Ascensores: el tour

For being here for 2 months, I have seen very little of Valparaíso. I explore the city often, but mostly in the Plan, not in the cerros. I want to know the city like you know a person. I want to live it and experience it, not just see it to see it, to say I was there.

I begin my epic 3-day adventure by metro-ing my way to the Registro Civil for my new Chile ID. I still have the old one, mailed to me when I thought it was lost, but in the meantime bought one with a better picture. From there I moved on to barrio puerto, where before I had really only skirted the edges. The port neighborhood is distinctive, a little bit shady, fast-paced, and packed with graffiti murals, ascensores, and some of the oldest buildings in he city. I Rode my second ascensor, Ascensor Artillería, to Paseo 21 de Mayo, a walkway overlooking the port and providing a view of almost all of Valpo. This may be the longest ascensor ride available in the city. Once atop cerro atrillería, I sought out two things in particular: ascensor Villaseca and el Museo Naval y Marítimo. From afar I could see that the ascensor was not functioning, which made me really sad. But on to the museum.

To say that I was impressed is a gross understatement; it was absolutely fantastic. Chile's maritime heros were well-commemorated in what was really a palace, with artifacts, statues, cannons, maps detailing battles, model ships, soo much cool stuff. It was an extremely informative visit. Finally, I have become familiar with many of the people behind the names of streets and plazas all throughout Chile. I felt a sense of greatness just from moving through the place. Another favorite part included the room with all of the paintings of the faros, or lighthouses, of Chile. There are so many of them, and every one is rather unique. Also great was the are detailing shipping routes and exploring, with paintings of the legendary danger of Cape Horn, and the room detailing pirates and treasure. I enjoyed the museum so much that I went back to several rooms a second time, and would be willing to pay it a visit again.

Back down to the port on ascensor artillería (yay!) and onward, to explore more of the port. Next I rode ascensor Cordillera into cerro cordillera, the only ascensor to have a set of stairs adjacent to it the whole way up. I explored for a little while but not extensively, as I was advised not to do so in this particular area alone. I wandered to Museo Lord Cochrane, which was closed but which had a fantastic overlook of Plaza Sotomayor, Mirador Lord Cochrane. I took the cheap route back down to the plan, 161 steps. 161.

My next adventure was ascensor El Peral, but I couldn't find it. Turns out it is actually really easy to get to, but I'm an idiot. It turned out for the better anyway, because the next day I went there with Cristian. I moved on to Ascensor Concepción, the oldest in the city. This took me well into cerro concepción, where I had explored before with Thomas el vecino (German Thomas.) Past the Lutheran church to the sector around ascensor Reina Victoria. For me, each sector was defined by it's own ascensor. They are great. They are old and creaky, but full of charm. I love every aspect of the ascensores, their history, the colorful cars, the view, the incline, the rarity of such a mode of transportation. They are awesome, and I would ride them all the time for fun if I lived close. In all seriousness, they add a lot to the culture of Valparaíso. Some people take them every day, as part of their commute. Ascensor Concepción was one where I encountered commuters, not just tourists. The people there, those who ride the ascensor and those who operate them, are part of the history and part of the present, part of the old remaining in the new.

Ascensor Espíritu Santo also had commuters. This made me so happy, that the ascensores are not just for tourists but are used in daily life as a part of the public transit of the city. I was now in cerro bellavista, filled with graffiti. The pretty kind. Mural upon murals surrounded by more murals, in the open air museum, Museo a Cielo Abierto. I realized later that I missed seeing an entire street of murals, the museum extends on several streets. Even when I went back another time I still missed this street. I climbed into cerro florida to visit La Sebastiana, the house of Pablo Neruda. I had seen the outside once before, but now the time had come to go in. I got a little handheld thing that was my tour guide. It was kind of like a TV remote; you punched in the number of the area you were looking at and could listen to the history behind it. What a novel idea! I was confused at first though, because at first I thought the number corresponded to the floor, when really it matched a specific location on that floor (I realized when I saw a number 12 and was like oh, wait, this house does not have 12 floors...) there were a ton of interesting things about this house. It was ambitious but relaxed. interesting, historic, and monumental, a very Pablo Neruda place.

Then I decided that I was tired, and that it was not a good idea to stay in the hills close to nightfall by myself. I walked down cerro mariposa, passing on the street above ascensor mariposa, which unfortunately was not funcionting. I had been here before with the Germans, and descended the same shady stairs as before, back to the plan. I wandered further away from my destination in order have an extended troleybus ride. I take back what I said before about troleybuses; they are really cool. Valparaíso has the oldest working system of troleybuses in the world; the oldest buses were build in 1946. They were declared national monuments 6 years ago, and line 802 somehow continues to run, the only one in the world privately owned. In the middle of my ride, loud banging from the back of the vehicle caused the driver to stop, get off, open something on the side, bang around some more, get back on, and drive again.

I wonder how the troleybuses work in the sense of how do they stay on the tracks? Their power comes from the electrified wired above, along which run the cables that are attached to the bus. The electrical power is rather efficient compared to a diesel bus. I wonder how often dewirements occur (how cool of a word is 'dewirement'?!) I guess the drivers have to keep the vehicle really steady and must know exactly when to turn, because they need to match the route of the tanglement of overhead wires. I never before could imagine using a troleybus to commute, but that is what I saw. I hit rush-hour traffic, and the troleybus was packed with people heading home. I like traveling at this time because I know I am traveling with Chileans, not tourist, not extranjeros, real Chileans living their daily life. It is both a rushed time and a slower time to travel; rushed for the urgency to get home, but slow because there is so much traffic.

At the Jumbo complex I went into Easy to buy an adaptor for my US stuff. It was difficult to communicate what I needed to say the least. I have no idea how to say any words like 'plug', 'outlet', 'convert to Chile outlets', ha I could not even explain it well in English. It took 20 minutes, two confused customer assistants, a demonstration of me charging my camera (which was not successful in any way), some guessing, and poorly-constructed Spanish phrases like "I want to put my camera cable in the wall, but can't because it is from the US," to figure it out, but I finally found what I needed. It was great; I happily bought it for $3,98 (haha Dr. Seuss quote, no relation to anything here, but I like it anyway.)

Here I will cover my minitrip to Palacio Vergara, home of the Museo Bellas Artes in Parque Quinta Vergaro in Viña. This place is full of cool stuff, statues, paintings, more paintings, some really really cool paintings, and chandeliers, gigantic ones. It is a small but intriguing place, I mean it is a palace, so the building itself it awesome. The park too, is way bigger than I had time to explore, so of course I will return. Pronto.

temblores

Temblores; tremors! Not like the movie with the subterranean calzone monster, but earthquakes, small ones. I was sitting at my desk when I felt it, not enough to even be sure that it actually happened. My host mom confirmed it; I has just experienced a 4 on the richter scale, enough to notice but not to damage anything. Further inland, it was a 5, which makes it significantly stronger, as it is a logarithmic scale. It is not common to feel tremors in Cerro Recreo, probably because it is just that, a hill, unless they are fairly strong. Weak tremors that cannot be felt are common in this region though, and throughout much of the country. You can imagine my excitement at the ground moving the slightest it; tremors! We don't have those in PA, well not normally anyway.

I have eaten a kilo of miel in the past month. By myself. A kilo is 2.2 pounds. Of honey, thick unprocessed honey. To give you an idea, a kilo is about the size of a brick and a half, space-wise. Imagine that in my stomach.

I was just informed that micro drivers decorate their micro with christmas lights in December, taking bling to the extreme... I might pee my pants for the exciting micro rides that await me.

rr

I want to be able to roll my 'r's. At this point in time, I do not have the ability to do it. I hold on the hope that I can learn. It is so pretty. Cerro. Perro. Arriba, Rápido. The Chilean accent, fast and slow, soft and abrasive, so distinct, it is beautiful. I have come to enjoy it as much, if not more, than the Scottish and Australian accents. The Spanish language, it is so beautiful. I just want to sit all day and talk to Chileans, listen to them talk, learn how to roll my 'r's.

