Chile traveler

3 Hamburgs

2009-11-04T18:55:00.000-08:00

I am really sad that there is no more half-naked dancing in my Tuesday dance class. When we have our final exam in two weeks, male students from another class will come to dance with a class of nearly entirely girls (there are two boys, but like half the class they never show up.) Entonces, there is still hope.

Tuesdays are one of my help the artists days. As I made my way to the ascensor, I was distracted by quite the ruckus on just past Plaza Victoria. (sabes que ruckus= ruction+rumpus?look what you learned today.) A protest, but on a grand scale. An epic protest, not like the animal rights one. The street was packed solid, one side to another. I walked and walked to find the end, and after 8 blocks I found it, but I expect it grew in size from when I saw it. In total, it was estimated that 14,000 municipality workers of all sorts marched in the first of three days of protect, common before the presidential election. The current population of my hometown of Hamburg is 4,167. So picture 3 Hamburgs marching through the port of Valparaíso. Not just marching, it was way more than marching. It was at times so well-organized that it seemed like a happy parade. Groups had matching flags and shirts and costumes, matching signs, coordinated routines, and every sound-making device imaginable. At other times, people ran at random, chanting in unison or otherwise shouting lots of things I did not always understand. If you picture just the horns and flags, and the surrounding streets with haphazard colorful houses and winding stairwells, the result is a Dr. Seuss-like image. It was not like that at all. There was an urgency here, a desperation. Carabineros, police, watched silently. They were surprisingly few and far between, and very collected. They had seen this before. Lines of drummers passed, tons of them. Other instruments too. Leaders shouting into megaphones, people in costumes dancing. A parade. Then more workers, dressed up as what I perceived to be as zombies, pushing garbage cans in a well-choreographed routine down the street, stopping to reform, yelling, repeat. I was mesmerized by the trash can dance, and actually stood for a while watching only that. I wonder how much the government listens to 14,000 protesters, if anything changes. The article in the newspaper was not until page 6; that many people, and the article is not on the front page, just a preview picture. This happens before every presidential election; it is not as big of news as I think. I wonder what the workers that are still at their jobs think. Some are always left behind so no one seeking job happens upon the vacated vicinity like a gold mine.

Quillota

2009-11-04T17:56:00.000-08:00

I am not sure how I ended up on a solo trip to Quillota, a small town in the interior, an hour from Viña and very close to Parque Nacional la Campana. This is not a popular destination, which in my opinion was even more reason to go there, as I hate being the same as the annoying English-speaking exchange students. I sought the Expo 2009, essentially a massive carnival with rows upon rows of stands selling almost anything, rides, and music. I had not traveled by myself on bus before. Not once. On micros yes, short trips, but to be honest, this was my first ever real bus trip. Hooray. I boarded an obnoxiously purple micro on Avenida España and was on my way. I have gathered the basic actions I need to survive a trip. My first was to ask the driver to tell me where to get off, as I had not a clue. Plan executed. Next was to get to the expo. Too far to walk: colectivo. Where do I find those? Asking. Luckily, I am good at this, and successfully found my way in.

I was fascinated by the many many cheap earrings, delicious junk food, and the vendors. I spent a ridiculous amount of time talking to whoever would listen, after all, I was alone, and they were interesting. The lady who sold me the copper earrings was fantastic, and obligingly explained the process, the origin of the wood, the meaning of the copper symbol, etc.

There was a guy selling old coins. This interested me for a number of reasons. There were old Chilean coins and coins from all over the world. I was well aware of my infinite lack of knowledge of how much these were actually worth, so I only bought really cheap ones for fear of getting ripped off. After my purchase, The vendor pulled out a massive and ancient-looking one from somewhere and proceeded to explain to me that it was from 84. What? The year 84. Does it actually say that? He showed me, and I could not read it. Year 84 antes cristo, AC. He showed me that too. Wait a minute, nothing from that time period actually reads AC antes cristo or BC before christ. Yes readers, you can be proud of this gringa for picking up on this so fast. I told him that it was not real, but he continued anyway. I don't remember the price, but it was something astronomical. Do people really believe that? This was the first time I had encountered someone who wanted to rip me off, or at least the first time I had picked up on it. Even though I bought the cheapest coins, I still walked away feeling a little ripped off. I think the ones I have are real, but maybe they are worth nothing, probably. That is ok, I would not have found them elsewhere and they are cool.

Then there was miel!! How grand! And how long I had been searching! It was weird looking though, darker than normal. I risked it anyway as it was inexpensive. Later on, I found it was rather liquidy and semi-processed, not quite the miel I had wanted. Hmm. I felt ripped off again despite my precaution. Does this only happen when I am by myself?

I had a moment of panic as I looked for a micro back to Viña. Where were they? I asked and walked and asked and walked. I turned around and saw a sign directing me to Quillota. I was outside city limits. Oops. It was getting dark, what time did they stop running? What if I got stuck? What if I was robbed right now and no one knew where I was and had no means to buy a bus ticket or make a phonecall? Then I found them. My bus, and it was a true bus, probably had 60 people on it. Really. I can't believe they let me on. The ticket guy smashed his way through to collect payment. It took him half an hour to make it to the back of the bus and return. I have never seen people have to stand for a long bus ride before, but at least 20 did, probably more. On short commuter micro rides yes, but not on long bus trips. It was intriguing though, but after the hour, by which time a seat finally opened and there was no one else to whom I could give it, my legs were not thrilled. The seat for those last 3 minutes was divine. Trip successful. And I didn't even get lost. Well not completely. As long as your definition of being lost is not being able to find your way back, in place of not knowing where you are, which are two very distinct things, then I am in good shape.

undercover Chilean

2009-11-02T20:11:00.000-08:00

I want to go under cover as a Chilean. I am not sure where this idea came from, but I think it would be fun to see how different life would be, to see how different normal human interaction would be, to understand people's perceptions of me as a different person, not as a visitor/tourist.

Now to think how I would do that I have to have an idea of what a Chilean is. First of all, Chileans speak Spanish. I'm working on that, but still can't shake the accent or pronounce the 'rr' or 'll.' My efforts to improve my production of these sounds have resulted in no improvement whatsoever. Next, customs, everything from eating with your non-fork hand on the table to knowing where to catch a micro. I think I would do ok in this department, but this one has the most potential to actually be done well I think.

Lastly looks. This gets complicated. What does a Chilean look like? Well, first of all, they are not all of the same descent, indigenous, european, wherever. So of course there is a tremendous variation. Here are my perceptions, from my extremely limited observations during a short period of time and in limited locations. I perceive Chileans as having darker skin than me. Usually. Many also have lighter skin, but most slightly darker than mine, but not as dark as closer to the equator in more tropical countries. Next, hair. I think that most Chileans have darker hair than me. Some have the same or lighter, but generally it is dark, thick, and gorgeous. I love the black black black hair a lot. Eyes too, most have brown eyes, and very few, at least in central Chile, have light eyes. And they seem to prefer contacts in place of glasses as well. Finally, I think Chileans are shorter in stature than [north]americans. I am really tall for a girl here, and fairly tall in the US. A lot of Chilean boys are shorter than me, but of course not all. By boys I mean adult men. Hmm, I forgot clothing, but this is not that different than the US I don't think. Tight jeans and dark colors seem to be trendy, but really I am crap at judging this.

In conclusion, I could dye my hair, put in [color-change prescription??]contacts, improve my Spanish, and dress better, but I would probably not seem any more Chilean. Do I stand out a lot now as obviously not Chilean? Very much, if I open my mouth. If I am not talking, I still come across as gringa for my light hair and eyes, but there are Chileans that look like me. More interesting probably is the concept of wanting to "go undercover."

respeto

2009-11-01T07:27:00.002-08:00

Juan Jose and I had an interesting conversation about those places so fascinating to me; the forbidden places. Where I can't walk by myself, even during the day. These are generally the poorer areas, on the edges of the city, many of the higher places on the hills. Some hills are entirely safe even at the top, but others are entirely flaite. Before I get more descriptive, know two things: 1. that these places exist all over the world, yes, even in the developed nation of the United States of America, and 2. I have never been to where I am about to describe, so know that this is a highly skewed view which was formed on the basis from many conversations with people who have seen or live near places like this. Therefore, I will not claim to "know" much about which I am talking.

The poor sectors are most dangerous because they house not only the poor, but the flaite as well. The flaite live there, and their activities originate there. Drugs are rampant. They are not nice places to visit I imagine, nor are they remotely safe for me, but they fascinate me. Why are they like this? How did they form and why don't they get better?

The most interesting aspect for me is the following. Flaite knife and shoot each other and will attack you for your stuff, but this depends on who you are. If you are poor, they have no reason to attack you. If you are Chilean but from another neighborhood, that is reason. If you are a 'blonde' green-eyed gringa, that is very good reason. But if you are Chilean and live close to this place, and have entered sufficiently that your face is known, you are respected. I could not believe that this could be the case. But often it is a respect out of fear. Flaite know that you have family that can find them and retaliate, so they don't touch you. You don't touch them because, well, they are dangerous. I can go to some of these sectors by day, to know and seek and understand the reality, but only some, by day, and accompanied by a Chilean which I have described. But there are some places exist which I absolutely cannot go. This idea fascinates me, that a place can be so dangerous.

How can these places exist? Why don't the police go in there and arrest people? They can't. They would be killed, just because they are police. They can enter most places by day, but by night no, they would go in vain. And so, these places will continue to exist. Luckily though I gather that they are relatively contained; I am not going to find myself caught in a shootout because I won't be in the place where it happens, and they don't have reason to hurt me.

I want to understand this phenomenon. I can't though, because I don't live there. But I want to understand more than I do now, know why it is the way it is, know the people and the places that know one visits. Don't worry, I won't go wandering about seeking drug lords, nor will I really go to these places at all, only safer ones with Chilean guides. I promise.

asado halloween

2009-11-01T07:27:00.001-08:00

I finally made it to an asado, a BBQ, my first in Chile. Considering the popularity of the asado, and the fact that I was in Chile for 18 de septiembre (for independence day) it is remarkable that I never made it to one before. And ridiculous. Nevertheless, I made it, on my first trip into cerro Placeres. It was not incredibly different from a [north]american BBQ, except we ate choripanes with mayonnaise, which are sausage-hotdog things on bread. And potatoes, with mayonnaise. And rice, molded into a... cake. With mayonnaise. Ok so the food and language was different, but the idea was essentially the same. Apparently Chileans are not fans of spicy food; I was the only one who was able to comfortably eat the spicy pebre. I was blown away by the welcome I received, when I knew only one person in the entire group, especially since I did not know the owner of the house, and everyone already knew each other because they were in the same band. It didn't matter, Chilean hospitality still reigned. They wouldn't stop feeding me even though they had no idea who I was.

Oh yeah, it was halloween. It in no way seemed like halloween. I didn't think about it all day until the I got a card from my family in the US, with my rabbit and a pumpkin and transparent ghost. Then I forgot again until the asado, when trick-or-treaters started making their rounds. It was much the same process, but they said "dulce o travesura?" instead and it sounded different, a different tone or inflection or something, but the same idea. Somehow this warm oceanside palmtree environment with a sunset after 8:00 did not seen anything like halloween, and it didn't seem like we should have it here. It is something I missed celebrating, the middle of my favorite time of year full of running and hawks and cold wind and holidays, ending with Christmas as the big finale, but I am here right now celebrating different things, and it is still awesome.

I kind of don't like the idea that Halloween is in Chile at all. It is a gringo holiday celebrated by gringos in gringolandia. But it has caught on in Chile, not as strong, but it's here. I have this sense of my culture spilling over, and I don't like that because I want Chilean culture to be Chilean culture and not [north]american culture. We're in Chile! It seems that younger Chileans like it. Many kids dress up, and my generation hosts parties. It is a fun time. So I have... mixed feelings on Halloween in Chile. I understand if Chileans do not want to celebrate it though. I have talked to many who like it and many who don't. Well, I can't really understand, I am not a Chileans watching a [north]american holiday infiltrate, I am a [north]american who normally celebrates the holiday with gusto, so I can't speak from understanding, only from observation and the knowledge that my point of view will always be a little different.

ruido subterraneo

2009-10-31T10:30:00.001-07:00

They say whenever their is strange weather the next big earthquake will happen. And by they I mean the Chileans who remember the 1985 earthquake. The weather that day was unseasonably warm, and everything was strange; the clouds, the wind, the heat, none of it made sense. The last two days were exactly like this. Everything about the weather was out of the ordinary, for one, the fact that it reached 30 degrees C (86 Fahrenheit) in the spring was odd. Everywhere I went anyone over the age of 25 was talking about earthquakes.

They talked not just for the weather but for the tremors. Oddly enough, during these two days we had several tremors, a couple fairly strong ones. Only those two days, the ones with the weird weather, then they stopped. There was an earthquake in Japan.

I want to understand what it is like to experience an earthquake. I want to know the sensation that everything is chaos, that the ground is fluid energy. Of course I would never wish for the death and destruction and fear that an earthquake causes. But I still want to understand what it is like. When someone tells me about it, I can't relate to it at all. They ask me what we have in Pennsylvania alone these lines (tornadoes, etc.) I answer that we have nothing remotely dangerous at all. We don't feel any of the tremors in Recreo because it is built on solid rock, and so this hill is more stable and less sensitive to tremors than others. Some hills are much more unstable, especially in Valparaíso, where cerro Yungay is not even a natural hill, but created from artificial materials. It will literally slide in the ocean during a large earthquake. Many of the houses in Valpo are not very stable either. Ironic, as I am the only one that wants to feel them and I can't because my hill is too solid; I only feel the really strong ones, or rather I only felt the one strong one a while ago.

The noise. I want to hear the noise, the subterranean grinding of the earth and the energy waves that flash to the surface. Every natural disaster has a distinct noise, tornadoes, hurricanes, volcanoes. I want to know what it is like to hear that terrible yelling from within the earth and understand why it is so horrifying.

el weon de gas

2009-10-31T10:29:00.000-07:00

There are these trucks, carts too, that drive around the cerros of Valparaíso with canisters of gas, for use in kitchens, to heat the califont, etc. Estadounidenses, remember the ice cream man? He drives around playing music so everyone knows he is the neighborhood, and those within earshot run over to the truck. Well, this is the same idea, but with canisters of gas. They bang a wrench or something against the canisters, and so attract customers with their incessant rattling. I have heard the sound before but never understood why until one drove by at the mosaic pilars and I bothered to ask what the noise was for.

el motemei porteño

2009-10-31T09:24:00.000-07:00

A motemei is a vendor of the cerros of Valparaíso, who sells tortillas and mote de huesillo, a baked bread of some kind. He walks roughly the same route around the hills with his homemade breads, yelling "motemei," keeping alive this old tradition. This is a very porteño tradition, only found in Valparaíso. They surprisingly sell a lot more in the hills than they do in the plan; you won't encounter them in the central plazas.

The man I met while making mosaics is known as "el motemei," or "el motemei porteño." He is well-known for his work, not only as a vendor but apparently for some areas of the fine arts as well. His name is Carlos Martinez. He is very porteño, quite the friendly and energetic spirit of the city. I am as of now unsure if he is the only motemei in the city. He comes from 5 generations of motemeis and amazingly is able to continue this work.

Traditionally a motemei would pass by Ascensor Polanco at midnight, yelling his name and calling his buyers out of their houses. I am not sure if this is still done, but regardless it is awesome. Carlos Martinez and any other existing motemeis have in a very short period of time developed into the stuff of legends in my mind. They are like ghosts of Valpo's hills; you know they pass by but can't always find them, it's a chance encounter, or at least it is for those who don't know where to look. They are living legends of the city's past. I want to find this guy again, talk to him, buy his work. It sounds like I am arranging a drug deal, but I assure you otherwise. I feel like I am seeking a bird of the Amazing basin which exists but more in legend than reality, but that I am the explorer that is going to find it.

mosaicos porteños and golpecitos

2009-10-30T16:56:00.000-07:00

Today started out... slowly. I was late, again, this time probably from the antibiotics causing me to sleep even more like the dead than normal. Ahead of time, I talked to Hugo, one of the students at St. Luceo Theresa de los Andes, about helping me when I work with some of the English classes on Fridays. He came to the school today exclusively for that reason, so I was in a panic fit when I woke up an hour and a half late, and all the 205 micros, my fastest way to Miraflores, for almost half and hour of waiting, were passing by in the wrong lane. But when I arrived, he was waiting, ready to help plan the fantastic happenings of the English classes.

I arrived in the middle of the second class of the day. Today there was a substitute teacher, who was FANTASTIC! She had good classroom management, spoke really good English (but a native Chilean), and was good at planning stuff fast and keeping kids occupied. Finally!! I wish I could spend more time watching her because she had it together, and I could learn a ton. Hugo, who is a junior and one of the best English students in the school, and I planned for the next class. The results of our extreme hard work and dedication are as follows:

English is fun! English is cool!

You really should learn it, don't be a fool

[fool= rap lingo]

Time to practice in the English class

With Hugo and Ellen's rap! Yeah!!

You can travel the world without complaint

If you speak English, it's ok

England, Australia, and the USA

Are good places to practice and learn

Music and playing are good ways

You can practice it anywhere!

That's right, we're pros. Hugo had it all together though, planning games such as Bachillerato and Simon Says for English practice with the 7th grade. Bachillerato is a game with two teams, where each team is given a letter and must fill in a chart on the board with information beginning with that letter, such as Name (Ellen), country/city (England), etc, with points being given for original words and filling in the boxes that the other team missed. The boys team lost and had to put all the desks back in order. It was fantastic. Hugo and I also demonstrated the difference between North American English and British English. Yes, they teach British English in this school. And I even felt useful... my native English led to good pronunciation practice. Yay for an extremely interactive class.

