is a bus -- the kind of bulging "chicken bus" found all over Latin America.

"It's how most people travel," Biguria said. "It talks to everyone."

It talked to the Juarez family on a recent afternoon. The three children of Oakland residents Consuelo and Osberto Juarez got on a bus with their grandmother, aunt and cousins for a two-hour ride to AmigoLatino's Guatemala City office.

'SACRIFICING OUR HEARTS'

It was the second video visit since January, when construction worker Osberto Juarez saw his children for the first time in four years. For his wife,

25, it had been a three-year separation.

"Here it's living. There it's surviving -- even though we know we're sacrificing our hearts coming here," said Osberto Juarez, 28, in Spanish.

He and his wife -- who came to the United States to make enough money to support their family -- hope to return to Guatemala in two years and build a house. Meanwhile, they rent a place in Oakland's Fruitvale. He puts up Sheetrock and she works at Nation's burgers. They call home once a week, write once a month.

The videoconference uses a high-speed dedicated Internet line. It is intense and immediate, with a picture clear enough to see that 9-year-old Blanqui has lost a tooth and that 5-year-old Victor Manuel can count from 1 to 26.

There is other family news. Blanqui wants a new dress like the shiny kind they show on TV. Osberto Jr., 6, is calling out his father's name in his sleep.

And "Manuelito" is lifting the skirts of the little girls at school.

''He learned it from his dad," said Blanca Ruano, who takes care of her three grandchildren while son Osberto and his wife make their way in the United States.

TEARS AND HOWLS

Suddenly, Consuelo Juarez begins to cry. Biguria dives under the TV screen for a box of Kleenex and sister-in-law Lilian Juarez says, "Don't cry. Because when you cry, the kids cry."

It's too late. Manuelito covers his face with his hands, crawls under the table and howls like a wounded young wolf. "Usually, I just can't watch," said Estefania Biguria, who starts dabbing at her eyes and leaves the room.

Finally, everyone calms down. Gerardo Bobadilla, who runs the Guatemala City office, brings Manuelito some french fries. Osberto Jr. holds up a small Guatemalan flag. And Osberto Sr. promises to send a bicycle and robot.

"It's like you're on Santa Claus' lap and it's their chance to ask for everything," Biguria said.

When it's time to say goodbye, the children wave and Consuelo Juarez touches the screen. After they're gone, she sinks back on the couch, sad and happy.

"This means a tremendous amount," said Juarez who, like her husband, speaks no English. "The only options we had were photos or the phone. We couldn't express all our emotions."

E-mail Patricia Yollin at pyollin@sfchronicle.com.