I want to be able to dance. I want to be able to salsa. At this point in time I have no salsa ability, but I hold on to the hope that I can learn. Jono said it well: "We are white; were were born to not be able to do this." From a cultural point of view, not from the side of race and ethnicity, this is true. I grew up in a society that dances much differently from latin dancing. Chileans salsa suave, smooth. The pairs are so good at it that they play games while they dance, adding new moves and following each other so it all is made up but looks flawless. I am in awe.

Mahoning Valley, Viña style

Plaza Recreo, sunset. The wind, the air, the light, it is like fall in Pennsylvania, which is happening right now. It's funny how so far away the climate is so similar, at the same time of year, when everything is moving in a new direction. Here we are moving towards summer, but it is like PA's fall, dry winds and fronts, rolling cumulus clouds, clear bright sunlight, crisp air. Fall is my favorite time of year. I watch the parents bringing their kids to the playground, always they want to go on the big slide first, to go higher on the swing. I used to be that little, I used to swing just like they do, only I spoke differently, but otherwise it was the same. Now I am here and I speak differently, but really it is still the same. For being so different, it is at times so similar. Maybe it is for the similar latitude. It's more than slight, more than pictures, it is energy and feeling. It is different, but the same. Not quite the same, the original is never lost. It is remembering October and November in the Mahoning valley, walks on the Blue Mountain, Hawk Mountain. It is walking among the tree farms and oak trees and collecting leaves. It is walking all the way to visit the buffalo, past the christmas trees, crisp leaves, wind. It is the best times of my life. It is my family. It is clear and cold. It is being a child, going on hayrides. It is Halloween and trick-or-treating. It is the Auburn lookout in the cold wind, where I want to jump of a cliff and fly away. It is memories. It is wonder and new experiences. It is bald eagles. It is cross country, running at Hershey in the bitter cold with 200 others, and loving the bitter pain, the good kind. It is exciting. It is the beginning of the best the year has to offer; cumulating with fall and halloween, the calm before the storm at thanksgiving, and the grand finale: Christmas. It is an energizing time of year, and it is here too. It transfers, but like all transfers, it cannot take away from the glory of the original. But it can still be fantastic.

micro taxonomy

I have organized micros into several categories, though they overlap and change frequently. The first, micros with Bling. This includes all of the following and more: charms, blinking lights, posters, pictures, flags, more flags, baby shoes, anything. The baby shoes are sometimes ones lost on the micro, later posted up front in hopes that the parent will once again encounter it. I actually saw a micro with a mercedes symbol (like the micro itself), dangling a foot from the ceiling, with a dreamcatcher (atrapasueños) hanging from it.

2. Party micro: any micro that transforms late at night, I expect from Wed to Sat, into a discotec, with flashing lights, bright music, and are packed full of dancers. 3. Music micros, with anything from blasting radios to singing guitarists, flute players, or apparently accordions, and 4. chill micros, quiet and comfortable, these are the ones with padded headrests. Ok they are not that quiet, there are always engine and traffic sounds, but I take this as relaxing background, because all I have to worry about is where I get off, nothing else.

I saw a coletivo with green and blue lights flashing about the interior; a party colectivo. I mean a lot of lights; it was like a lighthouse up on the hill. I considered taking it even though it was going the wrong way. On the micro today, a guitar guy got on and I considered staying on just to hear him play. I got the student fare three times today but not at all yesterday. Sometimes I can recognize the drivers who I know will give it to me, and if I am not in a rush I wait for them.

The Blue Danube Waltz

Micros do not run in constant loops. Maybe some do, I really have no idea. But the 504 does not. I took it with the intent of meeting my conversation group in Valpo, but it was headed towards Viña. No problem I thought, I will just wait for it to complete it's circuit. I waited, and it climbed. up up up. To the top of the hills, beyond. Everyone got off, and I knew I was in trouble. We got to what I am going to call a micro station, and the driver kicked me off. I was at the very top, with a spectacular view of Valpo, and an hour's walk from my destination. Lucky for me, colectivos were abundant here.

Between this adventure and being denied the tarifa escolar twice, I opted to take the metro home, both to save money and spend a little more time with Rachel after class. This was the best decision I made all day. You know how the guitar guys play on the micros? Well there was an accordion guy. On the metro, playing the Blue Danube Waltz. On the metro. The Blue Danube Waltz! It was like a movie; I stood gripping the handrail, pensive, thinking and observing the accordion man, the music resonating in the train. Rachel and I looked at each other and broke out in huge smiles at the thought that this kind of thing happens, randomly, in Chile public transportation. To say I was extremely excited is an understatement. I considered riding the metro until he got off too, that is how content I was with this experience. I also enjoy how it is prohibited for the music people to play or sing on the metros, and that they do it anyway.

monday mayhem

Classes in Chile are rather laid back in the sense that the procedure for changing the time, place, or otherwise, is rather open. I have become accustomed to this, but even so I can only handle so much. My education valores class changed rooms, again, without any communication from the prof. I arrived on time to the normal room. No one. Checked the room that we use on Wednesdays, another class there. Wandered aimlessly. Then went to reception, who directed me to a completely new room. 20 minutes late. It is said and I miss it, or sent through telepathy or something, because I am always wandering in search of the right place. This has happened about every other time I have gone to class; and I know ahead of time where it is supposed to be, but it changes anyway.

And so continued with the Monday mayhem; a fast micro ride (yay!) to Casa Central in Valpo for grammar, then micro ride (yay!) back to Sausalito for Responsibilidad Social. First of all, I leave 30 minutes early from grammar to make it on time. Second, today was the first day I had this class. I started class in the beginning of August. It is now September 21st. 7 weeks in. I added the class after the first 3 weeks, and ever since it has been cancelled, which resulted numerous times in profound confusion on my part. On this particular day, I went to the right classroom, or at least I had been told for two weeks that it was in room B8. I went to B8 and found another class. Sound familiar? This happened twice before with this class. Back to reception, who knows me quite well now. Next, I was directed to A7. The schedule posted on the door said it was my class. Yay! But no one was there, and I was 25 minutes late. You have got to be kidding me, I have spent like 4 hours of my life up to this point (really, if you include micro rides there just for this purpose) exclusively seeking out this class. But I found Luz and Daniela, from Valores, who have the same prof, and they took me to her office. She changed the class to start half an hour later. Excellent, I don't have to leave early from grammar now. The class itself was small, there were only 6 out of 10 in attendance, and it was based on discussion. We sat in a circle. I very much enjoyed the format, discussion of issues in education with Chileans, and the fact that we had the class at all. Next week's class was cancelled. I gather than the prof is doing observations for students in the field. And we left early. I might have this class for like 10 hours total this semester.

I took full advantage of the extra daylight by taking a sunset walk along Avenida España. The sky opposite the sun defies accurate description. It had been raining earlier but now the sky above was clear with black clouds in the lower half of the sky. The low light set off the buildings of a million colors in contrast to the blue ceiling and black background. It was a lot of things, surreal for one, bright, dynamic, delicate and immovable, my description does nothing to justify it.

Fiestas Patrias

Hello there audience, I have returned. Let's back up to the 19th of september, the day I returned from San Pedro.

As you well know, I spend the entire of 18 de septiembre, Chile independence day, on a bus. I strongly wish I could have spent it in Valparaíso, the best place in all of Chile for the festivities. On regrets, you can't do anything about it. In our case, we were stuck without bus tickets, so we made the most of it, and I am glad for the amazing experience in valle de la luna, which would have been missed otherwise.