In high spirits I microed my way to the camera shop, where I found that my camera was still not fixed because there are a billion tiny grains of sand in it, and continued to Cerro Bellavista, up Espritú Santo again, and found Gonzalo and Alex working on their pillars as usual. Today I worked on Gonzalo's mosaic of himself again, this time on the green shirt, of which i completed about half. Working on these mosaics is a more than interesting way to pass your time. Friends and neighbors of the artists pass by at a steady rate, commuting to the plan for work or food or otherwise. And there are tourists, lots of tourists now that it is spring. For whatever reason, I am annoyed at their presence. I should just talk to them and see where they are from and what they are doing, and I do sometimes, but I am still annoyed. Maybe because I feel to attached to this city and in a sense am getting to know it, which they cannot do by passing through. The man known as "el motemei" passed by and chatted with Gonzalo. More on him later, I will post separately. The gas man passed by too; more later. Another good thing about Chilean culture: if you meet someone and your hands are dirty, if for instance they are covered in mortar, you won't have any problems because you of course kiss them instead of shaking their hand anyway. The time spent mosaicing passes quickly with good conversation and 2 liters of coca cola. There is nothing better than spending an afternoon with two Valparaísian street artists (mosaiscos porteños.) As I left to look for a micro, Gonzalo showed me a place on the return route, a little plaza area with Aldunate and Farrari which is prettymuch entirely covered in mosaics. He showed me the sections he made, one with his shadow, others with a million designs. How cool is it that I met the person who makes some of the most well-known art in the city?

We got to talking about why I want to "ser Chilena." It's odd to want to be a different nationality. Or be from a different culture. Or language. Or ethnicity. Or is it really any of these things at all? I thought about what I like from this culture. Everything. Especially how caring the people are, cariñoso, everything is so caring. I thought about what it would be like to look different, speak Spanish, have fall without halloween and Christmas with tropical weather and beaches, to take a micro to work every day, to live in a house painted the brightest color in existence, to hang your laundry to dry in the sun. And I thought about why I like some of these things so much, probably because the are different, a more simple life? Maybe. But why does it appeal to be that different at all, why don't I still want to be gringa? Gonzalo and I discussed this for quite some time. I am highly interested in why I follow this line of thinking.

Que rico eres!!

2009-10-28T20:39:00.000-07:00

I am 1.7m, or 170cm tall, and weigh 58 kilos. I am ashamed that I had to look up that information because I am still not familiar enough to convert anything in my head.

I just realized that sala de ventas means "salesroom." I look at these signs every day from the micro and I just now realized... I am pathetic. I also chanced on the word harto, or harta, which means "a lot or much." I thought Chileans just used "alto/a" for a lot of things. Maybe they do that too, I am not sure now because they sound so similar. It's funny how you can make the same mistakes for so long and not realize...

Another recent realization: all of the juice in my house is made from a powder that contains aspartame, which gives me headaches. I pound down probably an average of 5 10ish-ounce glasses of that every day (ok, 296ml, if that is even what I should use.) That is a lot of aspartame. For three months. Maybe this is why my body feels crappy all the time, or that I can't concentrate. I firmly believe this compound has negative effects on your brain. Yippy.

Sheridan and I videochatted last night for an hour and a half HelenKeller style, without realizing that the volume was not turned on. Probably the best video chat ever. And today Thomas el Vecino got to meet my parents over skype, which made for a good but odd German-accented English and Spanish conversation about the Amish (who I think are going to take over the world,) and that my mother's maiden name, Nothstein, literally means "emergency rocks." The family was probably named after brave men of our family who in early 1750 [north]America fought off the flaites of the day by chucking stones when they got too close. This makes me even prouder of my lineage.

This is one of the more exciting news tidbits I have. Cristian read this blog, and we were talking about me writing in Spanish. I told him I had, and he went back and read again... he had been reading my English comments and got to the Spanish part and then his mind did something really cool; it did not recognize the difference because he understands the written text of both languages equally. He didn't even realize I wrote it in Spanish, which is so cool because it means his English is really good. His mind put if all together, blended, totally bilingual but reading a non-native language while thinking in his native language, so he was reading Spanish but in English, ¿cachai? First of all, the fact that the human mind can do that is incredible. It also shows how excellent his English is, which reflects his intelligence/dedication/extra practice or something remarkable because he has never lived in an English-speaking environment. One day, maybe my mind will do this too, and I will read things in Spanish and come across English but read it in Spanish because my mind functions in Spanish, or something like that. This blows my mind. Side note: he also made a really good Pinky and the Brain reference, heard for the first time in Spanish. When I asked what are you up to tonight, he responded "trying to take over the world." I get really excited when I come across quotes and other references that I heard in Spanish and are familiar in English.

Today in m grammar class we played what is essentially "Psychiatrist." Yup, get excited. The premise is that one person leaves and everyone else decides what problem they have, then the person comes back and tries to figure out the problem. The twist to the Spanish version though is that the class gives clues through advice, which creatively utilizes various forms of the subjunctive and thus forces us to actually practice it. A truly genus idea. Jun took the cake for the best quote of the day. In one instance the hypothetical "problem" was that everyone in the class was in love with the person who had to guess their own problem (not really a problem on their part, but you get the idea.) Jun's useful tidbit was "Que rico eres!!" The entire class probably secretly wet themselves. There are absolutely no more appropriate examples of this game that I can give; this is definitely not the camp version of Psychiatrist.

forbidden fruit

2009-10-28T19:51:00.000-07:00

Tell me I am not allowed and I want to. I have developed an obsession with Valparaíso's cerros. The problem: that I can't visit many of them. There are 40 something in the city, and I have been to about 10. If the neighborhood is moderately safe, I have probably visited there already. The higher hills, the sectors that harbor slums and flaite, where I can't go even during the day even with company, they fascinate me. I want to know why it is how it is. I want to see how people live there. I want to see the places that other exchange students and visitors don't go. But I also don't want to get hurt. What I want to see the most remains off limits.

Laundry. I like that t is hung on houses, outside of the windows, on lines below the windows. Another very "South American" custom? Why do I think that when all over the world people do this? We don't do that at my house in the US, and for that reason it gets me thinking, why do they do it? They don't have dryers. Why? They don't need them, it is a waste of space and energy. Views with colored haphazard houses and laundry, these are the ones I like the most.

no soporte cuando...

2009-10-28T19:18:00.000-07:00

I can't stand the environment that English-speaking exchange students create. I walk outside of Casa Central and I hear English. I walk inside Casa Central and I hear English. I get on the micro, English. You are in a Spanish-speaking country for a reason! They all talk about the same things, Chilean things that are annoying, food they can't find here, and alway always always where they are traveling. This annoys me for multiple reasons. First of all, you should explore the city you are living in/next to to begin with, and most have not done so, or only know the nightlife and not any other aspect of the culture. Two, don't tell me you are going to "do" Chiloé" or La Serena or any other place you cannot possibly get to truly know in terms of the culture and the people and the place in the short weekend you are there. Three, I don't want to hear you talking because it is always in English, and you wonder why your Spanish has not improved? Four, you are living here as a student, take some time to live here as a student. Be a commuter, live as a Chilean. You can still travel, but live this way too. Nearly all do not.

I talked to one gringa today that spoke to me exclusively in Spanish, the rest responded to my Spanish with English, to which I responded in Spanish and for which they replied in... you guessed it, English. You all bore me. Any extranjero that is not from the US usually is about a hundred times more willing to speak in Spanish. Some exchange students don't even have classes with Chileans. This is an idiotic idea. I want to cry for being in the gringa classes, not for the profe or the content, I like that part, but for the gringos, I can't take much more of it.

The most atrocious thing I have heard is that the gringas are bored. Bored. Why? They have to go to class and live in Valpo and Viña. Seriously? Go outside of your house. Meet some Chileans. Practice your Spanish, which is why you are here (or why you should be here) in the first place. Get out of your comfort zone. Talk to Chileans without making fun of how they talk. Ask what something means instead of looking it up in a dictionary. Before you do that, talk around whatever you don't know how to say by using what you already know, you will then learn from a native speaker how to say it properly, and look at that, the conversation was still entirely in spanish. Learn from context. Learn from conversation. Learn from mistakes. And don't talk to me. You can talk to gringas at home all the time in English, that is not why you are here. I often arrive at home in a bad mood, sometimes angry, from hearing stuff like this, especially before, during, and after my culture class, which is great except for this aspect. I understand it is easy to relate to people like you, people in the same situation as you, people with thinks in common; it is comfortable, it is easy. This is also not why you are here. And you have a lot in common with Chileans anyway.

I am currently on amoxicillin for my ear infections. When I bothered to look up the symptoms, the list included irritability, volatile mood swings, aggressiveness, disorientation, and easy fatigue. hmm, these 5 things match exactly how my body feels right now, physically and mentally... I might be reacting too strongly as I write this. I should be quarantined from gringa classes for this week so I don't accidently explode on someone. Lara, I have a better idea/sympathetic understanding of your 'roid rage effects now :)

"hoy terminé los pantalones amarillos de Gonzalo"

2009-10-28T19:16:00.000-07:00

Today's dance class was much less exciting than last week, no half-naked dancing professors, just cueca and other dances which I can sometimes do but for which I cannot remember the names. For how simple the cueca is, I make it into a mess every time.

But on to more exciting business. I took advantage of my procrastination and time between my classes to visit first the Darwin bio exhibit in Casa Central, then travel once again to Cerro Bellavista. Here I found Alex and Gonzalo, the mosaic artists of Valparaíso, working diligently on their pillars. I helped make Valparaíso street art!!!!! What a privilege it was. There I was, ready to help create a permanent piece of the city just outside of the museo cielo abierto. Gonzalo's pillar is an autorretrato, or a self-portrait of sorts. I was given the task of making Gonzalo himself, starting with the yellow pants. I worked for three hours on those yellow pants, and finished them in time to get to class. It's easy but tedious work, extremely fun to smash and cut the tiles, shape the pieces into something beautiful, like yellow pants. Gonzalo doesn't have any yellow pants, which makes me sad.

I am really honored to have encountered real artists of Valparaíso, to work on a part of the city's beautiful culture. It is really hard to explain how meaningful of an experience this is, to work on something as simple as a mosaic on the street, but so big that it affects the city as a whole, what it is known for, what the citizens and visitors perceive as its culture. I am enjoying my time as a mosaicista.

Right now my host mom has two friends over, and I am only catching bits of the conversation because I am in another room with the door closed, so I just get the loud bits of it. The only thing I heard was "huevona," and "una luca." I just opened the door and can understand it now, but I have no idea how to be honest. No idea how to explain it, but I can understand it.

destination detonation

2009-10-27T15:47:00.000-07:00

I almost detonated the house.

Even now, after three months, I forget the hot water system. I am used to turning it on but during my showers in consistently forget what I turned on the hot water exclusively for that purpose. To turn on the water you open the gas line connected to the califont, the water heater. This is the second time that it has been left on all night. I am not sure how dangerous it was, but I sense that lighting the stove this morning could have been a rather hazardous activity. What a gringa mistake this was.

Eating properly, with my left hand on the table and not my lap, continues to alude my subconscious mind. I practice eating this way even when I eat alone at breakfast. Today I tried eating with my left hand, thinking it would be easier to keep my right on the table. Nope, still weird. I also secretly curl up into a ball on the chair while I am eating, but only if I am really tired, as for some reason this makes a sleepy day more bearable. I am certain that is not proper ettiquite though.

As I walked from the Sausalito campus to Libertad for a micro, content after watching Pay it Forward to use as a social responsibility study in my class, two women approached me and asked for directions to the mall. I proudly delivered, feeling useful for once. I wondered if they thought I was Chilean. I when I got to Libertad I waited at a bus stop that I was not going to use in order to talk to them again. They were from Concepción, further south, and they of course knew I was not Chilean, but they did want to know what I was doing in Chile, just like everyone else. I have an odd interest in what Chileans perceive of me, my nationality, how different I look and speak and act and eat. For this reason my curiosity took hold. All the same, what a stupid question.

I will never get tired of the micro culture. A man gave up his seat for a woman who had her hands full. He didn't have to do that, it was nice. People will let you climb over them to get out, will help you drag all of your junk into your seat, will wait for you while you count your fare. No one is impatient, even if the micro is stuck in traffic and there are 20 people standing (with 20 sitting as well.)

Thomas el vecino has returned for once! One of my new lif e goals is to write something in my blog that makes Thomas el vecino laugh so hard that he pees his pants. When Thomas visits our apartment, which is fairly often because he lives about 2 seconds away, everything in the world becomes funnier. We made fun of the maldito maricón Ariel (concha su madre) for a significant amount of time, and I marveled at his new skills as a vendor selling cuchuflis with his friend in calle Condell. "Cien pesos, cien pesos, relleno de manjar!" In case anyone wanted to know, Germans eat with their hands on the table and not in their lap.

zapos

2009-10-26T09:28:00.000-07:00

We tried. For weeks I have been working to get people to do paragliding with me, but to no avail. There was no wind to fly. All day before we got to Maintencillo where was wind.

There is a micro to Maintencillo once every... well not very often but we found it. Two hours later we arrived, and another 2 hours later we left disappointed, but the instructor offered to drive us to Con Con and drop us off on his way home. In case you want good shrimp and cheese empanadas in Maintencillo, Barcaza is the place to go. So anyway, the trip back to Con Con was shorter because we did not take a leisurely out-of-the-way micro route, and the guy drove like a madman, 100 kilometers/hour, and illegally passed every car on the way. It was horrifying, and I would have asked to get out had the trip been any longer. Philip and I enjoyed Bravísimo ice cream for the 40 minutes we then spent in Reñaca, and then his Valpo/Viña adventure came to an end and he headed home.

The more interesting piece of the story was waiting for the micro. The man with the clipboard was there, writing down times and micro numbers, yelling to the micro driver and receiving monedas in return. I wondered what this was all about. So I asked him. They are called zapos, and they have a symbiotic relationship with the micro drivers, as well as a very specific set of hand signals and manner of communicating that I can't understand. The zapo keeps track of the time between the arrival of the same number micro so the drivers can form a sort of schedule, to space out the same number micros in order to pick up more passengers at each stop and utilize their route to the fullest extent. The zapo rushes to tell the driver the times, and the driver sometimes pays him in return. It is highly interesting to watch. I also chatted with the heladero, the ice cream man, but all I really learned was that he always works the same spot, but then he got on a micro and rode it away, so the same spot might actually be a rather large area.

Philip's Valpo

2009-10-25T19:51:00.001-07:00

Philip, my Chinese friend whom I met in San Pedro de Atacama a month ago, made a weekend trip to Valparaíso, where it was my turn to serve as Valparaíso tour guide. Disturbed after watching the dog get run over 20 minutes before, rushed to meet him at Plaza O´Higgins. Immediately I made him put his camera, strapped around his neck, underneath a zipped jacket, and wear his backpack in front. We stopped to admire the dizzying mirrors in Tres Palacios and the equally dizzying effect of the floor of Plaza Victoria, where the tiles have wavy lines that appear 3D if you walk perpendicular. Or at least as perpendicular to a wavy line as one is able to walk.

We started at ascensor Espiritu Santo, taking the same route I had the day before, through Museo Cielo Abierto to the Mosaic Pillars of Alex and Golzalez, and back down another street of the museum. Though I have been here multiple times, I never have seen the stairwell with the murals painted directly on the front of the steps. We started up towards Avenida Alemania when who did we meet but Alex and Gonzalez, on their way to buy fish from the port!! You don't get any more Valparaísian than that! ¡Qué entretendio! Needless to say I was overly excited for our second reunion. We moved on, to Avenida Alemania, on the route I took with the Cristian Valparaíso tour. I peered longingly up the high hills, wondering how a micro could get up there. One went partway up, stopped where it got steeper, and turned around. I have my answer. Though I wonder if it was for safety or for the steepness or neither.

We continued the Cristian-tour route to Cerro Concepción, where I could not remember the route so we diverged a bit and found more graffiti, including one with rabbits! We found the paseos and dined at the restaurant/hotel with the checkerboard floor, which was good but did not serve me nearly enough food. More wandering, into Cerro Alegre, where we found more graffitis and... Alex! Again! The mosaic artist of Cerro Bellavista. He also works at a restaurant in Cerro Alegre. Paseo Yugoslavo, then el Peral, one of my favorite ascensores. From there the port, where a man put his hand on Philip's chest and asked for 20 pesos, and I freaked out unnecessarily. At ascensor Artillería I heard my name yet again. It was Ana, a Chilean I know through the Mentirosos and have not seen in over a month. It is an odd sensation to hear your name wherever you go in Valpo. From paseo 21 de Mayo we explored a bit of Playa Ancha but turned around luckily before the higher part of it, which I found out after is rather dangerous, so dangerous that all of the surrounding hills are dangerous because they are close to Playa Ancha arriba, or so they say. We took the windy and slightly shady route back, passing below a slum, in what was for me a new sector of Valpo. This story is getting really lengthy.

I paid my first daytime visit to the Ex Carcel, or old jail, which is now a cultural park. There was a group practicing drums there, in a big dancing singing joyful circle. Also school kids rehearsing... something under the watchful eye of the artfully-graffitied defunct watchtower. kids played fútbol in the field, the higher hills in the spectacular backdrop. We pounded back to the Plan, eager to get to el Polanco before sunset, catching Casa Central and Avenida Brazil on the way.

At ascensor Polanco (another fav) there was a pleasant gray cat perched on a wall in the stairs leading to the tunnel entrance. I only ever pet them if they look healthy, with fur intact, eyes that are not oozing, and if they don´t look like they want to bite me. I put my hand on it´s back but encountered instead of nice soft fur an enormous patch of gray scabby skin, crusted and falling off. I had just petted the most infectious cat in the entire city. Great. Scabby cat disease here I come. I am not sure if I was more disturbed by the expectation of soft fur and instead enountereing flaky crustiness, the fact that the cat was sick, or the idea that whatever it had was likely contageous. Upon returning later to the Plan, I doused my hand with an obscene amount of hand santizer, twice, then santized both hands, then watched them in a restaurant multiple times.

On the Polanco stairs we found a group of people crowded around a tv, with cord extended across the alley, the men cheering and shouting and drinking together. This is another very "South American" thing in my mind, the neighbors coming together to share the game.

We finished up with chorrillana at Renato, which I was recommended for a more "real" Valparaíso dining experience. We were the only ones younger than 60, but it was nevertheless an excellent meal. After traversing for the day, Jun's apartment and birthday party were calling. 5 days later I am still not caught up on sleep.

los perdidos

2009-10-25T19:49:00.003-07:00

Los perdidos, the lost ones, perros callejeros.