And when I got back, guess who was here? Michael! The same travel companion of Easter Island and returner of the prodigal wallet. He was visiting Valpo and staying with GThomas (or if you prefer, Thomas el Vecino, as my family calls him). I was finally able to thank him for the favor, as I forgot during our chance encounter in Valle de Elqui, so overwhelmed I was by the sheer chance of it. I learned more of the Tale of the Prodigal Wallet. The night that the taxi driver returned it (half an hour after I had left) he came back and proceeded to push the button for every apartment in the building in search of an Ellen. So everyone in the building went down to the front door at the same time and there was mass confusion. Essentially, I indirectly evacuated the building. This is the second time in my life I have done that, though this time was infinitely less hazardous. I accompanied the Germans to Plaza Victoria for a cueca festival. I might never get tired of cueca, as I have seen it at least 5 times and dance it every week in my class, but still love it. We checked out Pablo Neruda's house, la Sebastiana, briefly as well, but did not go in as it is double the price on the weekends; they only give a student discount on weekdays.

Aside from the previously described celebrations in San Pedro, I did watch the parade in Santiago at home with Dani (if I had known I would have just gotten off the bus there and stayed). Wow that sounds lame, I watched the parade on TV. Well for the record it was great. And for the evening, we went to playa ancha for La Ramada, a huge carnival festival thing at Playa Ancha in Valparaíso. Now this is actually worth talking about.

La Ramada is not like the carnival in Hamburg [PA]. Not at all. It is about 6 times the size, with stands that are infinitely more interesting and about 3 times as tall, and it is packed. Like packed to the point where you could not walk through it. And it was awesome. If the scale of the place does not overwhelm you, the array of activities will. Included are an extreme number of food places where you can get just about anything, rides and games, shops, and discotecs, including a transvestite one that had curtains concealing the entire sector. It was full of the smell of everything BBQ, loud noises, lights and more lights. Just walking around to take all of this in, to say nothing of the people who were also perusing around, was quite the experience. We ran into several Chilean friends, some of the monitores, Caroline (who I know from MU as well), Cristian, and Maria, but we had plans to meet up with other friends after so we parted after a short while.

We hopped on a rather violent micro, with turns so abrasive that everyone standing was projected to the floor or seats, multiple times. The kids in the VIP seat up front love it though. Dani opted for more nighttime adventure, but I opted for bed, as I was finally out of travel energy. I was still awake when Dani returned home though, with bad news; she had been attacked, but was ok. She had been walking in Bellavista with a friend, and a guy ran up and tries to yank her purse. However, the purse was around her shoulder, she held on, and smacked the guy in the face. Kudos for reaction time! Her friend kicked the guy, but the flaite pushed him over, and bolted, without the purse. No one was hurt. So this happened next to a plaza, where there were lights, a lot of people, and police. As the flaite ran, police car(s?) were in pursuit, sirens and all. I hardly ever carry a purse, but now I will be sure not to. She was targeted specifically because she had a purse, no other reason. Petty crime like this is common, especially near the port area at night, though you are usually pretty safe with a group. I am not discouraged from visiting this highly interesting part of Valpo, but I will be careful.

San Pedro de Atacama

Every great trip begins with something going awry as you are about to leave. We were at the bus terminal in Valpo, two minutes before our bus was scheduled to leave, when Trena called and told us she had not left her house for the terminal (and she lives in a different city). Luckily for her our bus stopped at the Viña terminal too, 20 minutes later. We were the Magnificent 7, or that is what I wanted to call us, but only one other person understood the reference. 4 gringas, and 3 of the finest intercambio boys, one Japanese, one Swedish, and one Canadian. Dustin and Maija did not join us until we reached Calama, but the rest of us endured the bus together.

I use the word endured solely because San Pedro de Atacama is 25 hours worth of bus ride away from Valpo... 25. I admit to actually enjoying the marathon bus rides, though the few hours before you are able to fall asleep, when the lights are out but you are still awake, those are rough. Did I mention it was 25 hours on that bus? Determined to document such a monumentous journey, I took pictures of Jun and Joakim every hour to demonstrate the effects of such a trip on the mind. First, one entertain his or herself easily, as is the way with one who still has high spirits. In our case, we made signs to hold in the window, like 9 year old kids. The first one said ¿Dónde estámos? and this was legitimate, but then we progressed to 'te amo,' 'carreteamos (let's party!),' and it just went downhill from there. At one point I asked the bus man to translate some of the signs for me, but they were so obscene that he refused, and I had to ask several other passengers until I found someone willing to enlighten me. When I say man on the bus, I mean the guy that takes your tickets and hands out food and talks to you when you are bored. They are like flight attendants kind of (bus attendants?) I have no idea what to call him, so I will call him huevon de bus, which I will translate in this case as "dude."

The fun with signs faded, and I entertained myself with Transporter 3. At 11 they stopped showing movies, there was nothing, no lights or sound, just semireclined seats and 10-minute stops every 4 hours. Let me put this in perspective: if you are sitting in a class that is moving extremely slowly, and you have 25 minutes left and are thinking, wow, that is an incredibly long time to wait, multiply that feeling by 5,000. Semi cama is not conducive to REM sleep.

At 12 Rachel and I talked. At 1 I wanted to cry. By 2, I was the only one awake aside from the driver. At 3 I slept. At 5 the toilet in the bathroom overflowed. I soaked my shoes when I went in (what an interesting mix of fluids that surely was). At 8 I woke up again and we were suddenly in another world, one with long plains and no plants, no vegetation at all as far as you could see. The Atacama!!I slept again. I never thought I could endure such a trip, but it was enjoyable for the scenery and as always the people. We made good friends with the bus man huevon, and he showed us cool stuff like the mano del desierto, which is an 11 meter tall sculpture of a hand, about 75km south of Antofogasta, not close to anything.

To be honest, I overall greatly enjoyed the bus experience, and will likely do it again to go to the south. The interesting things outweigh the difficulty sleeping, and one can always curl up with a good book if all else fails.

We arrived in Antofogasta, the second largest city in Chile, under the assumption that our trip was only 21 hours in total, but it turns out that San Pedro de Atacama is 5 hours inland, not half an hour. Oops. My companions nearly slit my throat. 5 more hours might not seem like a lot, but after 25 hours in transit it... We had a stop to change busses and met up with Dustin and Maija in Calama, then powered on to San Pedro as the sun set. I sat next to a San Pedro resident who was not only extremely nice, but helped me significantly with desert vocabulary, and is the only reason we all got into the same hostel. I LOVE CHILEANS!! He called the owner and we all got in for 7 mil pesos, the best price in town during this busy time of travel. San Pedro is overrun with travelers because of fiestas de patrias, the independence day celebrations 18 de septiembre and all week, when Chileans have off of work and school. Most of our classes were cancelled to, which is why this week was ideal for this trip. It is always a popular one for PUCV exchange students; we ran into 3 other groups from our university there.

Our hostel was a stretch; the hot water was sporadic, the door to our room did not have a key and therefore could not be locked from the outside, and two people from our group had to share a bed the first night. It was sufficient however, and the owner, Ceaser, was awesome, and not just for his cool name. Rachel had been worried that it would turn out like the movie Taken when the man was leading us to the hostel, but he said his goodbyes and went on his way, we did not see him again, and all was well.

Monday, Salar, salt pools and Valle de la Luna

Because San Pedro de Atacama is so small, it has little public transportation, so the best way to get to the further points of interest is on a tour. We booked 3 days worth, beginning Monday afternoon. The morning was spent exploring the town. It is small and has unpaved roads, of which I am a big fan. The layout is as follows: restaurant, tourist agency, shop, minimarket, rental place, repeat about 20 times. We encountered various types of music in the street on a regular basis which was always interesting. The first restaurant we at at, Coyote Bike, also rents bikes, which is the best way to get around locally. Most Chilean cities are centered around a plaza de armas, and San Pedro's contains a church which lonely planet describes as being delightful and sugar-white, which is dead-on, a cute colonial church of adobe with a cactus roof.

Our tour commenced mid-afternoon with an excursion to Salar de Atacama, which is the expansive salt flat south of San Pedro. Here we swam in lagunas Cejas and Piedra. Swimming in the Great Salt Lake is surely an experience similar to this; you floated incredibly high in the water. It felt more like flying than swimming. I decided that it would be a good experience to put my head under, and even though my eyes were tightly shut, they burned for hours afterward from the salt. For a place so simple, it is absolutely beautiful, with distant peaks over 12,000 feet and endless clear sky and land.

Onward to Valle de la Luna. For quite a long time I have desired to visit this place, but never thought I actually would. I remember first learning about it and thinking about how cool that would be. There we were. We climbed and slid through extensive caves in cordillera del la sal before racing back to the van to make it for la puesta del sol en la duna mayor. The best place to watch sunset is on top of a massive sand dune, where you can see much of the valley, stunning in low lighting. We got there just as the sun set behind another dune. Opportunity missed. We ran up the dune anyway (do you have any idea how difficult that is? try running on a steep incline of sand for 1o minutes and see how far you get) as all the other groups were filing back down to their vans. It was still amazing, the place really does look like the moon, with incredible rock structures and windswept mountains. There were only about 10 people left up top when it happened. The sun set behind the horizon, not just the dune, and the sky lit on fire. All of a sudden the clouds were red, like molten magma red, with purple and blue and any other color that can be perceived as beautiful included. The entire sky, all of it. Opportunity seized! For 5 minutes it was like stagnant northern lights, magnified and at a lower latitude. Or doubts about missing the sunset for tardiness and clouds vanished, and those in a rush to leave missed the best view in the world.

We dined in Milagro, a restaurant with a massive fire pit right in the center, and this particular evening four tables of Canadian Infantry members who had just completed a sort of war game training competition in the desert. They had a strong interest in American politics, and decided that we [the gringas] were atypical Americans with open minds, shown by our time in Chile. We spent about 3 hours in that place, with fire and dessert and good conversation.

Tuesday: Flamingos and alpine lakes

When you think of the Atacama desert, the driest place on earth, do flamingos and alpine lakes come to mind? When I was little, I saw a program on TV showing flamingos in high-altitude salt lakes, with huge mountains and steaming water. Ever since, I wanted to see it ( I should stop watching TV is a common theme here). Here we were, though the steaming water comes later. In a part of the Reserva Nacional Las Flamencos (which also contains Valle de la Luna) where the ground consists of solidified hunks of salt, there is a series of lakes full of brine shrimp and a healthy breeding population of 3 species of flamingos. It is truly stunning, shorebirds and flamingos everywhere, Andean Avocets, Andean Gulls. I can't do justice to a description of several shocking pink flamingos flying with a background of the Atacama. And then there was Philip, a recent graduate from China who is working for a year in Santiago. We hung out and took pictures of flamingos and us with flamingos and us without flamingos. He is nothing short of awesome.

And Hernan, our tour guide, was the man! I love guides and have thus far only had excellent experiences with them.

From there to Socaire, a tiny town with a gorgeous church and an amazing little restaurant where we dined on our return trip from the alpine lakes. The alpine lakes!!! The journey was long, cold at 4,120 meters (13,500 ft) above sea level. The van struggled to move in the thin air. One volcano there, the most "volcano-looking volcano I have ever seen" was like a South-American Mount Shasta. The lakes, Miscanti and Meñiquez, were rediculously blue, surrounded my vicuñas and mountains and snow, and were some of the most breathtaking things I have ever seen. Others were annoyed by how long the trip took, but I could have rode around all day just watching. This place felt very dynamic, with strong winds, rolling clouds, and a bitter harshness in the cold, thin air. Though there is not a huge variety of animals here, it still seems full of life and energy. This altitude gave me a pounding headache.

Land mines- minas antipersonales- still exist, ready to blow, in several places close to San Pedro. Land mines! The big volcano at the end of town, Licancabur, (ok it is rather far away but still looms in the distance) is on the border between Bolivia and Chile, and still contains land mines from past conflicts. There are signs in places where the mines have not been deactivated or have not been fully checked. I hope they read Danger! in 10 different languages, "danger, you could blow off your legs and have no one around to help you. Dustin reassured me that they are not designed to kill, only to maim, so as to weaken the enemy by in essence weakening two people, the injured and the caretaker with the responsibility. Great. Smart and horrific strategy. My desire to run up a volcano without a guide has significantly diminished.

Another interjection, on the Spanish of Jun. Jun has the following as his Spanish vocabulary: Que rico! Demaciado. [insert name]+ -ito or -cito, ¿cachai? and sí po. He uses these expressions in ways that are not actually used in spanish, and in a context that makes no sense at all. At the restarant in Socaire, he called the waiter "caballerito," which is not a real expression, but could be said as a form of endearment, I guess. I saw food projected invuluntarilly across the room and many people nearly falling out of their chairs in reaction to this. Oh, Hernan was always called "choferito." As such, I became known as "Ellenita," which Jun and Joakim still use.

On our trip vuelta, we made two stops, one in the town of Toconao, and one at a place where there were trees that was just like an orchard, except the trees did not produce fruit and it was a desert. In Toconao we found yet another pretty church and LLAMAS! I have always loved llamas, and it has been a long-time desire to see them. The owner of the llamas lets them run around, so I got to play with Macarena, the huge brown one, and the smaller "gringa" llama, white with blue eyes. Soon after in the orchard place Jun and Joakim, keeping true to their tradition of mayhem, sought out locals to hang out with. We briefly met a man who had the day before eaten his goat (the skin was on the fence). If you go someplace without interacting with the people there, you are missing out.

We found out that we could not get a bus back to Valpo until Friday, Chile independence day, and the worst possible place to be during the celebrations. Ah well, our search lead us to extensive artesian shops and the Terra Oasis, a cheap but top notch restaurant owned by a team of friendly Chilean women whom the boys harassed for the entire evening, including after the rest of us left. In Chile, a salad often means a serving of several varieties of vegetables rather than just lettuce, such as fresh cucumbers and tomatoes. In Chile, lentils = delicious, as does fruit and cream, and any kind of tea. We returned to this restaurant twice more, once to eat and once to visit.

I will once again suggest hanging out with your fellow hostel residents. Everyone was Chilean, because for the week of 18 de septiembre many businesses close and so Chileans vacation. Curiously, they were all from Santiago, all suggested not to go to Calama, and all offered to give us "real" Santiago tours, not touristy tours. And then there is Ceasar, who is always interesting.

Wed: Geysers/valle de la Muerte/sanboarding/machu picchu mini

After almost exactly a two hour nap, I found myself boarding the van bound for a place of extreme heat and cold. Iceland! Just kidding, that is too far. Two hours and a rough ride later, there was sufficient light to see the Tatio Geysers, the world's highest geyser field. Every photograpg I have every seen of the geyser field shows early morning light with bright sun and very visible steaming geysers. There was no sun, and therefore the geyser steam was not as vivid as I expected. It didn't matter though, because it was still spectacular, and as at valle de la luna, we ended up lucking out anyway. While we were at the field, it snowed, even more in the mountains around us. By the time we were ready to leave, the clouds have cleared and the land was brilliantly white with fresh snow and cut by harsh wind. It was absolutely stunning, as good as any sunrise you will ever see.