I watched a dog get mowed over by a car today. Not just hit, completely run over. The front then the back tires on the right side of the car rolled overtop of the back half of the dog's body. I was walking to estación Recreo to cross Avenida España and grab a micro, when this dog appeared in the 60mph (95kph) traffic. I could do nothing. Remarkably, it was still alive and able to drag itself to the side of the road. It's back was flattened, and it's hind legs flipped backwards so that the paw pads were facing up. The legs were shattered and warped, but remained whole, without drastic blood loss. I could not get to the dog, the traffic was rather heavy and there is no crosswalk to the median, which is larger in order to harbor the metro platform. A lady who was for some reason in the center part ran towards the dog and held it. She tried to flag down a car, without success, then talked to another passerby briefly. She was crying, trying to get help, distraught after watching this happen, unable to get help; the dog was suffering. I considered calling the police, like I would at home if i hit a deer with a car for instance, but here it is not the same, it would not have helped. I had no idea who to call. There was no one to call actually. There is a deficit in the support system for wounded animals. Some groups exist to help animals in these situations, but I did not know who to contact, who knows if anyone would have come. I stood on the platform above the dying dog and the distraught lady, unable to get to them for the traffic, unable to do anything. I left. It was a bad feeling, like I abandoned someone I could have helped, but there was nothing more to be done. If someone picked up the dog, it was probably put down. If it was left, it would have died of injuries almost definitely, or starved. I can't get over the way the dog was mutilated, running, and two seconds later it's lower half crushed. It was a yellow lab, large, well-fed, healthy-looking.

Many of them limp. I expect a lot get hit by cars. Most can get still run on three legs, using the maimed one for balance. I saw another one today in Plaza Viña, with only it's front legs functioning. It drug itself across the plaza, following a man who was emptying the trash, just like the other dogs follow people around. I watch the dogs a lot, where they sleep, where they look for food, how they wait in the sidewalk with the crowd and cross the street just like everyone else.

meet the artists

2009-10-25T19:49:00.001-07:00

After a morning of crazy kids at St. Luceo Theresa de los Andes and an afternoon of bandaid-vendors, micros, and homework I headed to Católica´s medical services to regain my hearing. As I searched for the right building, I walked past twice, entering a semi-shady door that was made safer in my mind by the presence of a guy in a PUCV jacket who was cleaning the patio. Up a tight three-story spiraling staircase, I found myself in the office, wishing I had looked up medical words previous to my visit, like "appointment," "prescription," "dizzy," things I should probably know how to communicate. I got by ok anyway, and the doctor thankfully gave me a prescription for 10 days worth of antibiotics. He looked in my ear and said "you have sand!" Fantastic, it´s still packed in there.

I use any excuse to spend my free time exploring Valparaíso, so looking for a pharmacy was just as good as any, though of course they are everywhere and I had no real need to explore at all. My wanderings took me past a small mall called Tres Palacios. This was noteworthy for two reasons: the walkway extended in a coninuous ramp in a fairly tight spiral all the way to the top, and it was lined with mirrors. There were mirror panels all over the place, anywhere there was wall space. The back stairwell was lined entirely with small rectangular mirrors. It was an odd place, one which I have never seen before despite passing it all the time.

Onward to Ascensor Espiritú Santo, in Cerro Bellavista. I sought only to pass through here to visit new places in other cerros, but I was detoured by the museo Cielo Abierto once again, the open museum in the streets. Past the mosaic benches and murals, I came out of the museum onto calle Héctor Calvo Jofré. Here I encountered two artists working on mosaics, on lamp posts. There names were Alex and Gonzalo, locals of cerros Alegre and Bellavista. They were exceptionally friendly, which led me into two hours of conversation. Real people, a more real Valparaíso for me. After a while Gonzalo motioned me over to the entrance to one of the museo streets, and I followed back to the mosaic benches. Alex's work. More mosaic benches, his work. I had just met some of the finest street artists in the city!! He showed me one that he made, with a background of the same colored tiles and several colorful ones in the middle. He pointed to the houses to the right. Those colorful tiles were the houses, and the ascensor was Espiritú Santo. These guys are my heroes. How honored I am to have met them! Another fantastic chance encounter. I will be back to see their progress on the mosaic lamp posts.

From there I explored in Cerro Yungay and made my way back home for some quick skyping (both with the US and within Chile), and then met up with Rodrigo, my long lost friend from Dani's birthday party who I do not see nearly often enough. We made plans to explore Cerro Castillo en Viña, walked on the beach until our legs ached (which took all of about 10 minutes,) and then I finally got my Sibaritico experience. This is Viña's famous completo eatery. Completos remember are hot dogs served traditionally with avocado, tomato, and mayonnaise, among other delicacies such as sauerkraut, ketchup, ají, and who knows what else. This place is well know not for its glamour (you can't even eat inside, there are no seats,) but for its massive completos. Mine was no kidding about 4 inches high (sigh, ok, 10cm) and included about a cup and a half of condiments (sigh, 236ml, if that is what they even use) and two hot dogs. My intake of cholesterol has easily quadrupled in my time here, due in part to the 5 completos I have eaten since my arrival. When they make the completo, they put a slab of mayonnaise and a slab of palta, easily half a cup of each, probably more. It was fabulous. By the time I met up with my conversation group in cafe Baúl I was ready to fall over from ear pain and fatigue.

In conclusion, today was packed as full as my ears: 4 hours at the school, entertaining micros, hw/chatting with Jun and Nelson in the PIIE office, the doctor, walking around Valpo, meeting street artists, lunch (5pm), walking with Rodrigo, and meeting my conversation group at midnight. By the midnight meeting in café Baúl, I was so tired/unable to hear anything/nauseous that I barely made it to a micro to get home.

HAO-DI and the micro game

2009-10-23T09:23:00.001-07:00

I still can't hear anything. Communicating is hard enough, let alone with a disability. Now I am truely Helen Keller-ing. I don't understand half of what anyone says, not for the language but for the sand or whatever it is. Also I can't even hear myself talk well, which is an odd sensation because I don't have the ability to talk as normal. In other words, I guess what everyone says and respond with slurred words at a large volume. At least it's funny.

I love the micro game, the waiting and watching for the right micro to pass by on Avenida España, hoping it is not in lane 4 when I need it to be in lane 1, the only place where I am able to board. I am pretty good at the signal needed to flag down the micros. It´s kind of like the signal for hitchihhiking but only with your index finger. I always feel like I am flipping off the drivers, but they stop regardless of what it looks like I am doing. It´s a strong motion, you use your entire arm, if you want a micro at Avenida España that is, because those micros are barreling down the highway at double the velocidad máxima, remember? In order to get them to stop when they are going so fast, you have to mean it; they won´t always stop for your half-hearted hand gestures like in other slower-moving streets. Then there is the time factor. You have to signal with enough time for them to stop, but here´s the catch; if you are looking for any micro to a certain place, and not just a specific number micro, you generally have to read the 10 or so signs in the front window to see if it says the destination of your choice. So you have to read it as soon as it comes into the extreme end of your vision and then signal fast enough to catch it before it passes by. I am getting a lot better at this game, though I occasionally signal a micro I don´t need and miss some I could have taken. In other places it is way easier; at a stop for example, where the micro has obviously ceased motion and you have a bit more time. Also, if you have a specific and familar route to follow, you can just look for the correct number. I am probably the only person in the whole world that thinks it´s funny when five #201s pass in a twenty minute time period, but only one 205 passes, which of course is the one that I need.

I have a new outlook on the 8th grade at St. Luceo. If you split the class in equal halves, they are great to work with. They pay attention and ask questions and get a ton of work done, and they respond when I speak English to them (the only time today I used English, when I had to, and it was not even much, I promise.) Perfect. However, 5th grade is a logistical nightmare. I have a new theory that the chaos in this room is due to the lack of classroom management and accountability rather than being a result of some other deficite in school and Chileans school system policies. I have no idea how to get their attention, at all. If you sounded an airhorn in that room, it would not get their attention. They can sit wherever they want, so you have the boy group and two girl groups, one girl group that wants to learn and the other at the opposite end of the spectrum. The interaction between the groups is always the same; the same teasing. They throw things and run around screaming at eachother. It is just about impossible to teach in this particular classroom; I walked into a situation that is out of control. It is one thing to have a few kids talking or acting out in a classroom, but to have a class of 40 kids where 25 or more are totally out of control and the rest are trying to listen or have just given up, this is something quite different. I can´t make a noise loud enough to be heard. They know what work they have to do though. As soon as something is written on the board, they know they have to copy it in their notebook. When class ends, they know to move their seats back to the original positions and line up. Weird seeing such order after an hour and a half of mayhem. Constantly I work to make this situation better, but I am in no position to chance anything; it´s not my class, and I can´t change in one day a week the habits that have been in place the whole year. Nor can I change whatever authority-respect themes between the students and teacher exist here, and it is defintely not my place to do so. I don´t think this is a typical example of a Chilean classroom. But again, I have a lot more observing to do before I draw conclusions.

I don´t know what the ¨ç¨symbol means, but it is the key next to the backspace on the Chilean keyboard and I keep hitting it by accident. IfçI did not coçrect my çworkç it woçld looçk like ç this becçause I hit the ççç key so ofçten sincçe it çç is qçuite inconçvenitenly plççaced on theç sçpanish keyboardç next ç to çtçhe most çfrequentl uçsed key.

A bandaid salesman got on my micro today on the return trip. Yes, a vendor that sold only bandaids. A few minutes previously a different one boarded that was selling clay action figures, but the band aid guy was more interesting, for two reasons. 1. have you ever heard of anyone selling bandaids on the street before? just bandaids, nothing else. 2. they are HAO-DI brand, and all of the writing except for the name is in Chinese. I bought the strip of 14 bandaids for $100 [pesos; the dollar sign is used, but they were not $100 USD, more like 19 cents.] And I had intended on buying some anyway, as I constantly pick around my nails as a nervous habit. This is my first micro-vendor purchase, and I am oddly proud of it.

Jun: in response to my obnoxious sneezes as I am typing this; he is sitting at the computer next to me as I write this: ¨por favor [demaciado] tranquilísate!! As he translates his homework that is ¨demaciado difícil.¨ (half an hour later now, and he just got up, said ¨demaciado clase¨and headed off to his class).

A good time to segway into who Nelson is. Nelson is a teacher of English/professor/doctoral student at PUCV who I routinely run into in the PIIE office in Casa Central. He is Jun's private professor, for practice with a different accent. He is my only Columbian contact, and has convinced me that the country is safe enough to visit (much to the dismay of my family who is reading this I am sure.) Another friendly face that makes me feel more at home in PUCV :) He is indirectly responsible for my inability to do homework while at the PIIE office computers, because every time he is there I am just like oooo, tell me about Columbia and help me practice conversation.

la caida libre/ bridge over troubled water

2009-10-22T20:02:00.000-07:00

Cristian had once with my host mom and myself today, after some prime picture viewing of course (I am going to keep the word once in italics so as to ease the transition between thinking "once," like once upon a time, to thinking the meal once, like the Spanish numeral 11.)

I reached the threshold again, my mind in Spanish, where my mind changes into its highest possible functioning mindset in Spanish, where I can think completely in Spanish fairly easily and quickly, using my current abilities to the fullest, ¿cachai? I will stick with what I said before; the only way I can get to this point (subir) is after a long time of conversation, like an undetermined number of hours. Not from class, not from listening, not from being my myself, not from talking to gringos. Real active conversation where I respond and listen and respond, that's the way. It's the most fun way too. It is a natural high to get to this point, an incredible joy of accomplishing the seemingly impossible. It is hard to get there, and there are so many ways to fall back along the way... if I am interrupted, if there is a lull and I start unconsciously and unwillingly thinking in English, if someone talks in English, if I am tired and can't pay attention, if I just can't pay attention, which is part of my personality and always a persistent problem. But there I was, understanding, reacting, speaking, thinking, in SPANISH. The endorphins that you feel after exercise, the "runner's high," are similar experiences this same process. This is one of the most interesting aspects of my Chile experience. The language mind transition is incredibly interesting.

I have successfully conveyed what the "downward spiral" is. In English, it is the rapid degradation of my mental stability into almost a panic. It is set off by something that I can't do, like use the subjunctive for instance. From there I get to the point where I think I have the ability to do just about nothing. This is called caida libre, free fall. Since being in Chile I have gained confidence of course, enough that I appear much of the time to not be shy. That is odd, because as much as I like to try new things and push myself, I still have to force just that, force myself to be comfortable, not with everyone, because there are many people with whom I am very comfortable. I have to push certain aspects sometimes, confidence to gain opportunities. "nunca estás sola." nunca. Bridge Over Troubled Water came on the radio. How true it is that there are people there to carry you. siempre. Solo necesitas buscarlos.

Where the heck did they come from?

2009-10-22T19:58:00.001-07:00

Now I know why I see school kids walking home both at 1:00 in the afternoon and at 7:00 in the evening. They are not in school for 9 hours; the day is split. In St. Luceo Theresa de los Andes for instance the equivalent of middle and high school kids the day ends at 1:30 for most. I stayed for the senior English class for the first time today. I was startled to see tiny kids running amuck in the courtyardgymatorium (the courtyard which serves as a gym which serves as an auditorium.) I am really proud of that word. Anyway, as the weenie kids lined up, I found myself asking where the heck they had originated. They came for the second shift, coming at 1:30 and leaving at 7. Up until this point I had no idea that there were kids here younger than 11. I wonder if this is done to conserve space. It is not done to conserve teachers, because different ones come in at this time.

Rubia

2009-10-21T14:13:00.000-07:00

Soy rubia.

I'm blonde.

At least in Chile I am rubia. I never thought of myself as rubia before, but I get called just that all the time. My hair is not 'chilean;' it is not black and long and pretty, it is brown and brittle, so it breaks before it gets long. Some Chileans are rubio of course. Every great once in a while someone will say "oh, I thought you were Chilean!" but that does not happen too often. If I had long pretty Chilean hair I would braid it all the time and decorate it like the cueca dancers do.

There is this guy on the metros sometimes, I call him the recharge guy. He wears a bright orange vest, like a construction worker, that says RECARGA on the back, and walks around with a sign on a stick that says RECARGAR AQUÍ. You can put minutes on your phone by talking to him, for as little as 100 pesos. Just signal him over and he will whip out his phone to send minutes to yours. So if you want to buy minutes to your phone, ice cream, pocket calendars, other candy, pens, or other assorted oddities, just take public transportation. My favorite thing that I saw for sale on the street? Toilet paper.

Procrastination: my presentation is tomorrow

2009-10-20T07:38:00.000-07:00

I can´t hear anything. Well I can, but not like normal. Sand keeps coming out, and I am congested to begin with. There is still some wedged under my eyelids, I can feel it grinding around and it gives me a headache. My sore from the blister I drained last week was black... you guessed it, I cut away the skin and scraped out all the little sand grains.

Today´s dance class was infinitely better than my bad-tempered one of last week. Another profe joined ours, and they both dressed in traditional clothes, different for each dance. It seemed a lot more real now. Then our profe walked out almost naked, with what was essentially underwear with long feathered strings. This was the oldest of the Rapa Nui dances. One poor embarrased girl was pulled from the audience to dance with our nearly naked profe. I flashed back to the first day of our orientation, when I saw this dance for the first time, I believe with the same dancers. The strangest things happen in these classrooms. Oh, and we got out syllabus today for this class. jaja, the class started in August.

My language exchange group, which meets once a week to converse half in English and half in Spanish, actually talked in English today. Normally we all opt for Spanish. Maca and Carolina heard me speak English for the first time. They were blown away by how different I sounded when I spoke English. How awesome though that it is halfway through the semester and they for the first time heard my English voice!

Thomas el vecino arrived from his grand adventures abroad today. Adventures abroad abroad. He went through Argentina and Uruguay and apparently had the time of his life. Poor guy though, he was attacked again, this time in Buenos Aires, but his attackers only got some money and tourist information. I don't think the flaites will be needing tourist maps of Uruguay, but I could be wrong. Thomas' reaction was great: "the malditos flaites were stupid and didn't see my cellphone, concha sus madres!!"

While I continue to procrastinate practicing my presentation again (yes, I have work to do...) let me add photos from Recreo that I took on another procrastination day. It's getting really bad... I am chugging tea (my 5th one today? maybe 6th) and eating spaghettini with ahí in my stress-induced calorie fit. You can only practice it so many times...

Eat like a Chilean!

2009-10-19T18:03:00.000-07:00

I blew my nose today and sand came out. My ears too, I think my hearing is reduced from particles that settled in there. Great.

The miel is gone! I scraped out the last of it today. It's out of season, so it will be hard to come by now. I guess I just have to stay here until it is in season again (March). Oh well.

Today I ate: cereal, yoghurt, and eggs for breakfast, sopaipilla and pebre for a lunch-snack, artichoke along with an avocado-tuna-mayonnaise-lettuce with lemon salad, two breads with marmalade and the last of the miel for once, and am on my second tea. Sound Chilean? AND I ate with my left hand on the table... comfortably, without thinking about it. Because that is what Chileans do. It is a hard habit to develop, but I am finally getting there.

Speaking of Chilean food, check out the market:

that is a mountain of strawberries.

I can't decide if it feels like fall or spring. The weather is both, alternating days. The season is both, depending on the hemisphere of home or here. The feeling is... confused. And the sun set after 8:00 this evening. Everyone in PA wants to inflict bodily harm after hearing that. It is not good for my study habits though; I wander around outside for any excuse not to be confined to a building when there is a whole Chilean world to explore before sunset, when I finally feel obligated to study something.

In the crosswalk

2009-10-18T22:31:00.000-07:00

The day I went kayaking/to the Science Tunnel I also wandered to Plaza Victoria (bored? go wander in Valpo, there's nothing better). Here there was a nice crowd, at least 200 people lining the streets of a T-intersection. There was a clown in the middle of the road, harassing every vehicle that passed by. This was done in varied ways; by chasing them, throwing shoes at them, climbing on top of them, directing traffic the wrong way. When a police van came by he laid down alongside the road, and they did nothing. My favorite was when he used his whistle to make that 7-tone song-thing that everyone always does when they knock on doors, except he omitted the last two notes and left these to the driver he was harassing. The driver didn't get it, so he got out and let the clown do it. He then drove the car away. He brought it back eventually.