I was somewhat unnerved by the fact that we were essentially standing on top of burning water. Some of the geysers have rings of rocks around them to prevent visitors from falling through where the crust is weak. You walk in the field at your own risk, and are give a brochure that details what do to if you are burned (and that the nearest hospital is in Calama, at least 3 hours away). I enjoyed when Jun stood in the steam from a dry geyser and enjoyed the warmth ("Que rico!" but was shocked by the cold when he stepped out ("demaciado frío!") After significant geyser exploring, we had a hot breakfast closer to the 6 meter tall geyser "the assassin." Hernan served us coffee "just like starbucks!" and Philip and I toasted to our hot milk in styrofoam cups. Finally, we made it to the hot springs, where we stripped down in the subfreezing (it was still snowing) and hunted fervently for the warmest spots, some of which were definitely capable of burnage. Getting out of that water was super fun, let me tell you. So was changing, in a flat open field dripping wet in constant wind.

Overall my experience at Tatio was top-notch; it is an incredible place to visit. We teetered down the mountainside with the other tourist vans to a creek which for some reason was not frozen over. Here we found an array of waterfowl, the names of which I made Hernan write on a list for me so I could remember and identify them later.

Machuga is an alpine town with a permanent population: 8. On our visit during our decent, there were two residents. Most have houses elsewhere during the lull in tourist season. I loved it; it had the true feel of an Andes town. Another cool church too. It also had an extremely odd combination of assets, as follows: 1. solar panels on thatched roofs, 2. flamingos, (again, high rocky mountains and flamingos?!) and 3, within the same field of view as the first two, llamas. LLAMAS!! and flamingos, practically hanging out together. I love llamas. I want to own one. There was an entire herd of them. I have just fulfilled so much more of my life by visiting this place.

On the two hours ride back, we stopped along a cliff to look for the fuzzy things that are like rabbits with long tails. I have no objection to this, as you well know, but we were right on the edge. I could look right down into the chasm of doom, and I was not even on the chasm side of the vehicle. Hernan has guts, let me tell you. The cute fuzzies were nowhere to be found. Philip learned Jun's 10-word Spanish vocabulary, and likely received langage and emotional scarring. His English is better than his Spanish, but he learns fast and is fun to talk to in either language. He joined us for lunch at Adobe, which is recommended as one of the top eateries in all of Chile. I see their point. I was served pumpkin soup, some unbearably delicious ají chicken, and absurdly good chocolate dessert square things. I may have found something more tasty than artichokes.

After several days of whining to travel on bike, I finally made it happen. I convinced the boys to rent bikes and sandboards, and off we went. When I was getting directions from the sandboard shop guy, I asked him if there were any land mine areas close by that we needed to avoid, and he told me that sandboarding was an extreme sport where you have to dodge the land mines ("They are not intended to kill" he said). True to form, I misinterpreted his directions to find Valle de la Muerte, and instead took us to to the Pukará de Quitor, a precolumbian fortress/settlement seated on a hill overlooking the oasis at San Pedro., the last stronghold against the Spanish forces in the north. Jun realized what it was at first, but I thought it was an overlook at first and continued to look for it until Philip pointed out that I had passed it, by this point twice. June describes Quitor as "Machu Piccu chico," and it really is a lot like that. The foundations wind up the cerro and are, in my opinion, extensive, and rather impressive. The view at the top is phenomenal. It is absolutely surreal to climb around in such a site, with truly ancient features.

In a race against the sunset, we bolted towards Valle de la Muerte, which means death valley. No one has died here; it was so named when the description of "valle de marte," like mars, was misinterpreted. Here we wound through a bone-dry towering canyon towards an equally high sand dune. High is not descriptive enough; it was like sahara desert massive big dune. It took me 10 minutes to climb to the top. I consider myself an extreme athlete now that I have successfully slid down a massive sand dune on a pink snowboard without falling, at least by the 4th time anyway. We just kind of went and did it, no instructor, so I am sure our form was horrific. We stayed until past sundown, when the low light lit up the canyons and valleys and sand and lenticular clouds. Somehow we navigated back in nearly pitch black (I am getting to be a pro at this), which was tricky as we frequently hit un-bikable patches of deep sand. Upon our return, we went back to Terra Oasis for an equally delicious meal as before and then slept like the dead. I literally could hardly hold my head up, I was that tired. The altitude, about 2,400 m (7,900ft) surely affected this; after biking for 5 minutes I was rather tired, I have no idea how I made it back actually.

Thurs: museo/valle de la luna 2/observatorio

After a good 9 hours of sleep I was good to go again, but everyone else slept in until 12. I utilized my time to check out the Museo Gustavo Le Paige, a very organized octagonal museum, which had an impressive array of local artifacts. The artifacts preserve well in such a dry environment. I reunited with the others (Jun and Joakim left to Calama to fly back to Valpo) to head to a 18 de septiembre parade in town with Stefania and Sebastian, two Chileans from Santiago who shared our hostel. We enjoyed the 18 de septiembre parade next to the plaza de armas, which included everything from bands to the Chilean army, which was rather impressive. We moved to more festivities for cueca in traditional costume and free empanadas. Comida para probar included Mote con Huesillo, dehydrated peaches and juice with barley on the bottom, served cold in a glass, and kabobs with llama meat, hot dog and onion. We ran into Philip again, hung out for a bit, then opted for more biking in the afternoon. This time though the girls wanted to visit the ruins of Quitor, which I had already seen, so I decided that a more in-depth tour of Valle de la Luna was in order. Well, I had decided this since I saw it the first time 3 days prior, but I never thought I would have time for it.

You may think that biking alone through the world's driest desert at a decently high altitude with preexisting muscle fatigue is a ridiculously unsafe way to pass your time. I disagree. It was the most spectacular thing I did in San Pedro. Plus, tourist vans passed every 3 minutes, so help was close if needed. The solitude and simplicity and beauty of the desert are amazing. That being said, I did not even know if I would make it to the valley on bike, though only 10 kilometers away, I still struggled for the thin air. But make it I did. I promptly went the wrong way as soon as I entered the reserve, into Coyo, an indigenous village, which was really cool but not in the direction I was heading. Just as I got back on course I received a call from my host mom. In the middle of the Atacama. "Hi, I'm great, I'm coming home in two days, just biking in Valle de La Luna." It was a weird conversation, to call from this place. Next, crossing the cordillera de la sal range was rough, I walked my bike up the entire thing. Down the other side I passed duna mayor again and made my way to the Tres Marias. This is probably the most famous image of the valley, three twisted rock spires rising from the desert floor. There was a tour van there with only the guide sitting in it. He said he was waiting for his group, which was at duna mayor watching the sunset. I thought it was cool that he was just chilling out alone with the three marias. He directed me toward a nearby salt mine, which I explored just before sunset, which I watched at the tres marias, away from the dune crowds. I loved that place. It may sound like a stark reality, but it is fabulous in my opinion. It's open and eerie, intriguing with different landforms, almost magical, and really does look like the moon. The return journey was almost entirely downhill, which meant the return was an hour in contrast to the nearly 3 hour trip there. For the third time in Chile, I biked back at night, enjoying the expansive unspoiled sky.

The only thing we could do to appreciate the sky more was to go to the observatory. Trena and I hauled our tired selves to the observatory micro that led to the site just out of town, for a two and a half hour tour. I believe the couple that runs it is originally from France, but they each speak seriously 5 different languages. 5. The tour itself was rather impressive, and included time at all of the telescopes and thorough explanations about way more than I thought existed outside our atmosphere. It was intensely interesting. The group was most intrigued however by the, what do you call it, a light pen, but super, a super light pen. It emitted a green light beam so the guide could point out stuff to us. But I mean the light was so strong that it looked like it actually touched the sky, which appeared as a black blanket stretching between all sides of the horizon. I am convinced that if that light beam hit your eye, it would melt out of the socket. Impressive also were the frequent shooting stars, of which I caught 6, one through a telescope. I am a huge fan of all tours being in Spanish, and was surprised that I was able to understand the names and technical vocabulary, but somehow that worked out, in part for an explanation of new terms, as many people in this group spoke Spanish as a second or third language.