One afternoon I walked home from Sausalito (an hour and 45 minutes by the way) and at the Journal intersection there was a man on a unicycle, the seat of which was, no kidding, over my head. He juggled three bowling pins, rode the unicycle with one foot, balanced a soccer ball with the other, and actually scratched his back with the pins as he juggled. I marveled. He fell. I was still impressed.

Another day, on Errázuriz, during the red light, I saw a man jump onto I don't even know, a large box thing on the sidewalk, and commence playing guitar while two others, all with suits and painted faces, ran into the crosswalk and began throwing suitcases at each other and screaming stuff. Only from the photo did I realize what this was; the suitcases had the name of a theater company; they were advertising.

I enjoy the fact that these events take place during the short span of the red light. They dash into the crosswalk, do their thing, and then run back to the side to avoid speeding micros. This happens frequently, everywhere that there is a lot of traffic. Sometimes it is just dudes doing handstands and flips. It doesn't matter what it is; I am always impressed.

dunas Con Con

2009-10-18T20:54:00.000-07:00

I decided that I should stop sleeping in until noon on Sundays and instead try out the Lutheran church in Valparaíso. La Iglesia Luterana Alemania is located in Cerro Concepción, and I have passed by several times, even entered once, but did not make it for a service. The service itself was remarkably similar to what I am accustomed to at St. John's in my hometown, in fact almost exactly the same but for the language (I typed the word "idioma," erased it, typed it again, then remembered that I had to use the word "language" instead; this is a good sign.) The communion wafers and wine were significantly better though; the wafers are like sweet crackers, and I want more. I really liked the passing of the peace; it involved a simple "la paz" followed by much hugging and kissing. I don't know much of the service in Spanish, but I can understand it easily, and it translates to exactly what we use for my normal service. After the service there was some form of special performance by the choir. This went on for some time but I opted out early to make it back for lunch with my family. I did manage to snag Jonothan for a quick chat though- he is the dude I met the first time I checked out the church. I told him I'd be back.

After Dani's lasagna invention for lunch (ke rico!) the two of us caught the "ositos" micro to ConCon for some fun on the dunes. There is a dude at the bottom of the massive sand dunes who rents sandboards out of a van for rather cheap. They do not have foot clamp things like the ones in San Pedro did, which made them more... interesting. And harder to use, but all the more fun. My favorite aspect of this was that the dude had a megaphone and would summon all of the sandboarders whose rental time was up. The only thing I could hear the entire time was the ridiculous wind and the names of about 50 different people. Dani served as photographer, and I as novice sandboarder and extreme sledder. If you wax the board and use it as a sled, it is insane, there is no way to slow down; it ends when you run out of wax, hit something (which would be extremely dangerous as this is super fast) or roll/fall off. Same goes for the sandboarding, though I usually fall when I get to a high speed. At the bottom of the shore side of the dune is a line of tires sunken into the sand to prevent you from falling 12 feet into passing micros. I think if you would smash into that you would fly into the road anyway, or break your neck. And so, I disembarked early. The sea side of the dune was better because the harder sand sends you careening towards the ocean, though the wind pounds sand into your face like nobody's business. Other highlights included the view of ConCon, the ocean, dunes, and Reñaca all the way to Valpo, as well as the sand tornadoes. I watched a little kid that was playing in the sand get mowed over by one. It passed in about 10 second, and he looked all around wondering what just happened.

Let me tell you about the sand. It formed a film that lined the inside of my mouth, plugs in my ears (both inner and outer), crusted around my eyes so I looked like a raccoon, and I carried about a pound of it around in my pants. After I showered and shook out all of my clothes, it could still be found lurking... everywhere.

I like having a sister, and an older sibling. This too is a new experience. With an older sibling you can do lots of stuff, like taking ridiculous pictures, trekking through the inclined dunes. microing your way back to Reñaca for Sanhe Nuss Mcflurries, and watch the Sex and the City movie. Big sisters are good to talk to for just about anything. I did not have one growing up, but I want one now.

surfear

2009-10-17T16:45:00.003-07:00

As I walked out into the street 7:00 this morning, beneath thick cloud cover and dressed in three layers, I thought, this is a less than optimal day for surfing.

I was off to Maintecello, a city an hour and a half north of Viña del Mar, for my first surfing experience. I went solo to join up with a group at Casa Central, with two Mexicans, a Spaniard, two germans, a french girl, and two gringas, from two universities. How diverse we were. An hour and a half later, by SUV and Volkswagon bus (yes!) we made it. and it was... cold. Before we even got into our wetsuits, I was shivering, in three layers, including a fleece jacket. No way was I going in that water. 1- minutes later I gave in and donned my wetsuit, for the second time in my life, and was miraculously warmer. Next we... ran. On the beach, accompanied by the street dogs of Maintecello, to warm up. During the stretching exercises, one of the instructors told me to stretch and I told him I was. Turns out I am the most inflexible person he has ever seen.

If you are cold while dry, getting wet is not the best idea. My toes were white and unusable; when I tried to walk I could only balance on my heels. Into the water we ran, through the first set of waves. It was apparent from the beginning that I was the runt student. I couldn't even paddle without falling off of my board, yes really. I found it to be significantly harder than using a rescue board, which in comparison is massive, and much easier to balance. Even when an instructor pushed my board with precision timing I still managed to mess it up every time. Once I fell into a wave, I could not recover fast enough and proceeded to be pummeled by 8 more before there was a lull and I could breath. And I mean sufficiently pummeled, rolled underwater again and again. When I popped up, another one was right there. It was great fun, but eventually I had sharp pains just about everywhere from hitting the board, or from the force of the wave smashing onto my head. I averted this by protecting my head with my arms and diving headlong into the ones I could not attempt to surf.

I did not manage to actually surf, like on top of a wave, standing up. But I learned how it works, I just can't climb onto the board fast enough. I did get on top of the board lots of times though, just not entirely standing up. Nevertheless, it was a fabulous experience. I will repeat it when it is a bit warmer, not the water but at least the air temperature. When asked after lunch if we wanted to go out again, we all were like nooooo, we wanna go home we have been out of the water for two hours and are still freezing. It was overall a fun day, but I am probably going to develop pneumonia.

Día del Profe/ Expo Admisión

2009-10-17T16:45:00.001-07:00

I woke up late and arrived at St. Liceo 45 minutes later than planned. Probably not the best idea when you received a personal invitation from the principal to a special celebration breakfast. It was Día del Profesores, a day dedicated to celebrating the awesomeness of teachers. Right on. So back to me being late. Apparent I have the ability to sleep through 3 separate alarm clocks, all with multiple alarms. Remember though that in Chile, you can add half an hour to an hour to whatever time you are supposed to arrive and still be on time. Luckily this was the case. It was a catered breakfast, with manjar panqueques (crêpes) and cake. As I walked in there was a student line by which passed the entering teachers, and at the end, my pal Hugo. Again, not accustomed to walking into a room of students and kissing every single one of them, but I love it. The teachers were hardcore into teacher day; they made plans to meet later on for lunch at a restaurant.

After a pleasant teacher day I headed home briefly and headed back to Viña in campus Sausalito for the Expo Admisión. This was like an open house at the university. I helped at the International Programs table with two friends from my language exchange group, Macarena and Carolina, and another exchange student, Diego. Diego is from Mexico originally but now lives in the US, and in fact goes to school in Philadelphia. His accent is a very neutral Spanish, lighter than Chilean, and much easier to understand (though now Chilean is not nearly as hard as it was.) We talked with local prospective students, and then we entertained ourselves when the action died down by stealing oranges from the agriculture table. The oranges were off to the side on the ground, and in order to get them I walked around the table and started talking to one of the students running it while Diego made his move. I have to say that I am not very good at holding back the laughter in any situation, but I made a convincing accomplice. We ate the orange, pinned a note to the peel, and replaced it to its original place. Luckily the other table thought this was hilarious. We compensated by giving them our candy from ours. Diego and I caught the same micro and were in high spirits after the afternoon of fun.

I rounded out my day by heading off to Jun's housewarming party (is housewarming an actual term, or did I make that up? It should not be a real term, it doesn't make any sense) He lives in Viña in one of the massive towers with exquisite apartments, guarded by two or three separate locked gates, and including access via ascensor. The company Jun works for pays for his apartment for security reasons. It is insane; it has a terrance that overlooks Viña, distant Valpo, and the ocean.

English please

2009-10-15T17:41:00.000-07:00

The adventures of el Liceo Santa Theresa continue. So does the pandemonium. Chaos just seems to follow me around like one of the hungry street dogs that wants your empanada. When I caught a micro in the first 10 seconds after my arrival to Avenida España, I thought, what luck! It never is that fast. Wrong one; I went to Miraflores alto alto. I was curious so I stuck with it, and got off close to what I thought was the water tower-looking thing near my school. Wrong. There are many such towers, as I found out during my wanderings in a seemingly shady Miraflores sector. I am fairly certain if I had stayed on that micro I would have passed right by my school. This is quite the familiar scenario. So I arrived, half an hour late, to find out my teacher was ill and not present. No no one had any idea what to do, and I was the only person there who was free (the other English teachers had meetings and whatnot) and knew enough English to teach it. One class was occupied by a presentation on bullying, but I taught the next one solo. Well, the math teacher accompanied me, and he was very nice but speaks no English, which is not much help in an English class.

I don't know what to make of this situation. 37 10th graders, one teacher. If they were on relatively the same level, I would be alright. But the difference in ability levels is astounding. It is like years of difference in level between some students. I keep telling myself that it is possible to teach to the needs of all of these kids at once, but I am losing my security in this idea. Fast. It needs to be two classes, I can't see any other way. There has to be something I can do better of course. When I taught today, the upper-level kids read faster than me and became bored. The lower-level paid no attention for the most part, became frustrated, and played with the phones and MP3 players that they are allowed to have in class. Some were engaged, but it was an extremely low percentage. I watch this in other classes too, it's not just my novice teaching. What can I do? Why can't this be two classes? It needs to be. Is there some way to effectively teach this way? I like to think so, because there is no other choice. It's hard but until the situation changes it is reality.

Not all schools have such large classes. This school is not private, but not public, a mix of both; it is less expensive than private. I am beginning to think that there are more differences between the classes of school than there are between the two countries. By this I mean that there are huge differences between city and rural schools, public and private, just like in the US, and that these differences are bigger than the differences between the education systems in each country. This is just a thought, I really have no idea if that is true because I have not seen much of the education system here. Also, many schools have cafeterias, but mine does not. It does have a nifty snack stand though. All, or nearly all, Chilean schools require uniforms. I am drawn to the equalizing factor of the school uniform.

After school, I took the same micro as Aaron and another student. The concept of taking public transportation to get home, riding alongside your students instead of simply driving home, is bizarre. It is a good kind of bizarre though, and makes me feel even more integrated in this life here.

Encuentro de Estudiantes Internacionales

2009-10-14T18:02:00.000-07:00

I feel I accurately represented the spirit of the United States of America today with S'mores and Rice Krispies treats.

The 7th annual Encuentro de Estudiantes Internacionales was essentially an international student fair held in Casa Central's gym to celebrate Día de la Cultura. Each country prepared typical food, played music, had a table, you know how it goes.

There are 180 exchange students from the United States. Guess how many took the initiative (or were able) to do this? 2. And as you who know me so well have guessed, I was half of the gringa crew. In typical Ellen fashion (and Chilean fashion too) I slept an hour late and accidentally cut my set-up time in half (my partner could not make it until later). Other tables had exquisite dishes, fun decorations, and, well, people; I had a mountain of hard rice krispies treats. The other gringas had obligations and our communication failed, so we were a mess.

Things went up from there though. We managed to make a display and almost had our food ready when we had visitors. First Cristian, then Caroline, Javi, and Carolina, who were all in my Millersville Chilean lunch group last semester. Then more, intercambios, Chilean friends, and curious/hungry Chilean students. This seems like an ordinary and possibly dull event, but it was not, as I will thoroughly explain. At Millersville, I do a lot of stuff like this, and am accustomed to running/helping at university events where the general student population wanders around and where I inevitably run into people I know. This was just like that, but better, because I was a part of the PUCV student community. I wasn't just visiting, I was living amongst the student community. How excited I was to see my Chilean friends, friends from another culture into which I am integrating! I have friends here, good ones. Chileans. I am a part of this!

Chileans are fascinated at the concept of the s'more: the cooking on a stick part, and the part where you combine crackers with marshmallow with chocolate. I am fascinated by dipping chips into mayonnaise and ketchup sauce. We're even. I was thrilled to explain the concept of these foods for the first time in my life, well the second, Javi and I made rice krispies treats last semester. And every single one of them loved it.

At one point, as I was putting together my improvised s'mores (no graham crackers here), a lady with a microphone asked to interview me, with camera man in tow. I immediately said yes, but was honestly terrified at the thought, just as I would be for an interview in English. I managed to make it through, but had to ask for a question to be repeated and I think I answered one that she never asked. Ah well. I am incredibly grateful for the practice I had last semester in my Spanish class, where we role-played and interviewed through headsets while sitting at different computers, which at first I had hated. But it paid off.

AND we were asked to speak to the whole gym about the US. I summed up my American culture the only way I knew how; by pointing out that we have no palta, don't drink tea, and don't have the beloved micros.

la Gringa Chilena

2009-10-13T22:59:00.001-07:00

Until about 5pm today, I wanted to hurl myself in front of a micro. The day began in a craptastic fashion, in every sense of the word. I was epically revolted.

The annoyance I have with gringos speaking English in my classes has been building for some time. So I thought ok, if they speak in Spanish I will feel better about it. Not the case. I arrived to my dance class today and they were speaking Spanish, horribly mockery Spanish, without the rr sound, or for that manner very many Spanish sounds at all. I was just pushed too far; this is a Spanish-speaking country where you came to... hang out with people just like you and speak in your native language? I think not. And they did not even try to explain what they did not know in Spanish, they just reverted to English. There is a book called "I was so mad!" where the main character is in a bad mood and hates everything that goes on. That was me. I couldn't dance, I was so mad. I couldn't think in Spanish, I was so mad. My conversation group couldn't meet. I was so mad. English in my culture class. It was too much. And for the record, I am still a horrific dancer. If it's basic to you, I probably can't do it.

But it always gets better. First, I ran into Sebastian, who was unbelievably excited to see me. He is perpetually happy and excited, and it is infectious. Then I ran into Cristian an hour before chorrillana night where we were meeting up anyway. We met at Ripley and went to meet the others, Javi and Caroline.

There are moments you never forget, that define you, ordinary ones that mean something extraordinary. This was one of them. Cristian was introduced to Javi, and we talked about how her, caroline, and myself used to meet for lunch last semester every Friday so I could practice my Chilean Spanish. Caroline said [everything in Spanish of course] "Remember when Ellen didn't understand anything?" This at first sounds harsh, but it's not. A lot of things that are translated word for word into English sound very harsh to native English speakers, but are accepted in Spanish and are not rude. So, readjust your mindset; what she said was positive, I promise. It was a huge compliment, and I am so grateful, for their help, for their kindness, for their incredible patience. And it was true. I remembered 7 months ago siting in Gordinier dining hall at Millersville with the Chilean girls, hardly understanding almost nothing. After studying Spanish for almost 7 years, I understood almost nothing. But after three months here, I understand quite a lot. Here I was, with 3 Chileans, friends. I had friends who spoke another language, and I could understand them. In fact, I could even communicate back. Effectively. Then and now, huge difference. What Caroline said was to show how good I was, how I understood and had learned. I have not felt this proud in a long time.

JCruz (jota-cruz) is... eclectic. And shady. It is off the beaten track, down a tiny graffiti-alley, and it is scary-looking. The atmosphere was defined by two things: 1. the décor, which consisted almost entirely of crap that people left there, pictures, signed napkins, random objects, all preserved on the walls, and 2. the guitarist-singer who was entirely too loud. But of course I enjoyed it, because estadounidenses don't have guitarists in their restaurants. Remember the concept of the chorrillana? Delicious. We toasted with our sodas to me being here in Chile (Chileans toast to everything, which I of course highly enjoy). I became la Gringa Chileana. Caroline: "Why did you say you want to be Chilena, porfa?" it's true. Nothing can make your day better than being called la Gringa Chilena, though hearing "Pero hablas bien po!" from Cristian is equally as good; my day had now come full circle.

We left our very own napkin in the display case and made our way back towards Jumbo, but not before some ice cream, flavor Lúcuma. This apparently is a type of fruit, and it is tasty. Javi and I went up to Jumbo to buy the ingredients I needed for the día de cultura ferria the next day. Of course we could not find regular rice krispies cereal. Bummer too, because it is Javi's fav. Funny how the most simple activities are the most fun, eating, talking, wandering around in grocery stores.

Dani was intrigued by the idea of this exotic dessert. Another simple but amazing bonding activity. The highlight of this was definitely the "huevos de iguanas," referencing that the melted marshmallows looked like iguana eggs. hmm.

Soo in the end, today proved to be a rather good one, salvaged for the second half, by 4 Chileans.

thoughts and theories

2009-10-12T21:25:00.000-07:00

Matias, a Chilean from my language exchange group, has a theory about exchange students:

"1° exchange students que vienen only for one semester, and 2° the other que aman la cultura y despues vuelven a vivir." I wonder why a lot of people are here. To live in the culture. To party. To travel. To learn the language. Probably not to be uncomfortable. How will Chile stay with me when I go back?

Embalse los Aromos

2009-10-12T19:46:00.002-07:00

I had a restless night's sleep. First, as I was falling asleep, I suddenly realized that my time left in Chile is a maximum of 3 more months. This thought of so little time makes me sufficiently upset to vomit on the floor, so I will cast that aside as best as I can. I had a dream that it was my last day before leaving, and I was visiting all the Valpo ascensores for the last time, but as I went around trying to see them I was pulled away by other things I had to do in order to prepare for travel. The pulling away may have been literal or a mental pull, I am not sure, but I am sure that it was a sad day. I woke up with the vomit thought still there.