The best way I found to start a conversation with a stranger while in transit is to ask where they are going and where they are from. From there you can get into asking what those places are like, and they will inevitably ask where you are from. Bam, conversation started. I used this process on the return bus trip to meet a number of interesting Chileans. The first of which gave me a fabric keyring thing for the 18 de septiembre celebrations. I regret traveling on the most important of days in Chile, but it was our only choice. It was also incredibly inconvenient; we could not get seats together (actually better because then you get to talk to Chileans) and all of the food places are closed. And the speakers placed no sound unless you had earbuds, which I did not. Nevertheless, I enjoyed Marley and Me, made possible with Spanish subtitles, and reading the Old Patagonian Express, before several hours of terrible sleep. Folks, here ends the tale of San Pedro. You are all probably like yay!! Such verbose summaries are not necessary!! My adventure for the north of Chile is not yet satisfied, but my vision of seeing valle de la luna and alpine flamingos, which I have had for quite a while, is more than satisfactory.

bling-bling, chicos, and streetsmarts

Please excuse my random thought stream and lack of connectors.

I am getting rather good at the last minute trip planning thing. Yesterday Joakim and I spent about 3 hours searching for a bus online but finally ended up meeting at the terminal because buying online was a pain. Our entire communication process was done via skype, but the catch is that he did not have a microphone or camera, so he typed all of his responses and I talked to my computer without any audio response. This became officially known as Helen-Kellering (please please please don't take offense, I had to write about it, it was amazing) It was even better when I received a phone call from Jono, so I was talking on the phone while Joakim was listening on skype but could only respond with messages.... mass chaos.... then my host mom walked into my room and it was pandemonium, in the best sense. It was an interesting situation to explain in Spanish, but she understood when Joakim sent greetings to "mamacita" via typed message, with my translation.

What is the most multicultural thing I have ever seen? Thomas' (mentiroso) birthday, complete with at least 12 nationalities represented, a piñata containing nunchucks and beaten with a squash racket, an array of attractive intercambios, and assorted hats, including traditional chilean and the glittery cardboard birthday kind. A surprising number of people asked me if I was Chilean, though mostly they asked this before they heard my obvious accent and significant problems with the past tenses; apparently I don't look extremely gringa. I love the Europeans, because they don't always know instantly where I am from. In general though I respond "Pennsylvania" when asked where I am from, because normally the need to explain my American-ness does not exist.

Note: Chileans think spanglish is hilarious. I accidentally said 'cheapo' instead of 'barato,' which was a genuine accident, I do know better than that, but the employee in the supermarket practically rolled on the floor from laughing, it was awesome. Also, we know that embarazada does not mean embarrassed, but bota is boot and bote is boat (barco is ship, which I prefer to use anyway because everyone thinks it's funny), and preservativos are definitely NOT preservatives.

Just when you thought micros couldn't get any better, think again! Apparently if you ride a micro on a Thursday night they turn into party micros, or so I have named them. Also known as "micros bling-bling." The party micros (and some random micros and colectivos as well) have BLING, micros with bling!! Flashing lights at the front and along the side add [blue] color to the micro that is otherwise unlit by normal florescent overhead lights. Then the driver turns up the music, and the place practically becomes a discotec, with a full crowd singing and dancing. Imagine my excitement! I want to spend next Thursday riding the micros for the entire night, just riding around on party micros. Haha, maybe I rode the only one, I have no idea, but I will test it out to see.

You will be glad to know that my street smarts have proven to be up to par on more than one occasion. I was with Dani and Jono a couple of days ago, on our way home as we all live very close, when a Chilean who was walking the same way stopped to converse with us. I immediately made a buffer space when I saw that his hands were in his pockets, because of course he could conceal a weapon there. Turns out that his hands were cold, but I've made my point. Side note learned from this walk, two actually: 1. I learn a huge amount from talking to Chileans outside of class, people who I know and don't know, I learn more than in concentrated force-fed language, and 2. if you ever walk anywhere with Jono, be sure to allow two extra hours for him to play with the dogs on the street. Yes, it took us over two hours for a 20 minute walk. As he made friend with a pack, and in particular, Rufus.

Now for my second example of my handy street knowledge. First, an overview. Chileans say hello and goodbye with a kiss on the cheek. However, some cheeky boys (if you pardon the pun) like to turn their head quickly when a girl says goodbye so that the kiss intended for the cheek lands elsewhere. I was all kinds of ready for this and turned away quickly, so the clever chilean boy was cheated instead of me. My point was made, and all was well. Feel better about my safety yet?

I had my first actual salsa lesson a few evenings ago at Ache Havana in Valpo. Franciska and I joined the class when they were still practicing the basic steps, but they moved on to dancing in pairs waaay to fast and I couldn't apply my new salsa knowledge to the paired dancing to save my life, but somehow dance I did. I luckily had a very patient partner who learned about 8 times as fast as me. I think there is more than one kind of salsa, and that this may be a Cuban version, I need to research it a bit more.

My education classes keep getting canceled. I only have two, one that meets Monday and one that meets Mon-Wed, and all were cancelled this week. Though this is outwardly exciting, it is mildly upsetting at the same time because I have not been to my social responsibility class yet. I added on the very last day of the drop-add period, and the once-a-week class was cancelled twice, and we do not have the class independence day week. I keep showing up confused and spent from my rapid commute from Casa Central, where I have to leave early to make it to this class. Ah well, I have the reading assignment and am good to go for whenever the class starts anyway.

Have you ever had a craving for celery? I have. I did not foresee it, but the celery here has actual flavor, good flavor, as do all of the fruits and vegetables. My epic food adventures of late include the equivalent of about 3/4 of a loaf of bread with smashed avocado and a breakfast of mashed yoghurt and banana, both of which I highly recommend.

In preparation for Chile independence day, there is a boom of Chilean flags: on the micros and colectivos, sold by vendors at every corner, everywhere. Banners and signs for festivities abound, and the city buzzes with excitement and protests. Lucky for you I will be able to report about the independence weekend firsthand as I will live it upon return from San Pedro de Atacama.

A Thief in the Night (flight from the flaite)

This post will not make any of you very happy, but I want everyone to know what happened and learn from it. Everyone involved was ok, everything is ok, don't worry.

If you read about La Serena, this is the detailed account of the attack. If you have not, read the La Serena post first. On Saturday night when GThomas and I were exploring the city, we were attacked. We were returning to our hostel after walking around the city and decided to take a slightly different route. We were close to the Plaza de Armas, close to a festival, two or three blocks away, around people, but it was far enough. There is a strong line between the good section and bad, and we crossed it without realizing because it was a well-lit, clean area with cobblestone streets; it was nice. Regardless, we ignorantly turned onto the main drug trafficking route and were walking along when I heard a car. I paid attention to this because I was on high alert mode, because it was night, about 9:30, and there were no other car around. I looked over my left shoulder to see two men in black masks and jackets jumping out of a black SUV at exactly the same time. This image will never leave my head, it was the scariest thing I have ever experienced.

Immediately I knew they were after us, so I yelled to Thomas and began running as fast as I could. We were at a T-intersection, and I ran to the right. After a short distance I knew I was safe because I heard no one behind me. When I stopped and turned around, the men were running back to the car. I watched them drive away and ran back to Thomas, who was in legitimate shock. When I had run away, he reacted slower, not immediately realizing why I was running. He looked at me, then saw the men, and ran to the left. He had what was obviously a camera bag on his shoulder, and was slower than me, so was a very easy target. One man stopped short of him, one approached him. Knowing that he was not going to get away, he stopped, turned around, and gave the man his bag. The man had pulled out a gun and was pointing it at him, but upon receiving the bag turned and ran. I saw none of this, as I was running away.

After the attack I feared they would come back for me and knew we had to move fast. My phone had no credit left (I could make emergency calls, but I did not remember that at the time), and his phone was stolen, so we ran quickly to the plaza, where there were lot of people. We checked out a public map and saw that the police station was a block from where the attack was, but neither of us were willing to go back, so we went to our hostel and called the police from there. Thomas used a phone from other Germans at the hostel to call his credit card company and cancel his cards.

Thomas lost two cameras, one semiprofessional and one compact digital like mine, his wallet with cards, money, IDs, and his phone. But neither of us was hurt. Now it's time for my safety rant. Regarding this specific incident, I believe we both reacted in the best way possible, and that our reactions increased our chances of not being hurt. In this case, running in different directions served us well; it was the only thing that saved me from being robbed too, and increased the chances for both of us. It was also good that I immediately realized the magnitude of the situation, so we were less surprised and were not attacked by force from behind. Also, Thomas did well by stopping before the man reached him, which increased his chances of not being tackled or otherwise forced to stop. Giving up his bag immediately was also good. What was not good was our location. We should have found out where the bad sections were before we went exploring. Also, carrying an obvious camera bag, and having all belongings in the same place, is a bad idea and makes you a target, increasing the chance of you losing everything.

I have some suggestions to avoid situations like this. First of all, travel with someone, preferable a group, especially at night. Always be alert, never take chances. When you go somewhere, ask at your hostel or otherwise where the good and bad areas are so you know ahead of time, because sometimes you cannot tell. Don't make yourself a target. I carry my camera in my pants pocket tied around my belt loop, so it's hard to grab, and it's always underneath my jacket or sweatshirt tied around my waist, so it is hidden. Same for my wallet. I don't often carry a backpack, but I am very careful when I do, and if there are a lot of people around, I carry it in front. Usually I carry a bag with only things I need for class, and I wear it across my body and in front where I can see and hold it, decreasing my chances of a grab and run attack. If you are not easy to steal from, you are much less of a target. I carry money in two places always, in case I have a weapon pointed at me I can surrender money and get away without being hurt and still have money to get home. Also, I am really vigilant, always aware of when I am isolated and around people who might be capable of harm for instance. And I back up everything, my pictures, I have my phone numbers saved on my computer too, photocopies of everything including ID cards, everything is backed up so that if I am robbed it is not a complete disaster. Make it so that if you are robbed, you lose a minimum of stuff. And of course I only carry what I need, and if for instance I need my passport, I carry it in a holder underneath my clothing. I recommend a money belt for below your clothes or in your pants, or something that goes around your waist, that is not visible. Girls can put money in their bra because it is well-hidden. Knowing always that as a foreigner you are a target by default is a good place to start.

In my case, it served well to run away in separate directions because the chances were better for both of us. I would think that running is generally a good idea if you think you can get away or have a place to run. If a weapon is pulled, do what they tell you, give up your stuff, it is all replaceable no matter what it is, it is not worth you getting hurt. If there is a knife pulled you might be able to get away, it depends on a lot of factors, but if it is a gun there is nothing you can do, give up your stuff, unless they try to put you in a car. If you are put in a car, your chances of surviving are not good, so fight them, even if you are hurt you probably have a better chance of fighting in this case.

I don't walk around with fear, but with caution and common sense, and a plan. La Serena is generally very safe, as are most places, you just have to know where not to go and when and take precautions. Chile is not an overly dangerous place; remember that these things can and do happen anywhere in the world. With the precautions I take, I walk around decently safe.

After discussion about how likely it was that the gun was real, Thomas and Dani and I decided that we should walk around with belts full of kitchen knives, water guns, forks, and boiling milk with which we can defend ourselves from flaites. I am quite open to this idea. Stand back, here we come! Don't mess with the gringos; they will throw harmless objects (well not the boiling milk)at you and run away in different directions.

La Serena/ Valle de Elqui/ Reserva Pingüinos

The adventure of La Serena begins with me waiting at the bus terminal in Valparaíso and German Thomas arriving not 30 second before the bus left. It was a double-decker bus; you can imagine my excitement! This trip was a rather spontaneous decision. I wanted to go to Mendoza but we decided that one full day there was not enough, so we pushed it for Valle de Elqui, a 7.5 hour bus ride north. Once again I packed to leave half an hour before I left the house.

I never would have predicted that a bus trip this long could be enjoyable, but it was very much so. The scenery was great, the seats were comfortable, they showed movies the whole time that were hard to hear but that's ok, and when you were hungry, they brought around cheap food like meat sandwiches and pastries. The only bad part of the experience was entering the bathroom in full light only to be shrouded in darkness, without knowledge of location of the light switch, when we entered a tunnel. I finally got my bus ride through a mountain pass, slightly alarming, especially at night, but good all the same.

Upon arrival we made our way to the hostel, which was packed full of Germans and Estadounidenses. The owners were the nicest people you could ever meet. They ended every sentence in 'po'; once the lady, in reference to the German with dreads, said that if he did not cut his hair he would have "pelo por aca po." Everything po, I loved it.

With a few hours before we were tired, we headed into town on foot. The center of La Serena is pretty and clean, with a large plaza de armas and a lengthy plaza that we named plaza desnudas. Eventually we made our way to a restaurant, where we spent just about the entire evening talking to the waiter, who was amazingly interested in our stories. He gave us travel trips for San Pedro de Atacama, thought it was hilarious that I loved a two-story bus, and explained the reasoning for the brand name 'The North Face', something to do with the north side of a mountain being harder to climb. I also collected the nickname Nena, short for Elena, and I like it a lot.

Day 2

We arranged for a tour of Reserva Nacional Pingüino de Humboldt, which is about an hour and a half north of La Serena. On the way, we stopped to check out the desierto florido, which happens when there is extra rain, in this case 4 days of rain during the winter instead of 3. The dormant seeds sprouted and we saw some spectacular desert flowers. Finally, we made it to the shoreline where we joined another tour group and departed on a motorboat (which I called a 'ship' the entire time) to Isla Choros. This was an island set aside specifically to preserve the marine life there. The three islands in the reserve a full of marine birds and mammals, especially Humboldt Penguins. There were Red-legged Cormorants as well as Neotropic, Piqueros, pelicans, and adorable penguins amongst rocks and cacti, yes cacti and penguins were in the same place. Also notable were the sea lions, some of which were massive. One slid into the water near our boat and we were all freaked out, the thing was half the size of our boat.

We made our way to Isla Damas where we had about an hour to hike around white beaches, rock outcroppings, and chase lizards. It was weirdly chilly on an island that looked tropical. Finally, we motored back to shore. Somehow I defied the odds and did not get seasick. I credit this to an absurdly large breakfast and calm seas. After a dainty lunch with the Europeans (everyone but the guide and myself) we made the return trip to La Serena. Determined to see the city, if only by night, we set out again on foot. I have been waiting for a long time to get pictures with the Claro advertisements with Don Francisco, which are amazing, and we found a bulletin board that was accessible. He became known as the 'weon de Claro."

Here the story gets sketchy. We stumbled on a cuerca festival in the plaza de armas. On cuerca, I love it, the costumes, the dance, the music, everything. Later we meandered up to the hill at the end of town to the huge military castle thing. We were too late to enter, but a guard led us close to he building to see it for a few minutes. We felt safe with a military escort anyway, he should have returned us to our hostel at this point. It was the return walk where things went wrong. The center of La Serena consists of clean stone streets and nice arcitecture, a nice friendly place. Wrong. Two blocks from the plaza two guys jumped out of a car and chased us, successfully robbing Thomas. Luckily no one was hurt. See the post above for a detailed account. After the attack we returned to our hostel to cancel his credit cards and call the police to us, as the station was close to the attack site and we were not about to go back.