I was long overdue for another adventure in that little gray van thing that Dani and I took to Colliguay with her friends, so we had another one. Same deal, we metroed our way to Quilpué, to Villa Alemana on the outskirts, and boarded the gray death van with Dani's friends on a quest to Embalse los Aromos. I use the term death van lightly, but I probably shouldn't. It is a vehicle designed to transport stuff, like to a market, so it doesn't have side windows. This may be a good thing in a rollover (I pictured us neatly tumbling into a ravine, without fear of broken glass cuts at least), but I wonder how you would get out. But we wanted to see the pretty ravine, so how did we accommodate this? Drive with the doors open. The back seat is about a foot and a half high and slightly but uncomfortably reclined. and only has room for 3 people, not 4 like we needed. How did we accommodate this? we added a stool for the 4th person. A stool. I assure you that at least I was safer than you think, because I secured myself in the center, away from open doors, and we did not drive fast, I promise. Oh, there were no seats for the kids. How did we accomodate this? We lined the trunk (open to the back seat) with cushions and pillows.

We did not drive fast because the road was... definitely the ones less traveled. It was earth, washed out, and surrounded by gorgeous mountain forest. ( I want you to know that I looked up the word 'gorgeous' in the dictionary just to see if it had two meanings: aside from meaning "really pretty" I was hoping for a ridiculously amazing pun of "full of gorges;" i.e. "The interior of Chile is known for it's GORGEous [mountainous] landscape." This meaning does not exist, but it should. I will coin it and hopefully in the process make a lot of money.) Back to the story.

The Embalse los Aromos, which means reservoir los Aromos, is set in the mountains north of Quilpué. We crossed over gullys, at one point turning the vehicle at such a steep angle that Dani was prompted to respond "Concha su madre!!" while surely envisioning the van on its side, but we made it. The scrub forest is full of California Quail (which oddly enough I have never encountered in the US), Tiuque (caracaras; large falcons that closely resemble hawks), and rabbits. I searched and searched, but despite the enormous amount of rabbit evidence, none were to be found out of their burrows. The climate in the interior is completely different than Viña and Valpo. Temperatures are more extreme, and even though Quilpué is 30 minutes inland, the weather is often different. The other day we had ocean fog and in Quilpué it was hot and sunny.

I am going to backtrack to lunch. We dined at 3:30 at the house of Dani's friends. First note: the hospitality. I was given so much, offered so much, engaged in the event. Second: Chileans like mayonnaise, a lot. We ate mayonnaise on rice, along with meats and empanadas. I have quite taken to this mayonnaise taste. Yes, slowly converting to Chileanism...

Mundial

2009-10-12T19:45:00.001-07:00

Saturday my host mom took me to an herbal therapy session discussion thing, I am not really sure what it was, but it was pleasant. We talked about energy, ate little cookies, anddrank tea. Everyone was fascinated by me, and the good Chilean hospitality was evident. After we had ice cream at the mall, where I learned three things: 1. a lot of Chileans like to eat their ice cream cones with those teenie little spoons (I tried this and nearly scooped it onto the floor), 2. manjar merengue and raspberry go really well together, and 3. when the big fútbol game is on, everyone watches, no matter where you are. When a goal was scored, the entire mall erupted in screeching and screaming and jumpng and crying. The colectivo driver had the radio blasting the game. By the time we got home it was over, I had missed it, but Chile won and qualified for the worlds. Though I did not leave my house I could hear celebrations all around, fireworks, singing, screaming. Everyone was excited. No one in my family watches fútbol, and no one invited me for the game, so I missed out on the culture of it all. I sorely regret this, because now the season is over.

By Sunday I was irrited that everyone this weekend was either sick, tired, or traveling without me, so I took matters into my own hands. I arrived at Muella Barón and sea kayaked around the pier, to the old cement structure with the sea lions on it, flighting the wind. My host mom thinks it is probably the most dangerous thing in the world to go sea kayaking solo, but I was not far from the coast by any stretch of the imagination. I wandered Valpo for a while and settled on the ferria back at the pier for my next activity. There was a science expostion from Germany here, called Túnel de Ciencia, the Science Tunnel. It was packed with displays on cutting edge research from the institues in Germany, on physics, biologial sciences, space science, among others. I stayed until close.

Tirar y hablar (en Chileno)

2009-10-09T14:06:00.001-07:00

Have you ever seen a kid throw another kid out of a classroom window? I have. Paper too, and backpacks and nail polish and anything else that was throwable.

Today was my first day in the history of my life where I was given a class entirely on my own, no other teacher in the room, nothing. 1st day entirely sola. And it was 8th grade. In Spanish. 15 minutes in the projectiles started. This was actually half of the class, as Miss Elena has taken the rest away to finish a test, so I had about 20 kids. I arranged them in a circle, explaining that I like circles beacuse we can all see eachother. This was a good decision, but it did not cease the pandemonium. We alternated reading as I saw fit. They talked over the readers and the readers read quietly. I took a cellphone. I still can´t believe they bring phones to class and use them constantly. Control was lost; I didn´t stand a chance. Then Aaron arrived to save the day, one of the seniors, whose class had been cancelled. He translated and helped me learn what the teacher normally does, because in this setting I really have no idea. Good thing he was there; it gave me hope. I don´t know how to handle this class, not at all. Nevertheless I consider it a good experience, and if nothing else they learned some things about me during our ask English questions to the native speaker time.

When I had made sufficient recovery (three hours of sleep in after lunch) I met Cristian to go to Sebatián´s birthday party in Valpo. Aside from being a fun and relaxed time, I realzed something after a couple of hours. I was sitting in a room with 12 Chileans, speaking Spanish at a normal rate (which is extremely fast for non-native speakers), the way they really talk, with slang. I understood. Not everything, but almost. I understood the Chileans. I UNDERSTOOD THE CHILEANS!! I could not only effectively communitcate, but I could communicate in a way that was not all about me struggling for the words; instead it was all about the subject of the conversation. I meshed into the conversation, did not cause transaltion interruptions. Reflect back to Dani´s birthday party, nearly 3 months ago, when I was in the same situation and understood just about nothing. My mind changed into Spanish faster today. 6 of us opted for dancing after, in the Port. Another excellent evening.

todo el día y toda la noche

2009-10-09T14:05:00.001-07:00

Today began my Thursday adventures in St. Lucio. I worked with a different English teacher all day, entirely different classes from Fridays. The faculty room is weird. Not bad weird, weird in the sense that the teachers keep all their planning books in there, strewn all over the table. And they drink tea between classes, which is pretty cool. By 11 I had already had two and had been offered about 10.

The first class, which I believe was 6th grade, got to hear my 3 favorite things about Chile. I created a riot when I talked about the micros. I apparently have a gift for creating riots. For the 10th grade class, I worked individually with groups of students as they did there homework. At least about 4 out of the 35 did their homework. The rest did anything but. This is a class by grade, not by level; there are not enough teachers. I don´t understand how we can teach like this and meet everyone´s needs; maybe we can´t. I still search for the best way to do this, and there has got to be something better that I can to do teach in this way.

By night there was more adventure to be had in Valpo. I met Trena and Rachel for a music event at the ex Carcel, which is now a cultural park but was once a jail. We took the micro too far, got off at Plaza Sotomayor, and were confused as to which cerro to climb. To remedy this, we asked a police van (which is always parked there) how to get there, and they decided to drive us there for safety. This was my second ever ride in a police car, and was infinitely more interesting than the ride at Millersville from the infirmiry to my dorm, when the cop was listening to Shania Twain while I tried not to erupt my stomach virus-induced gatorade vomit all over his backseat.

There were few people at the Ex Carcel, and those that were waiting around were shady. We did not feel safe at all and so opted to go back to the plan (the commercial district, centro Valpo) and grab some food. It had definitely been worth it though, just for time out and if nothing else a fun carabinero escort. I will be back to check out the cool graffitis. In Bellavista we parted, Trena and Rachel went home and I went to el Proa al Cañaveral, where there was an event, Peña de Castellano, held by the PUCV castellano students. I just now had the curiosity to look up the word "peña," and found that it means either "boulders," or "friends." Interesting. Anyway, this place is in the Port district, and from the dance floor you have a nice view of the port and ships. Cristian was the only person I knew, but I was introduced to many nice castellano students. We dined on sopaipillas and danced the night away. I got there after 11, as in it started at 11. PM. I don't know when Chileans sleep.

puente

2009-10-09T14:02:00.000-07:00

My education class was cancelled. Again. Sound familiar? It is. I walked discouraged through Viña, determined to make use of my time to explore. I checked out Palacio Rioja, which is the nicest ¨house¨I have ever encountered. It is packed with the original furniture, light fixtures, paintings, and floor. You have to wear slippers overtop of your shoes in order to not destroy the floor

It was also a good night at Journal, a night of catching up and conversation with the Australian crew, in which I also include other exchange students and Chileans like Ken and Ricardo. I was good and walked home before everyone else in order to get up for volunteering at the school. See how responsable I am?

Now for what I really wanted to talk about: the puente. My Chilean language and culture profe, Felipe, always talks about a bridge, forming a bridge between what you know and what you want to know so that you know how to get there. After class I asked a question about some insignificant thing that I can´t remember. But more importantly, we discussed something which has been gauging my experience in the class; the other students, the gringas. It has come to the point where I absolutely can´t stand arriving to class, in a Spanish-speaking country, taught in Spanish about Spanish, where the students purposefully and disrespectfully distance themselves from the language and culture. It makes me want to smash my head on the wall. No one wants to be uncomfortable when they don´t know what to say, but that is why they are here. The bridge, here it is. My class of a year and a half ago through Millersville University, where 17 future teachers infiltrated Philadelpia schools, discovered the same thing. People are uncomfortable stepping outside of their comfort zone. It is the same thing!! Gringos with gringo friends, interacting with people just like themselves. The same! Now I have a bridge between the ideas in my classes here and at home. The whole notion angers me. While I want to have friends to travel with, I realized that they would be just for that, traveling, because I don´t spend time with many estadounidenses. With other exchange students I feel somewhat better because they are from different countries other than my own. All of the gringos get together and travel all the time, so I am sort of stuck for travel buddies a lot of the time. But I have a bridge and a perspective now.

And for my classes being cancelled, all the time... one might think this is great. I am irritated. I arrive at the Sausalito campus and have class about 60% of the time. The rest of the time is spend wandering around trying to find which room how harbors the class, asking around, finding out what time the class was changed to, being generally confused. We don´t receive any notification of this ahead of time. It´s not just me either; the Chileans student show up too. The lack of a secure schedule messes with my mind and makes me upset. At first it was generally funny and an adventure, but now I just feel even more lost in my classes. This is not typical by the way.

olor de rodilla

2009-10-09T14:01:00.000-07:00

My Eudcation Valores y Actitudes class was cancelled. Again. I decided to utilize the extra time to go to el Museo Arqueológio Historia Natural in Viña. They had a magificent Easter Island exhibit and a ton of artifacts from various time periods. They also had a stuffed condor, which was massive and scary, and makes Hawk Mountain´s ¨Bob¨look like a toy.

Moai out of its natural habitat.

Fast forward a day. My Chilean language and culture class was held on Muelle Barón, because the room apparently smelled like knees? I don´t know, something like that. We just showed up to class and all trotted off to the pier to have our class on Chile in the 1960s surrounded by ocean.

Animales!

2009-10-09T13:38:00.001-07:00

After stuffing myself with chicken, I headed to Centro Viña with Dani and German Thomas (aka Thomas el Vecino, the neighbor.) for the animal right protest. I do not regret eating the chicken. It was the worldwide day for animals. I thought ok, we can check this out and it might be interesting. An hour later I was walking with Thomas and Dani through the streets amongst chanting people and excited dogs. I found myself asking how I ended up at an animal rights march in Chile. I will say though that it was well-coordinated; the march took up half of the street while traffic was neatly directed around us. I hoped to not see anyone I knew, and figured it was not a big possiblity anyway because it was a quiet Sunday afternoon, or at least quiet before the chanting of ¨circos sí, pero sin animales!!¨ So who else should I find but Jono and Australia Thomas (known as ¨mentiroso,¨or liar. They thought it was awesome. Thomas: ¨You have never been at a protest before? You suck.¨ They headed someplace to do hw, and I ran to catch up. I ran with dogs, excitedly hurrying to meet the people protesting on their behalf.

I have hardly talked about the street dogs at all. They are part of the city, part of the culture, though of course I wish there were no dogs on the streets, but it is asi. These are for the most part beautiful, healthy, friendly dogs who like to walk with you for company. There are some that are sick, and many that limp, but most seem relatively healthy, like someone´s pet. Just like someone´s pet, but abandoned. In many US cities there are stray cats that wander, here there are dogs. Often when I am by myself they will follow me for quite a while, and I feel bad leaving them to enter a building, because they are good company. Almost every time I walk home from Journal I encounter ¨Rufus,¨ best friend of Jono. I think he remembers us.

No one ever protests eatting rabbits. Ever. Just me. Why aren´t there save the nice fuzzy bunny protests? They have personalities too.

mind in spanish

2009-10-05T23:00:00.001-07:00

Cristian y yo tuvimos una conversación profunda sobre el cambio de la mente entre idiomas. Siempre hay algunas frases y palabras que son fáciles para cambiar a español, pero mi miente no está en modo español todo el tiempo. La única manera en que yo puedo cambiar mi mente es con varias horas de conversación, porque en la conversación tengo una responsibilidad no solo para escuchar, pero también para responder. Despues de algunas horas conversando, mi mente ha cambiado, y ahora funciona en una idioma diferente. Este es la mejor función de mi mente, y solo es posible la interación directa con hablantes nativos, eso es todo. Es un sentimiento bakán. Pero siempre después me caigo a inglés; durante la noche cuando estoy durmiendo, cuando hablo con un amigo en los EEUU, cuando estoy sola. Es como cuando una persona apaga la luz y la sala inmediatamente está oscura. Primero, no puedes ver nada. Después de algunos minutos, puedes ver un poquito. Y finalmente, después de algunas horas, tienes su máxima visión posible de la noche. Lo mismo para un idioma, con una diferencia. Es posible acortar el tiempo necesario para cambiar la mente dentro del español. El cambio podía ser instantaneamente. Hoy, cuando regresamos de la celebración loca en Ritoque, mi mente estaba en español. Pero ya está cambiando al inglés porque he escrito en mi blog anterior en inglés. Pero hace una hora tenía el miedo de este cambio, y también lo tendré para cuando regrese a los EEUU. Tengo miedo de perder la habilidad, la magia de una mente española.

Ritoque, Rafiki, and AGUA!

2009-10-05T02:40:00.001-07:00

Usually I can sufficiently explain a new experience to you by relating and comparing it to something familiar. Not the case this time around. I cannot relate this to anything whatsoever, but it is all the more awesome for that.

The campus for architecture majors is close to Con Con, a place called Ritoque, "la ciudad abierta." It is kind of like a playground for architecture majors, with it's weird half buildings (or building foundations), and odd structures. There is a professor who lives there in this house that looks like an OVNI (flying saucer). Actually, there are lots of them Well on this fine Saturday I went with Cristian and some of his friends to this strange place for el Toreno San Francisco, an annual celebration for something about Saint Francis. Everything about this event defies normal description. Everything. We arrived and walked around the place for a bit, checking out weird architecture things. This campus is located in the country. It was for this reason that I saw a Chilean rabbit. Chilean rabbit!! Por fin! Do you know how long I have been waiting to see a chilean rabbit? Since before I got here. It ran away and I proceeded to chase imaginary rabbits in the dunes without another encounter. Saddened by the subsequent lack of dune rabbits, I joined the others for the festivities.

The festivities for us commenced with a poetic act. At least I think that is what it was. A staircase-ish structure in the distance served as a backdrop of sorts, and in the foreground, two actors wearing this cut up paper things over their clothes. Next was... church. A service was held in the middle of the woods. I was... confused. Kids climbed into the trees. Everyone stood around to watch, no one sat. Except in the trees. I did enjoy how everyone passed the peace, simply said "la paz" and giving each other hugs and kisses. Following this, the crowd moved up towards the dunes for what I thought was more poetry acting something or other. But then, there was a race down the hill to the volantines! Kites! I think part of the reason this is so obscure was because everything was unrelated to the previous thing, so there was no logical order and nothing for me to relate to.

I tried and tried, but there was not much wind to begin with. Lots of Chileans who knew how to fly kites were successful though. Cristian helped me, first by helping me construct the thing (after tying both ends together we realized we had done something wrong...) eventually we tried the dune, with me running down the hill and him throwing up the kite like nobody's business, but sin éxito. It was nevertheless a good time. Onward- we moved as a crowd to the beach, a 15 minute walk. Here the poet guy was in his element, with his rafiki stick- the staff with the paper things they were wearing placed on top. Rafiki said lots of stuff that I did not understand. I turned to my group and was like "I don't understand anything, and it's not for the language!" They said the same. Rafiki went on, something about brother fire. Hermano fuego! I can't even explain what was going on. Then a train passed by on the nearby tracks (Hermano Tren!) Probably the best thing of the entire day was when Rafiki took of his shoes in preparation to enter the water and a dog came by and stole one away. I nearly peed my pants.

Then we went to the beach. I still don't get it. Everyone lined up along the shore, held hands, and ran into the water. When we were done with that, we all gathered around Rafiki and he started yelling stuff with us repeating: "agua!" "agua!" and so forth, with more silly suggestions for ridiculous things to yell following this water chant: "húmedo!" "humedo!" Trinidad, Sebastián, and myself ran in, while Catalina and Cristian watched the whole spectacle, taking pictures and soaking up the craziness of it all, "todos locos!!"

Back at the field where we started, we were served lentils from an olla común. This is quite simply a massive pot used to cook everything together. And I mean this thing was like between 3 and 4 feet across (ok metric fans, .9 to 1.2 meters across... I should really accustom myself to this.) I thought this was so cool, such a "South American" thing to do. I guess I think that because we don't do that in the US. Well actually we do, but not to this scale. Well, we might and I just am not aware of it. Either way, it stuck in my mind because I had heard of the legendary ollas comunes in my culture class.

"Hacer dedo" means to hitchhike. Don't translate it literally. We tried this (both the actual hitchhiking part and the translating) with little success. Never fear, we caught a beloved micro instead, and while the others headed off to Valpo, Cristian and I went to stuff our faces at the mall, with cheese empanadas. mmmm. I think we could both live off of those.

What followed was one of those defining conversations, which from the outside seems ordinary, but really is extraordinary, that which one remembers. I don´t want to live like a tourist. It is one of my biggest fears for my time in Chile. Why am I not a tourist[ideally]? I see the cultural aspects as they are, not for good or bad but for the culture. Chileans are not bad people because they have a massive problem with the stray dog population. I see it así, I observe and think why it is that way, I talk about it and wonder and ask and watch, I note the similarities and differences. Not every exchange student has make it to that point, for which I often am upset. I make every attempt to be a part of this, not to live in a mini-US culture here, that is not why I am here. It would be atrocious to distance myself from this culture that I love so much. Can I please just spend my time in profound conversations with Chileans? I would much prefer that.

el Liceo Santa Theresa de los Andes

2009-10-05T02:36:00.001-07:00

My beloved readers, you are in for an earful.

It was day 1 for me at el Liceo Santa Theresa de los Andes, a school in Miraflores alto in Viña, waay up in the hills. Everything preconceived notion I had in my head about a Catholic school was pretty much shattered. Everything I could not do in my schools in Hamburg these kids can do in this school.

The school is grades 3(?) to 12, básica including up to grade 8. I had expected the kids to wear uniforms, I think most Chilean schools require this. I quite like this actually. I had expected the kids to greet each other with kisses and hugs and affection, but not with the teachers, but it is so. In the 5th grade class, one girl arrived late, but still proceeded to greet all of her friends before taking her seat. There are 15 minute breaks between classes, where the kids can buy snacks and hang out in the open-air gymnasium. Here the equivalent of a study hall proctor makes sure kids don't kill each other. The best part is that he (or she) is called the "Inspector," which I find to be fantastic. Every day at 10:00 the whole school lines up by class to hear greetings and announcements from the principal. Everyone arrives 5 minutes late to class, some later, and it is considered fine. The classes themselves are pandemonium, at least in the English room, 5th grade being really bad. The English classes are large, ranging from 35 to 37 students. There is constant conversation while teaching is happening, and never more than 1/3 of the class pays attention at the same time. Whether it is a cultural thing or at the discretion of the teacher, I am unsure but everything is really relaxed. I don't feel good about the classroom management, but maybe I just have to observe more. The classroom management, or lack thereof, made it hard for me to talk to the class as a whole even just to have them hear me. I wanted to bash my head against the wall after 15 minutes of the pandemonium, but I held on, observing. Kids fought and threw stuff at each other. I mean fought, like with fists, smacking each other, all of it ignored. Conversations, all the time, over the teacher. I really am unsure how much of it is culturally "Chile," and/or how much of it is that teacher's style, etc. Give me some more time to watch and learn.

So essentially, my equivalent schooling experience is monumentally different than was these kids are living. I am intrigued.

I have 5 hours each day Thurs and Fri to help out at the school, in different English classes. Though it is not much help for my Spanish, I especially like interacting with the older kids, to talk with them about Chile and life in a Chilean school. It is acceptable for me to hang out in between classes with the kids, in place of the teacher's lounge, to get to know them, and for conversation practice both ways; Aaron for instance speaks great English and has already taught me much about how the school system works. I find this infinitely more interesting than talking with the teachers, though maybe I should give them more of a chance.

For my notes on today, all I wrote "pandemonium en la aula."

For how crazy it was, I loved the experience and can't wait to return. Please, don't think Chilean schools are crap places where kids don't learn anything, because that is not true. There are good teachers, kids learn a ton, they go to college, they are successful. But they sure are different from Hamburg.

English Week

2009-10-05T02:35:00.002-07:00

At 8:30 this morning (yes believe it) I found myself ushered into the lobby of el Liceo Santa Theresa with a bunch of secondary English students, ready for a field trip to Valparaíso. First of all, my first day here, and we have a field trip, how cool is that? It is English week, and we were headed to Plaza Intendencia for English week with the students from two different schools in Miraflores, Viña. There I was, sheepishly standing in the middle of the students, awkwardly intimidated, but some took an interest (or pity) on me and wished to converse in English. Hugo and Aaron were some of the oldest students, and had studied English as long as I had studied Spanish. They were thrilled that I could talk to them in Spanish. From here we hopped on a micro to rendezvous the other school, then microed our way again. Picture it, for a field trip, the teacher flagging down a random micro for all of her students. It was awesome. We just walked into the street, flagged a micro, that was it, and me tagging along, marveling that I could be wandering in public with school students when the school did not even have info about me on file, no clearances, nothing, imagine it.

The festival started in the plaza with stands run by the schools and other organizations. I hung out with the students from my school, trying to learn the ways of the Chilean adolescent. Their English was really good, and so my Spanish mindset for the entire day was messed up, but it was all good. Students presented with speeches, music, and my students with debate. They argued for compulsory technical training, entirely in English, and made a pretty decent argument. During the entire presentation, a group of protesters had made its way through the streets, parking in front of the government building that was a backdrop for the podium where the students were speaking. They held off the festival, but the protest (for assistant teachers) persevered, and so they gave up and started anyway. Witness to my first protest in Chile. Oh and packed lunches, coleciones of palta and pollo mmm, so simple yet soo good.

I met the principal, who greeted me with the customary kiss on the cheek and hug. The students too, all of them, same greeting, same way of congratulating them for a job well done. Wow! How often do you get greeted like the principal like that? I love it and at the same time can't imagine it. Imagine, in the US, if this happened; we can't touch kids, not at all, and we certainly can't hug and kiss them, it is not part of our culture. It should be.

After class I returned home for lunch #2 and once. After, having not eaten enough, I set out to Bravissimo in Viña for some ice cream with Javi and Trena, with Javi's friends joining later. I ordered a huge crepe filled with ice cream and manjar and fruit, and about 5 times the size of a normal person's ice cream. There is something wrong with me. It was a way fun time and good conversation. I can make it there in 25 minutes walking to micro, micro, then walking, or 45 walking, so I walked home for the exercise. Aww I love Javi and Trena!

I have eaten 6 meals in the last 24 hours, chorillana last night/extremely early morning, large breakfast, lunch at the festival, lunch again at my house, immediately after this once, then ice cream. I apparently process food like a female Michael Phelps, except without the exercise and ripped upper body. I ate double that of a normal human being. Well at least I am good at something. My host mom can't get over how great of an eater I am, she loves it.

feria and Muelle Barón

2009-10-05T02:35:00.001-07:00

(Tues)Por fin! I will begin my volunteer work in a school in Miraflores alto in Viña! I have been waiting forever for this, and I was able to try out the micro route, poke around the school, and meet my teacher, or rather one of the two English teachers that I will be working with. She is super nice, and I am absolutely bursting with excitement for my work to begin.

(Wed) Dani and I headed out early today before my classes (though to be honest I have no idea how...) to Quilpué to the Feria de belloto. This is essentially a flea market the size of a football field, or maybe two or three, it is massive. Dani calls it "feria flaite." I have never been to a flea market before. This is quite the recurring theme in Chile, things that normal people have done but I have never experienced. Dani sold some stuff while I wandered around like a little kid, getting lost in the stalls. I almost needed a GPS to find my way back to Dani. They had everything at that place, including what I think was used undergarments. I bought a little Cat in the Hat (gato en sombrero!) for $200 pesos, though I was of course tempted by the cheap underwear. By the way, I had no idea Quilpué was so big, but it really is quite large, and I want to do some more exploring there.

I caught the micro to class, and arrived 15 minutes late, of course on the only day the class started on time. From there everything went downhill; I could not find a micro to Casa Central and so arrived late there too, and was grumpy all day. I got tired of waiting for the 504 and was irritated enough to not want to pay the normal fare, so I opted to walk home. From CC, this is about a hour, if you walk at a decent clip. I did not, however, because I found that the walk home contained the Paseo Weelright, which hugs the coast at the port. Here also is the Muelle Barón, a large pier in the zona portuaria. How have I lived here for two months and never before encountered this? Further along I walked on playa Caleta Portales, where I finally got the elusive foto of the supermullet. I pretended to be taking pictures of the sunset; it was fantastically funny. Closer to Recreo, on/near Paseo Juan de Saavedra, there is a fake Easter Island moai, where I could finally get my moai sunset picture, which eluded me on the island despite 4 tries. There is also a mini-lighthouse in the Yacht club at Recreo, which was really exciting until I realized that it was extremely small and not the Valpo lighthouse, but good all the same. Lighthouse + sunset always = pretty. Later I went with Dani and friends to Journal, our regular Wednesday hangout, and pounded down 1/4 of a midnight chorillana, which we as a group devoured in about 3 minutes, if not less. Turns out it was a good day after all.

Velocidad Máximo

2009-10-05T02:34:00.000-07:00

There are these signs in front of every micro that explain important laws and things, such as "You cannot distract the driver,"etc. Ok, so there is one that says Velocidad Máximo: 50km/hr. 50 kilometers per hour. This unaccustomed-to-metric gringa just realized that 50km/hr is about 31 miles per hour. HAHAHA, 31 mph, a micro? Imagine that! Really, no way, not a chance. Those things go double on Avenida España, easily. There is no way, seriously. And they break hard too, slowing down from over double their speed limit just long enough for you to quickly board or jump off. Once, I sort of jumped off while the micro kept going, not fast, but it definitely did not stop entirely. But I am digressing; the idea that micros are only supposed to go 31mph is otherworldly, dangerous but in a way comical; they probably don't go slower than that except to accelerate and in heavy traffic. Bet that makes you feel great. Don't worry, all will be well! Micro rides are often the most exciting part of my day, wooo micros!

How much is actually different?

2009-10-05T01:53:00.000-07:00

I had this conversation with Cristian two days ago, on our tour of Valpo, and I keep thinking about it as a reoccurring theme in my experience in Chile. The theme is differences. Or similarities. Or both. Yes, definitely both. It was a conversation that I consider to be of great significance. You know how you remember where you were when something significant happened? Because I am such a visual person (I often remember where in my notes the answer to a test question is, not what the content is, but the location on the page I will remember,) I think I always remember where I was when something worth remembering happened. Anyway, while walking, in a state of extreme hunger, through Bellavista, Valpo, he asked if I found Chile to be very different than my life at home. How profound this is. Profound and complex that question.

The answer is, of course that here is very different than home. And of course that it is the same. It is written correctly. I recalled my metro ride that morning to Casa Central. There were two little kids, a brother and sister, with their mom. The kids were roaming around, marveling at every passing object, "look, a bridge!! look at all the flags, all the people waiting to get on the train! another train, look how fast it went!" If you took a kid from the US and plopped them on that same metro, guess what would happen. The same thing, essentially. Give or take differences in background and personality, whether or not they are accustomed to such a place, etc. But the idea is the same, the fundamental human similarity that ties us together, proves we are all people, transcending the language barrier. The same, only in Spanish. I thought about this for a long time.

It is all different, living in a city, along the ocean, less safe than at home, and infinitely more interesting, haphazard obnoxiously brillant-hued houses, micros, metros, colectivos, spanish, a different flag, independence day in September, eating avocado, long beautiful black hair, showing more affection, eating lunch absurdly late (which oddly enough I don't mind), all of these things are new, different, fascinating differences. Not the same as home. But, people go to work, they study, they cook, they take care of their families, they have fun, they talk and laugh and play and fly kites with their kids and run around taking pictures like me. These things, fundamental things, are the same. How different are we? There are people here that work, people who stay at home with their kids, cliques of friends, ambitious hard-working people. The distribution may be different, the distribution as far as the numbers of each kind of people, the number of people who are salesmen and lawyers and hard-working or not so hard-working students, this may be different. The society is different, more open, kind, friendly in my experience anyway, but the differences are for history, for location, not so much for wanting different things. Lots of things are different, but dig deeper. We might not have mircos at home, we have no heladeros or people playing guitar or passing money or any part of that micro culture, but we have different equivalents, very different, but things that fill the same kind of niche, the void in human necessity, filled in a different way but still filled. This has got to sound insane. I am observing this all the time, in hopes that I can learn more and explain better explain my thinking, eventually.

When I return to the US I think I will be in for a rough culture shock. I experienced little in my adjustment to living in Chile. I think this is due to various factors, including the fact that I learned so much about the country ahead of time from previous exchange students, that I arrived with an open mind, that I have good friend and a great Chilean family and find everything new to be interesting and fun, for my personality. It is a friendly and loving culture. We kiss each other on the cheek to say hello or goodbye, or happy birthday, or thank you, or for whatever. I can enter a room full of people I don't know and people will stand up one at a time to greet me and introduce themselves, I mean they will get up from their seat to greet me, step over people to reach me. We will toast, salud!, for whatever reason, because there is always something good to toast to. I like this, and I don't want to imagine the violent culture shock of returning, because I fear that it really will be just that, violent. I want to eat palta and drink tea, kiss people and ride around on the speeding micros, I like that, all of it. I don't want to feel gringa anymore, I want to feel Chilean. I am immersed; I am not distanced from this culture at all. I am not meeting with all of the other gringos and talking in English and watching movies in English and doing other things that I can at home; that is lame, and you won't learn anything that way. I watch other people do that, and it makes me cringe. I want to live as chilena as possible for a gringa. And I don't want to think about leaving in a few months. No.

Cementerio department of mysteries

2009-10-05T01:10:00.000-07:00

Somehow I was motivated to get up early. The museums closed at 2, so off I went, anxious to take advantage of a somewhat rare day with few obligations, to use the time when I was lucky enough to be free of homework for a bit. After a speedy metro ride I found my way to the Mueso de Historia Natural. The first thing I can say about this museum is that it has a baby born with two heads. For real, a two-headed human baby born in 1915, now preserved in formaldehyde for all the world to see. After staring at that for a while, equally in awe, and repulsion, I moved on to various interesting exhibits, mostly things related to the ocean. There was an Andean Condor, and I was frightened. The things are massive, even the old taxidermed shrunken one; I have no idea how they can fly. They must have the world's most impressive pectoral muscles. I enjoyed the mastodon tooth, which was about the size of both of my hands put together, only a bit bigger. It may be small and have somewhat older exhibits, but this was a museum well worth the visit for me.

I searched some time in cerro concepción for a museum that I was told no longer exists, and then found that the Lutheran church was still open. It is gorgeous on the interior, spacious with huge wood beams exposed on the ceiling. I met the assistant to the pastor, I can't remember what that title is actually called. His name is Jonathan, and he hails from Cuba, in his fifth year in Chile. We talked for some time about Valpo's only Lutheran church. Wow I run into such cool people. I intend on returning for a service here, Sundays at 11, lucky me for how late it is.

In cerro panteon I checked out the Cementerio Disidentes, or cementerio N°2. There are many ways to describe this place, surreal for one. There is something about a cemetery on top of a hill in South America that allures me for some unknown reason; it is sort of legendary in a way, the image I have in my head of some remoteness and historical aspect about them, I can't explain it. This cemetery was sort of a maze, a labyrinth of passageways, not walkways, passageways, in between colossal monuments filled with 10, 20, or 50 resting souls. It was very Harry Potter, with a magical aspect and walls like the Third Task maze, like a castle with terraces and layers, and finally, with a hallway straight from the Department of Mysteries. It also had a pretty bangin view of Valpo's cerros. I loved that place.

After marveling at the awesome monuments and terraces and towers I walked the entire way around the cemetery in what my map calls simply 'Paseo al lado del cementerio,' though no points are given for creativity there, I like it anyway. This walkway also has a sweet view. I descended via Calle Ecuador through Plazuela Ecuador, which is sort of a mini plaza but as an extension alongside the street, where I apparently looked very gringa, because I was harassed a lot in this area. Sometimes pretending not to understand anything gets you through easier.

I made my way back to the Museo Cielo Abierto to find the street that I had missed earlier. I found out later that I missed it again. Ah well, it was still fun to explore the graffiti streets and secret stairs (by day, I promise.) Back through escaleras rudolf (named stairs?) and through the plan, in places familiar, Parque Italia, Plaza O'Higgens, except this time I walked through and not alongside, watching the people, families with playing kids, novios, other people looking tired and confused, I observed creepily.

My host mom's friends were playing cards at our house again when I got back. I love having once I love when they are there. They are always so interested in hearing about my life in the US. The one guy is hard to understand, but each time is a little bit easier, slowly but surely. I decided that I was not tired enough to call it a day, so I pulled out my map and my restless legs called me to a short walk to Agua Santa, where there was a mirador that would surely be a good destination for sunset observation. Well a short walk it was not; almost an hour later, out of breath from climbing and teetering on the edge of cliff and busy road I made it, not 5 minutes before the puesta del sol. I had a grand view of the whole of central Viña in orangish low lighting, and the ocean, the sun setting behind Valpo's far buildings, and in the middle, recreo. The plaza stood out noticeably (hmm I need to reduce my redundancy here... do I speak this redundantly all the time?) And next to the 60 or so palm trees in the plaza my building. Far away, as the sun was setting. Hmm, time to go back. I made it a good distance in the twilight. I was on high alert though, and when I heard someone running behind me, I jumped to action, but it was only another extranjero, running to catch up to his friend in front of me. He apologized, embarrassed at scaring me. But I was ready for action, if that makes you feel any better. I would venture to guess that it probably doesn't.

Sundays are relaxing evenings, to spend time with Dani drinking ridiculous amounts of tea and watching the show animales and others more familiar, Sex and the City and House, in Spanish of course. Now that I am over the lack of synchronization (insynchronization is not a word, is it?) and the change in voice of the actors, I prefer the Spanish version, though I definitely do not catch it all. Right now I would rate myself at about 75% understanding. Slowly it gets easier, slowly.

Valparaíso: el tour con Cristian

2009-10-05T00:10:00.000-07:00

In the spirit of exploring and actually getting to know the city, I opted to spend time with a Chilean friend who knew a lot more than I. Cristian and I decided on a walking tour of Valpo, and a good decision it was.