Day 3

After a late night before, we left rather late for Valle de Elqui. In Vicuña, where we changed busses halfway to Pisco Elqui, we met three other college students who were going the same way and hung out with them for a few hours, exchanging stories of attacks and robberies. Once in Pisco Elqui, a tiny town at the center of Pisco production (pisco is a cocktail made from grape brandy), we toured around the town on our own, ate some really good local papaya, and opted for a horse tour. Though initially terrified that I would be thrown off of a cliff, it turned out to be ok. The valley is comprised of insanely steep mountains, and I had no idea how we were going to get anywhere, it looked impossible. Before we got far though we ran into Michael, Thomas's German friend who went with us to Isla de Pascua. It was pure coincidence; neither party had any idea the other was there that day. Chile is apparently the country of crazy coincidences. We were riding along trying to stay on our horses and bam! there is Michael, walking along and wondering where we came from.

The scenery in Pisco Elqui is fantastic. Many of the mountains are snow-capped and impossible to climb, ridiculously high. As we approached the overlook, the sun made it through the clouds and onto the peaks, an amazing sight, the valley full of shadows and light and snow and steepness. To the left was the pass that we drove through, and this was the best of all. This is only relevant to the 2008-09 Lenhardt staff, but I feel like the image I saw was like the painted poster I have, with mountains and sunset. It is impossible to describe or portray in picture form

Finally we descended, what seemed like straight down. My horse kept going all over the place because I was taking pictures and not steering. Our guide was amazing, we talked to him for like 40 minutes before catching the bus back to La Serena (2 hours) then to Valpo. It was so interesting to talk to the one guy we met, who lives in Florida but goes to school in Oxford, and is studying Latin American Hisory. Oh, I forgot the Queltehue. This is a bird named after a Mapuche word for something like guardian of the land, because you can't get anywhere near it without it raising the alarm. By 6:30 Am we were safely back in Valparaíso. We did not have to worry about getting back to Recreo by night, because the sun was already up. Three days of quite the adventure, both good and bad.

I am that gullible

This has nothing whatsoever to do with Chilean language or culture, but I am going to tell you the story anyway because it's pretty funny. Last evening, Australia Thomas called to let me know that his cousin Gary had just arrived on a surprise visit from Australia. This was exciting news, for surely the cousin of Thomas must be just as funny as he! Thomas lamentably had to go back home to finish preparing for a test the next day, but he told me to go to Ken's house in Viña to meet Gary. I called on the way, and Ken sounded excited enough to explode. Upon arriving, I met this dashing man from Australia, who had an uncanny resemblance to Thomas.... quite the resemblance, so much so it was unnerving. He had a surprisingly different accent and a different way of talking. He ushered me to where everyone else was excitedly talking about their new friend, who was now excitedly asking about how my time in Chile has been. By this point almost two minutes had elapsed. I began to think that he looked exactly the same as Thomas, like a brother... yes, I was looking at my friend who was pretending to be another person and did not realize it. All he did was cut his hair and borrow a jacket and take off his rings and change his accent and I bought it. I was staring at someone I knew the whole time, and Gary does not exist. Believe it, but also know that the entire thing was rather convincing, elaborately concocted about 25 minutes before my arrival and coordinated between about 8 different people. Thomas then attempted to convince me that Gary was real but died in a bus accident, and then called his dad in Australia to talk to me so I would believe it. Turns out the call was to Jono, which in fact is not his dad's name, and Jono was standing in the next room. I did not buy that, or that he has "flash cancer." I will have you know that I once convinced Thomas that I threw javelin, and that one time I impaled someone (at least I think he was convinced...) Jono didn't buy it. This was the third ridicules trick that was successfully played on me. This group of friends shall from now on be know as the liars, mentirosos.

Today Dani and I went on an outing to the Botanical Garden in Viña, a fun 20 minute micro ride from our house. The garden contained plants from all over the world, including a display of plants from Robinson Crusoe Island, which is a territory of Chile. There were some pretty awesome trees which apparently are naturally orange (Thomas probably spray painted them) and lots of neat little pathways, ending at a lake. Or lakebed, as it was empty for some reason. The highlight of this trip though was the fountain near the lake. Actually, it was what was in the fountain; what was probably the biggest frog in South America. It was honestly the size of my hand, both palm and fingers, without it's legs outstretched. It was GIGANTOID! Dani said it was "como un perro," like a dog. We like to use that comparison a lot, for pelicans (which really are larger than many dogs), frogs, giant rats... Anyway, it was insane.

This afternoon I decided to have my first experience with street food, and of course started with sopaipillas. These are kind of flat scones served with a variety of sauces, traditionally chancaca sauce and served on rainy days. When I was visiting Rapa Nui, one of the ladies at the hostel served us sopaipillas on a rainy day, and now I realize that this is customary. I ate mine today with salsa with cilantro. My thought is this: I will have to change my route so I don't walk past the sopaipilla stands and buy all of them at once.

Another favorite activity: the swings in Plaza Recreo. I like to swing on my way back from class when there are no little kids there. However, every time I get a swing a parent always brings a little kid, too young for the big swings and slide, but perfect size for see-saw and the tiny swings. I love when they come; the little kid always stares at me and waves, and the mom talks in slow easy sentences, and the entire event is amazingly adorable to watch.

After my swing I had my lunch/once, which included the following: artichoke with mayo (yesterday too, but with the lemon sauce), spaghetti with fried eggs on top, spaghetti with avocado, and cauliflower with these weird bean things that I can never remember the name of. I need to stop ending sentences with prepositions. Try mixing everything in your next meal together and see what happens.

Today's thought on Chile culture is this: "When the metro moves, you move with it. When it stops, so do you. When it goes, so do you." My Chile language and culture prof said that in class today. He was referencing the change in culture and what your expectations are when you live somewhere else. Of course it is going to be different, and you will be jostled around. If you live the same way you would at home, the culture will move around you, but if you are part of the experience, you will be carried along. Cliche yes, but applicable I think.

"si no das, no vas a recibir"

"Si no das, no vas a recibir"... If you don't give, you won't receive. This is a reference to interactions between people, but I am interested also in its application to learning a new language. You have to struggle and be frustrated and make the same mistakes 20 times, because through those things you learn and remember. If it were always comfortable, you wouldn't learn anything. I have been watching people who are not learning very much, because they only speak Spanish in class. Push yourself, it's the only way you will get better! Of course you will not understand much of it, that's ok. In my culture class today, our profe showed us a scale, and at the bottom was "I don't want to," then the next one up was "I can't," followed by "I don't know," then "I think I could." Eventually the top of the scale is "I did it." Basically, this is all about how your thoughts dictate your actions. I would rate myself some where in the range of "I believe I can," to "I'm doing it." My fear is that I will fall back into comfort mode and not learn much beyond what I already know and need to get by. It would be terrible to let that happen, so I won't.

Javi joined me for once today (tea; pronounce like 'eleven'). She was one of the exchange students I met with last semester in Millersville to practice Spanish. If it were not for her and a few other people I practiced with, I would have gone through a really severe adjustment to the language here, but I sort of spread out the impact, and can notice a difference now. She informed me that most people don't enjoy the micros. I think most people are crazy.

What is the strangest birthday present you have ever received? Artichokes? I have three artichokes sitting in the kitchen, just for me. And I couldn't be happier. Josethomas (JT) and GThomas presented me with a late birthday gift, and laughed at some severe miscommunication (¿Qué es eso?!?" "¿La playa?") JT was talking about the beach and I was talking about the glue-stick in his hand... that is what happens when you interject midsentence I suppose.