We began by hiking up cerro Barón to Paseo Diego Portales, which has a splendid view of the ocean, Casa Central, the plan, and the cerros in the background. We headed next to ascensor Polanco, where I recounted en route my encounter with flaite in La Serena. I really should work on my past tenses so I don't sound so stupid when I tell that story. Anyway, el Polanco. This is the only vertical ascensor in the city. You must first enter cerro polanco through a long stone tunnel. Cristian and I discussed the tremor of a few days prior and decided that this was not the place to be during one of those. This ascensor car is tiny, and there is only one. The other ascensores work by sending two cars at a time, one ascending and one descending. With a strong jolt, we breached the top of the hill for another fabulous view. There is an elevated walkway to exist the ascensor, and there is also a slide near the bottom. I couldn't resist taking a couple of runs up what was essentially a shallow-gradient climbing wall and down a very rough track. Cristian recounted some time spent here as a child, when he lived in this neighborhood. I marveled at the haphazard houses and mural graffiti and inclined streets of the place.

túnel ascensor Polanco

We wandered out of this neighborhood and down to Avinida Argentina, onto Avinida Colón, in a sector of Valpo's plan where I had never been. There was construction here on an old building, where they were pushing debris from the roof onto tarps hanging above the street. How safe I'm sure that was. Up up up into cerro mariposa, past the defunct but still really awesome ascensor, onto Avenida Alemania. This street connects to the top of the lower cerros and the bottom of the higher ones (did I get that right?) I quite enjoyed this area, especially mirador Camogli. This is one of Valpo's most fantastic views. The overlook is kind of situate in the middle; the city extends in all directions around you, to the ocean, to the right and left, and in back of you, up into the high hills. High hills like woah! I honestly have no idea how any vehicle except something with chains on it instead of wheels can make it up there but they do, micros and colectivos and cars can and do drive up there. It is seriously ridiculous, in an amazing and fascinating way. I can't wait to explore the high hills too.

We moved on along Avidida Argentina for some time, enjoying the vista of the city in twilight, amazingly beautiful. Then cerro alegre, filled with interesting houses and of course graffiti. Graffiti after graffiti, everywhere you turned. And not gross graffiti, though there was that too, but murals, beautiful. And graffiti of things you would not expect to encounter at all; paper airplanes, spaghetti eaten with a colossal fork, all kinds of neat things. The city is full of surprises. We entered into cerro concepción, past the lutheran church, onto Paseo Atkinson. By this time it was nightfall, and I had my first good night view of Valpo from a cerro. Amazing, I can't use the word enough. Paseo Gervasoni and Paseo Yugoeslavo too, views of the port, of the plan, the hills. Then El Peral! What luck I missed it the day before, because my first time riding this ascensor was sweet, a nighttime ascensor ride!! The station at the top reflected in the glass of the car window, which created a really neat effect with the city light in the background. Based on this experience, this may be my favorite ascensor and ascensor ride.

ascensor El Peral

Finally, we searched out some lanchas, not to be confused with lanzas. I thought Cristian at first said 'lanzas,' which is a purse-snatcher, a hit-and-run flaite, and I thought hmm, how does he know where they are? and why do we want to go there; I actually don't want to go there... nope, he said 'lanchas,' which are the small boats in the port along the Muelle Prat, a scenic and (at least at the time) a lanza-free place. Boats, night, lights, water, pelicans, need I say more? Cristian is taking pictures of the city for when he goes abroad to Spain next semester.

I was hungry. I am always hungry. We went to the food court above Riplay, pronounced like 're-play,' which for some reason makes it really hard for me to say because I know it is spelled differently. I don't know why this bothers me; perhaps because I am a visual learner. Cheese empanadas. He said 9, and I was like man, I don't say this often, but I may not be able to eat 9 empanadas. But they were tiny empanadas. Some people like french fries as a fast food side dish; I enjoy the cheese empanada option, and of course a toast with coca cola (the cheers! or salud! kind of toast, not the bread.) Cristian could live of of cheese empanadas haha, awesome. Seriously a great day, some 6 hours of exploring Valpo in good company. Couldn't as for a better Saturday evening.

Ascensores: el tour

2009-09-29T20:15:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-29T19:45:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-28T23:37:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-28T23:08:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-28T22:57:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-28T22:47:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-28T21:35:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-28T19:51:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-21T17:35:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-12T09:16:00.000-07:00

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)

2009-09-08T16:42:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-08T08:07:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-03T18:50:00.000-07:00

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"

2009-09-01T22:44:00.000-07:00

"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.

confused

2009-08-31T22:54:00.000-07:00

I love confusion. You have to, when it happens so often. Today was my first day of Responsibilidad Social, and it was chaos. First of all, Mondays now include a commute to Sausalito in Viña, then Casa Central in Valpo, then leaving early from class to make it back to Sausalito in time for this class. Today I went, found rooms 1-12 easily and had to ask for directions 3 times to find room 13, which is where my class used to be. Instead it was some horrific math class, and I backed out quickly, asked for directions again, went to reception, was directed to room 8, where my class also used to be apparently. Back to reception, who directed us to an auditorium filled with students not from my class, but others listening to a seminar from our professor... no class today. It only took 45 minutes to realize this. I did eventually encounter other confused student from my class, who shared the reading assignment with me. Haha, everyone was so confused, so imagine my confusion, having never been to the class at all before and only picked up a few words in between po this and po that, but I love it, it's fun.

I've decided that the indecisive micro drivers are my fav, the ones that are like ok, it seems like you are a student, so I guess you can pay the lower fare. They are good people.

Medusa

2009-08-30T22:43:00.000-07:00

How amazing is it that the word for jellyfish in Spanish is medusa? Dani communicated this to me today through a drawing in butter during tea. What a good idea- I think I will walk around with a container of butter to better express myself. Today we had a lot of sisterly bonding time over TV and tea and animated discussion of the hombres calientes de intercambio, who are represented by 5 nationalities. In other news, Jono came back to life after a stomach infirmity, and Argentineans speak funny, or at least differently. I did not realize that I had become accustomed to a Chilean accent, but compared with a different one it sounds very distinctive. To Argentineans and Chileans alike, I am still Gringa.

Colliguay

2009-08-30T00:10:00.000-07:00

Colliguay is this tiny mountain village inland from Valpo, small enough to not be on my Lonely Planet map. Dani and I joined some of her friends today (Sat 29th) on a drive to from a town just outside of Viña to the valley of Colliguay, about a two hour journey. We all piled into one of those little sort of mini bus looking things, which yes did have seat belts, but not much space. I have been looking forward to my first edge of a cliff drive for a long time, the kind where you have to drive about 5 mph or you will go over the edge. I am kidding, it was not quite that bad. There were some guardrails and high banks, but still there was an abundance of signs that said things like "USE EXTREME CAUTION" and "extremely steep slopes" and ones that showed pictures of cars being crushed by falling rocks (my personal fav). What a shame I destroyed my camera, that should be documented somewhere.

After two hours of dirt road hairpin-turn stick shift driving while sitting in the back seat, I was completely crippled by stomach upset, so when we arrived I curled up in a ball and missed much of the scenery before the early nightfall. This area looks like the mountains of southern California, with a lot of scrub and cactus, and is ridiculously pretty.

Soon after we pulled out of a park type area, we literally ran into cows, as they were being herded on the road towards our vehicle. It was like in the Lion King, during the stampede. Their eyes were creepily lit up from the headlights... maybe they were zombie cows.

After an equally thrilling/terrifying rest of the return trip, I got to play with the kids at a friend's house (Lunar lava!!... we made our own martians). I like hearing children talk, because there simple sentences are easy to understand. Plus, they are adorable when I don't know how to say something in Spanish, because they have no idea how to react, and just smile and stare at you and for some reason sing a lot. Yes, I am anxious to start volunteering in a school, I can't wait.

Cumpleaños felíz!

2009-08-29T23:57:00.000-07:00

On my 21st birthday, I woke up at 11:45 (yay for sleeping in) to 7 cards from the US being dumped into my lap, followed by freshly squeezed orange juice (not in my lap, though that would have been ok too.)

I went to the university to finalize my schedule, which makes me a lot happier about my life. And on the commute, both micro drivers gave me the student discount!! That has never happened before! There was a sign on the one micro that said "Don't destroy the seats!" Haha, that was a gift right there, for some reason I think it is hilarious that there is actually a sign requesting that you don't destroy part of the thing you are riding on. I also enjoyed the "Evite molestias, baje por atras" because I thought it was in reference to annoying people, but molestias are annoyances- to avoid annoyances, leave from the back [door]. Oh well, I still enjoyed it.

I invited some friends over, at 7, but in Chile that is like 3 hours too early, so at 9 some friends came over. At first, we had two from Germany, one from Switzerland, one from Japan, and me, with no Chileans there to help us all communicate in our mediocre Spanish as a second language. But never fear, the Chileans arrived, helped us correct our errors, and we commenced the bathroom trap door game. I am pretty good at opening the door from the outside, but I do love to watch people get stuck unbeknownst of the danger. AThomas was stuck in there during the birthday song. In Spanish it is essentially the same, but somehow cooler. It was a full Spanish conversation night, with many different accents and nationalities represented. I also realized how gullible I am; Thomas did not really fight off a dog with a knife, and Jono's middle name is not Honey (ok, it was more convincing than you think), among other things:)

Thanks for the well wishes everyone!

the name game

2009-08-29T23:48:00.000-07:00

For some reason, everyone I encounter greatly enjoys my name. No one has ever done this before, but there has been a boom in the giving of nicknames department. Included are the following: Señorita Grim (Ken: "your name is seriously Ellen Grim? that's awesome!!), just Grim (or GRIM!!!!!!!!, Jacob), Ellen Grim (really, everyone thinks this is hardcore, to use the full name), Grom (Rodrigo; can't remember the reasoning for that one), and Luterana (Australia Thomas). Also Helen is popular among Chileans, because the name Helen is common in Chile, but Ellen is virtually nonexistent (interesting, as the 'h' is not usually pronounced in other words). AThomas thinks the title "Lady of the Lake," from camp this summer, is the greatest title one could possibly have, followed closely by "unicorn." Either way I am kind of like a guardian figure... I will be sure to put this on my resume.

Micros

2009-08-29T23:38:00.001-07:00

I have developed an obsession with the micros. They are often one of the most interesting things I encounter during any given day. Maybe I will study them and write a book. Me and the ice cream man can sit in the back and chat it up and observe people.

One of the best things is showing the driver my matrícula, the thing that sometimes gets me a student discount but does not necessarily have to be honored, by discretion of the driver only. Some of them nod before I can even ask, some try to argue it, some don't say anything and are confused that I have a piece of paper and not a card. Today (the 27th) was the best though- I showed my matrícula and the driver looked at me, listened to my brief memorized script about being an exchange student, and shrugged and was like, sure, why not? He just shrugged at me and gave me the benefit of the doubt, somehow declaring me worthy of a fare reduced by 35 cents. It honestly made my day. This action, however small, was part of the culture for me, the culture of the micro and of Chile. It showed empathy and some form of trust, kindness, not necessarily attributes I would have before associated with bus drivers, but now I do. The passing of the coins, the trust, the politeness factor- how people move over a seat for you or hit the button to stop when you can't reach or yell to the driver if the door is closed on you... it is all amazing and fascinating. I really do want to write a book about it, there is like this distinct micro culture. I wonder if it exists the same way in other cities, in other parts of South America. I will let you know.

the prodigal wallet

2009-08-29T23:32:00.000-07:00

This is another one of those semi-miracle things that seem to happen quite often in Chile. The driver of the unmarked taxi in Santiago returned my wallet to Michael's house, where we were dropped off at the end of our Rapa Nui trip. Several things can be said for this. One, what a nice guy! I am insanely lucky. Two, what luck that the night we were dropped off, Michael insisted that the driver pull up right in front of the door to his apartment. At the time I thought this was not entirely necessary, but as it turns out that is the only reason the driver knew exactly where to go, because of Michael's insistence. I bought a new cédula (Chile ID) in the meantime, but it's worth it because the picture is about 100 times better.

It [the wallet] ran away to Rapa Nui, then ran away from me, but is now found!!

Rapa Nui

2009-08-26T03:27:00.001-07:00

Rapa Nui=Isla de Pascua=Easter Island, as in the one with the big heads.

G(German)Thomas, 4 days before trip: "I am going to Easter Island this weekend." Me: "OOOO I wanna go." Simple as that, I literally bought my plane ticket 4 days before, and packed about 30 minutes before leaving. It sounds so light, like ok, let's have a picnic this weekend! Except it was Rapa Nui, the place known around the world for its heads.

Late Thursday evening Thomas and I headed to Santago to meet Michael and avoid an extremely early morning commute. We ate out at about midnight, which is apparently a very popular time to eat dinner. Our waiter became known as wayon (dude) instead of garzón, the proper term, after a lengthy discussion about proper restaurant etiquette.

You know you are going to a special place when your entire flight applauds when you land. Really, everyone applauded. After Michael searched for his Ipod for 15 minutes (it was in his pocket), we set out to our hostel, a whopping 7 minute walk... about 40 for us actually, as we have no sense of direction, we had to be helped twice by nice islanders who are accustomed to worse than us. Our hostel was called Rana Kau...you know it has to be good with a name like that. I roomed with some pretty sweet Italians, who said caou for hello instead of goodbye. That messes with your head after a month of saying chao as you leave. There is a pretty nice view from the hostel, including a hill with three crosses on top. As soon as I saw it, I knew I had to climb up there, the view had to be amazing, and who wouldn't want to run up an extinct volcano for fun? That's right, no one.

You probably know Rapa Nui for the moai, the large stone statues spread around various location around the rim of the island. Our first encounter with them was, as the Lonely Planet guide predicated, in the town of Hanga Rau. It really does not seem at first like anyone could have possibly made them, like it's some factory product that isn't real. The more I saw, the more both real and unreal it became as I thought of the effort to make and then move the things all over the place, for many kilometers.

The island itself is tiny, with 4,000 residents. For being so small, it has all of the stuff a town needs. Except a dentist. My favorite Hanga Rau fact: a dentist flies in once a week from Santiago, for one day, to offer services to the whole town. The residents there are mostly of Rapanui decent, or European decent, or Chilean, it's a huge mix. Rapanui and Spanish are spoken by most, and English is common as well, due to the tourism business. Speaking of, 90% of the island runs on tourism. More thoughts on culture/tourism later.

We opted for a guided bus tour of the largest loop on the island for the first day, both to complete the loop, as it's a really long bike ride, and to learn a lot more than we would on our own. The eastern coast has a lot of, well, ruined ruins, toppled moai and pukau (the hat things). It also has a lot of wild horses and cows, which apparently are chased frequently by dogs who trail behind tourists. The land is wide open, almost completely devoid of trees, and is really beautiful even in terrible weather. I expected the weather to be sort of static, but found instead a dynamic mix of rain and sun and storm and wind, which I absolutely loved for the unpredictability.

Around noon we make it to the quarry, at the volcano Rano Raraku. This part of the national park is probably the most famous image of the island; some ridiculous number of moai are scattered about on both sides of the crater, which also has a small lake. The moai are heavily guarded, as the rangers will literally follow behind your group to make sure you don't touch anything. It is exhilarating and somewhat unimaginable to think how these things were made. After a short lunch, where I had to pay to use a bathroom (a rather low blow if you ask me), we reached the quince moai. This includes the largest platform that was ever found and has 15 restored moai peering inland with the ocean as a backdrop. This was probably the most surreal part of all, and was a place where one could really just kind of sit and stare and wander around and explore for about 5 hours... or days. It's just like empty land and horses and then bam! 15 huge old statues, still intact somehow. I stood on a knoll for a picture, and Thomas threw Inca Toll, the traveling singing rabbit, towards me, where she proceeded to smash into the ground and sing for everyone when the button was set off. This was apparently the funniest thing our guide had ever seen. In all seriousness though, this is a special place, thought-provoking, dynamic, historical, unimaginable, one of my favorite sites on the whole island.

Finally, we made it to the Anakena beach, one of the island's small sand beaches. It was quite a weird experience, with two major archeological sites surrounded by white sand, and some really spectacular moai, the Ahu Ature Huki, and the 7 of Ahu Nau Nau. There was a large hill right next to the ocean that I had to climb simply because it was easily accessible, then I had my first ocean experience. Yes, my first swim in the ocean. It was like when you give a small child a bouncy ball; you can't pull them away, and they are completely absorbed and entertained by the simplicity of it. The water was insanely clear, and the waves somewhat significant. Mostly, it was entertaining, and I enjoyed being able to revert back to childlike behavior for a little while.

Regarding hostels, I have determined that they might be more interesting than micros, which is a pretty big deal. Every evening everyone comes back from their adventures and sits around chatting in about 7 languages about moai and travel and life. Every single person is so interesting; the lady from Japan traveling the world by herself, the hostel workers who speak Rapanui and Spanish and English, the Canadian who took 5 months off of school to run around South America. It would be worth staying even just for the opportunity to chat with these people. We opted for a show later this evening, which I am sure had fairly limited authenticity, but was really neat anyway. It involved a band, dancers, and a lot of singing in Rapanui.

Speaking of Rapanui, the church holds its service in both Rapanui and Spanish, with an interesting combination of singing, the addition of an accordion and bongos (yes, an accordion), and lots more tourists than islanders. The service held many similarities to a Lutheran service, and I quite enjoyed it. It was quaint and as Thomas said, full of joy.

After church the next day, we set out on bike to the western cliffs and interior. I feel like I am describing the land in a Redwall book whenever I use terms like 'western cliffs.' There is a great array of ruins spread along the coast, various moai at Tahai Kote Riku and Ahu Hanga Kio'e, as well as walls and house platforms. The whole area was volcanic boulders and high cliffs, the perfect place for a picnic, so picnic we did. Not a good place for the bathroom though, with winds strong enough to push over your bike. We spelunked in the cave of dos ventanas, crawled around fallen moai at Ahu e Peu, and turned inland, towards Rano Aroi, the volcano in the middle of the island, which I wanted more than anything to climb, which you probably guessed by now. We happened on the Te Pahu Cave next, which was like a massive lava tube with bases for houses in it. Thomas went hobbit style, without shoes, and I ruined mine. At the end was a tree, growing out of a partial cave-in. It was like Indiana Jones or a Tree of Life or something, this one tree emerging through rays of light towards the window at the top. It was really spectacular and surreal, especially since we had not previously known of its existence from the guidebook, we just happened upon it by chance.

At this point, two dogs had been following us around all day. One left us at the cave, the other stayed. He was with us for 9 hours, through rain and wind, two caves, and later a minimountain. As we entered back into daylight, there was the volcano, blanketed in clouds, not very accessible in 2 hours of daylight. We tried, but arrived on a private road and were chased away. The moai of the Ahu Akivi were there as well, the furthest inland site. Then for the disappointed return, without and volcano climbing. But we randomly found a sign that said Puna Pau, and knew that this had to be good, again simply because of the cool name. It turns out that this is the quarry for pukao, the hats that some moai have, were made out of softer reddish rock. It is also at the base of that hill, the one with three crosses. I call it Cerro Tres Cruces, but I think it is actually Maunga Tangaroa, which sounds a lot cooler. I bolted to the top, in wind that 5 minutes before had pushed over my bike. Though cloudy and rainy, the view was spectacular. The crosses were beautiful, and absolutely huge. It was a very spiritual place, with nature pounding away, white crosses intact and unharmed, with incoming storm and rain bands in the background. This was my favorite moment of the trip, the time spent on this hill and the dynamic that the land and weather created.

The bike ride back was on dirt road, in pitch black, with pounding wind and rain, and it was awesome. Here we experienced what is quite possibly the creepiest sound known to man. This is the sound similar to that of wind around power lines, except a product solely of the land, not manmade structure. It was the sound you hear before a tornado hits, a train. Nevertheless, we made it through and found our way back, gratified by the thrilling works of the island, and to be honest, not too disappointed to have missed the big volcano hike.

Finally, after a quick revisit to the Puna Pau quarry site the next morning, we embarked on our massive hike to the southwestern corner and volcan Rano Kau. The revisit for Thomas and I was due to the fact that the evening before, we completely bypassed all of the archeological aspects of the hike in order to conquer the three crosses hill. I should note on the Puna Pau revisit was done once again on bike, and that my camera was promptly smashed on the ground during the only three seconds of the whole trip that it was not tied to my belt loop. Yes, it flew from my bike at a pretty decent speed, and so my pictures from this point on are slightly out of focus. On to Rano Kau, southwestern corner of the island, and far from the crosses.

This massive caldera is still full of water and teeming with lots of plant life, including a band of florescent pink flowers. Here also is the Orongo village, with a nice amount of petroglyphs and stone houses. This is another absolutely unbelievable place. It overlooks a bright blue inlet and is ridiculously exposed to the elements on the edge of sea and crater. There are various-sized dwellings all around, about 40 in total. My favorite part of this area was the park ranger in the tiny station. We got stranded here during a rain shower, during which time we conversed almost exclusively about Inca Toll and how surprisingly common it is for travelers to carry stuffed animals, though they are usually smaller and don't sing. He started the song three times I think, and it was absolutely hilarious.

I gave some thought to the culture of Rapa Nui, and I can't figure it out. The entire society thrives on tourism, so does that mean that the Rapanui culture is lost, and has been recreated to fulfill the needs of others from around the world? Children learn both Rapa Nui and Spanish in school. Is the tourism more of a hinderance to the culture, or does the income help sustain an older way of life? Is tourism well-received, or is it a daily annoyance? Most of the culture died off when the Rapanui were taken for slaves or killed each other, and I do not know how much of this culture is still evident today. I would love about another month here to contemplate, get to know the people, not simply pass by.

So ends our trip. About 30 seconds after the taxi dropped us off in Santiago, I realized that my wallet was gone. Yes, I managed to lose my wallet that for the entire trip had been physically attached to my pants with a carabiner (see a theme yet? I lose anything that is attached to me, but not things that are loose). I unclipped it in the taxi and apparently left it there. So much for my Chile ID into which I had invested about 5 hours in total to obtain. My ISIC and metro cards are lost too... but luckily I had a separate holder for everything else, and I only lost about $45USD of stuff. But really, it was attached to my pants! I have a skill for losing things out of my pockets apparently.

I recommend everyone travel with an interesting object. My bunny, Inca Toll, constantly draws attention, and therefore conversation. Every time I clip her to my pack and walk around I get at least one or two comments. And you never know when a park ranger will sing and dance with it.

a dream in Spanish

2009-08-18T23:24:00.000-07:00

Good news! It finally happened... I had a dream that was completely in Spanish. This is good, it means I am thinking in Spanish quite a lot. I have been waiting for this to happen for a long time actually. In the dream I was traveling with G Thomas and I told him " Vamos a regresar," we are going to return/come back. Not quite sure what else was going on, but there was more Spanish which I cannot remember.

I also find the transitions hard. For instance, when I am speaking in Spanish and then I go to write an email in English and I have to really think about what I am doing and allow my mind to change gears. There is so little English influence that my mind can soak in more Spanish, pick up on more pieces of a conversation, be lost a little less. It's a milestone, but there is so much more to learn. And I love it, the newness, the challenge, the confusion, the humor, all of it.

Alcachofas! and some thoughts on life too

2009-08-18T23:17:00.000-07:00

I have a serious problem when it comes to navigating classes. Ok, today's adventure was not really my fault, but still, problem. I was psyched for my traditional Chilean dance class but when I arrived there was no dance class to be found in gimnasio Casa Central. Another student was very nice, took pity, and helped me through this whole process, which involved several office visits in CC and next door, much communication confusion, asking random people where to go, and a search through three separate buildings. Darn them for changing the class location! The poor Chilean boy endured 45 minutes of this but was very nice, and was impressed that I knew what 'flaite' meant. Finally, 50 minutes after class started, I walked in on some awesome cuerca, the traditional dance of Chile, and greatly enjoyed the remainder of the class.

Today was the coldest, most penetrating rain I feel like I have enter encountered. When I returned to class after lunch, my host mom made sure I was ready. Off I went, armed with umbrella, trench coat (my rain jacket was soaked through somehow) and newspaper-lined shoes. I absolutely love my language and culture class; every time we are all confused, it turns into a hugely amusing discussion involving the translation of ridiculous dichos (Chilenismos) into English, which never make sense but for that reason all the better for discussion, and funny role-playing.

And on to the main event: artichokes. Yes, artichokes. It was one of those evenings that you expect to be nothing but instead turns out to be a great time, like most good times, unplanned. Funny how it always works that way. German Thomas (G Thomas for short) was supposed to visit to discuss travel plans. An hour and a half later I thought, I will knock on his door, just because proximity allows. And because he didn’t call, the evening turns out to be much more interesting than sitting in my room, ironic, yes. I ended up meeting his roommate, Josethomas, and Josethomas’s girlfriend Soledad. They fall under the category of people that you are extremely happy to see together because they are so insanely nice- they create an aura of contentment in a room. And they were great to practice Spanish with, for both clarity and patience, just easy to get along with in general, all three really.

To the part where I actually talk about artichokes… we then ate artichokes. My first impression of the things was that they had been burned and rained on, sort of wet and gray, once beautiful and edible but now dead and hideous. And then I ate it. Here I will appropriately use the phrase “party in my mouth” to describe the flavor of the artichoke. First off, a big part of this is the process; it is an art form. You have to peel off the leaves individually and then dip them into a sauce of olive oil, lemon, mayonnaise, and salt. Only dip the bottom end in, because that is the part soft enough to eat. Then you clench the leaf between your teeth pull the excess leave away, so that you eat only the soft bottom part of the left. I’m sorry, there is no better way to describe it, really, that is exactly what you do. Then after eating all of the leaves you have the core left. First the stringy part is to be removed with a fork. You must break the core in half, remove the top layer because it has spines in it, and then you can eat around the rest of that half. The rest is edible, so you break it into smaller pieces, place these in your sauce cup, mix, and eat with a fork. This is the entire process, and it is well worth it. The rich flavor of it is complemented by the sweet fatty bitterness of the sauce. It is the best food I have had in Chile. Why don’t people do this in the US? Has it not been discovered yet? I want to let everyone in on the secret of artichokes- it’s a life-altering experience.

After this very late snack, we beatboxed while trying to learn German from G Thomas. Apparently the exercises used to learn the trickier language sounds are exactly like beatboxing. Then we moved on to tongue twisters. Not only are they fun in English, but apparently they are also in Spanish and German. Ejemplo:

Erre con erre cigarro

Erre con erre barril

Rápido corren los carros

Por la lína de ferrocarril

Try saying that if you can’t roll your ‘r’s…

This was particularly exciting because before Josethomas finished it, I had completed the last line for him. Thank you for requiring the memorization of this verse, Mr. Nobile, Spanish 1… 7 years ago.

Ahh the little green book, How to Survive in the Chilean Jungle… both useful and hilarious. I am never gonna get to read it, as everyone finds it extremely entertaining. I have literally seen Chileans cry from laughing so hard at it. I think Thomas is going to copy the whole thing (which is not really illegal here, texts for school are photocopied, not bought.) It is an entire book of idioms that Chileans use, because they use an insane number of them. They speak Chilean, not Spanish, making it that much harder/more interesting/more fun to learn.

This place is so much more than ocean and hills and pretty colored houses and Spanish. It is people, awesome people, you just have to live it. The culture, the friendships, you seek them out, but often they seek you out too. When something does not work out, it seems to be for a reason. For example, I was bummed at the idea of sitting around this evening and not visit anyone else, friends that I have not seen in two weeks. But, because no one answered my calls, ironically, I somehow ended up meeting new people, experiencing Chile and friendship in a way that was spontaneous and unexpected, like most good things, occurring by chance when you expect a different outcome. I met G Thomas on the university bus on the ride back from the tour of the ocean studies building, week 1, for about 45 seconds, really. I kept running into him, we became travel buddies, he moved into my building completely by accident, and here we are. Another example, I met A (Australian) Thomas and Jono crew through another person who I did not enjoy being around at all, and they just happened to have met this person too, the night before, and sort of saved me really. They only came to meet me, not even to see the other person. Weird how all of this works. Where I put forth the most effort, I gain less, so to speak. The learning, language, people, experience, culture, comes to you spontaneously, unplanned, trial-by-fire, not from a textbook. Maybe the best things in life are the accidental ones, the coincidences, the things you don’t expect, the not so fun that becomes fun, the hard that becomes the most important thing you learn, the fun that becomes not fun but makes a great story.

Getting lost and found (several times), learning cuerca, eating artichokes, beatboxing in German, role-playing chilenismos, running around in a trenchcoat, and fighting your way onto the metro at rush hour. All in a day’s work.

La Campana

2009-08-16T22:56:00.000-07:00

Every while some wild coincidence comes up in my life that is truly unbelievable. This rare occasion has happened twice to me in Chile. The first was my chance encounter when I met Ken, Ricardo, Thomas, and Jono, who don't even go to the same university as me but some of whom live really close. The second is with German Thomas. He lived for 2 weeks in a hostel in Valpo and then moved into an apartment in Viña. I asked where, he said Recreo. Really? No way! Close to Plaza Recreo? Right next to it. Cool, let's meet at the plaza and then you can show me where you live. I walk outside and there he is, pointing to my building. Yeah, same building. Really? Are you serious? Out of thousands of places he could have moved into in either city, what are the odds... and without prior knowledge of where I live, only that I lived in Viña. That is pretty ridiculous. And it's the apartment 3 floors directly above mine. For real. I had to share that solely because it is completely inconceivable. This is not as creepy as it sounds, I promise. After rereading, it sounds super creepy, but really it is not.

Moving on, I finally made it to a national park, my first national park in all the world, Parque Nacional La Campana. After nearly two hours and 4 micro rides later (yes 4, we changed buses 4 times to get to this place, it's a bit off the main micro routes) we found ourselves at the base of several crazy twisty mountains. I wanted to charge up the closest one and get to the snowy peak, but it was too late in they day. Dani, German Thomas, and I made it to a nice overlook though, and on several other forest paths, including a lofty waterfall. I definitely have to go back for a full day excursion to complete the 7 hour trek to the top though. Overall, a fun outing, from micro exchanges to empanadas napolitanas in Olmué. I have decided that I want to visit every national park in Chile that I am able and do as much hiking as is possible. Side note, apparently there are tarantulas in the park?! Weird.

rain and supermullets

2009-08-15T11:58:00.000-07:00

When it rains here, it is a lot of things. First and foremost, a penetrating icy cold, like a cold where my feet might start rotting and falling off, even with wool socks. Second, it's exciting. Wind and rain and angry ocean don't stop the city at all. I quite enjoyed riding the metro 200 meters from the raging death zone of wave and rock. The drains in the cerros get full really fast, and subterranean water bursts from the street in geysers from overfilled pipes. This is normal winter in region V of Chile. Life still move in the city, perhaps even faster. Venders frantically sell umbrellas, food venders move under the overhangs of buildings, and the ice cream guy still sells ice cream on the micro. Side note: I love that guy, and my day is better every time I see him.

Speaking of micros, I find them super interesting, especially when they are completely full. People will walk on and just move to the back without paying. I did not understand this until I asked Ken about it. It's a trust system. The people are trusted to pay on their way out. And sometimes, change or payment is passed along. Like one person in the back will pass their coins up to the front, and it makes it there. That is so cool! I love when the micros are full, full of interesting people. I love watching how the micros work. Between the passengers, crazy turns, and the ice cream man, I am always entertained. Using the micro is a gamble though, because sometimes my matrícula, a university document, is accepted as a student card, which as an extranjero I am unable to get. When it's accepted, I pay $150 pesos (about 27 cents USD). If the driver does not deem it valid, because they don't have to, then the metro is cheaper at $275, rather than a micro ride at $350. The card for intercambios was eliminated by the Chilean government like a year ago, so I am unable to get a regular one.

On the use of 'po':

Me: "... they put 'po' on the end of everything!"

Kevin: " Sí po. cool po."

Me: "I will email Señora about that."

Kevin: "Ok. Yeah po good idea po."

Me: "Yo po. Don't make fun of my po, bro."

Kevin: "Don't taze me bro. po."

My fourth random thought to write about is mullets. The mullet is popular here, not just among the younger generation either. And when I say mullet I mean super mullet. Like short everywhere else except the back where there are like 3 or 4 super dreads, that are 2 feet long or more. I see it all the time, honestly. Not all of them are that way, a shorter mullet is popular as well. Ha, no Chilean boys for me, they better cut their hair first. This is coming from the gringa, who is not accustomed to and is therefore fascinated but not impressed by the mullet/super mullet.

And back to the rats, the giant ones. Yep, day 4 of giant rat discussion. I think the final ID on the thing is a coipo. It is essentially a large amphibious rat. I want one. I am going to tame one, and walk around with it. Think about how safe that would be, no one would mess with a girl holding a huge ferocious water rat, about 5 times the size of a normal rat, maybe more. People freak out at things that are larger than they "should be," or larger than they are accustomed to seeing. For instance, tarantulas, or giant salamanders or hummingbirds, weird and freaky, is it not? This is why I would be safe with a pet coipo.

naive Gringa rant

2009-08-15T10:46:00.000-07:00

Being around people who are not from the US gives you a completely new perspective of the world. Obviously! Obvio po. It does not take an experience like this to know that. But really, I have no idea how the world works, in general, not just in Chile. I don't know where anything is, what the people are like, or what it is really like to travel. I don't know how to cook, or that black tea is not the same as black coffee, with nothing added to it, it's a different kind, imagine that! I don't know how to interact with people different than me, or those similar to me. In fact, there is not much that I actually know how to do outside of my own little world at home, despite my significant efforts to branch out and become a little more comfortable. It has been a lot of effort; I am not a hermit, I am very socially active, but you might not be able to tell. I am significantly more confused than the language barrier excuse allows. Most people my age from other English-speaking countries know more about my culture than I do, movies, music, especially music, common references I don't get. It doesn't matter of course, but it's interesting. I am nearly 21 years old and have never swam in the ocean. Not once. I live an hour away from the ocean at home. Does this matter? Not at all, but I still want to swim in the ocean. I have never accomplished anything big, my skill set is a very narrow spectrum. I mean I have of course, lots of things I value a lot, such as doing well in a race or getting a good grade or having a great group at camp, but I need to not devalue my accomplishments. Maybe this is my reason for coming here, not only to learn a new language and experience a new culture, but to do something, or to realize the importance of what I do. [as I reread this, this sounds completely insane, but I will keep it as a snapshot of my thoughts, and a good representation of the way my mind works.] I am preoccupied, I do a lot of somethings all the time, but nothing earth-shattering, it's all enjoyable, good, different and varied and exciting in my mind, but actually it is all the same thing, comfortable. I need to grow more than that. I feel egotistical beginning every sentence in this post with the word 'I', though I will bank on my poor writing skills and continue to do so (haha, great example of my mind working faster than my words, resulting in unexplained conversation gaps). I am the epitome of the naive [North]American exchange student; I never know what's going on, how stuff works, where to go next, how to respond (I feel like who, when, and why should be included in there somewhere). It goes beyond language; am just kind of clueless in general. However, there has to be more to me than that, I am smarter than that. Maybe. Actually, probably not, but I will learn, slowly, but I will learn. I am not a Spanish language prodigy, entertaining, funny, musically inclined, good at remembering anything, a great runner, super genus, well-travelled, outgoing, confident, or anything else that I admire in anyone who is not me. Right now, I can tell you what I am not more than what I am. Check back in 4 months from now. My goal: to be able to tell you more about what I can do than what I can't do. And to speak Spanish a bit more fluently than right now, that too. Please do not think that I am going to go out of control and ruin my life, that is not what I mean at all. Here is the disclaimer: I am ok, I promise, overwhelmed but ok, trying to work out my reasoning and goals for this adventure is all.

My perspective is severely skewed I know. I do a lot, and am capable of a lot. I need to hold a certain sense of humor and insensitivity, as well as selflessness as I make this adjustment. A note on this, the adjustment to living in Chile is getting harder for me right now, not easier. That may seem weird, but now I am thinking about long term goals, how to balance my life between classes and other things, thinking about how I want to live differently than at home. I don't want to settle into a really comfortable routine, I have to keep working at the language and experiencing Chilean culture, keep pushing to learn, but at the same time I am developing a life here, a schedule, an order. That is not always an easy thing to figure out. I am comfortable with the basics, now I have to immerse myself into the language more, speaking more, talking to Chileans more, to really begin to learn it.

Switching gears, I want to really travel here. Not just stop and take pictures, but to experience it, live it, look around, explore it. As a wise professor once told me, "Not just get up and go, but to look around." There is a lot South America has to offer, and I can never experience as much of it as I want to.

Jardín Infantil

2009-08-12T17:21:00.000-07:00

So all around both cities there are these places that say Jardín Infantil. Being the resourceful person that I am, I of course thought that this was a popular restaurant chain, after all, it had the word garden in it. I wasn't sure about the Infantil part, but it sounded like it could be sushi or something similar. I always pass one on my walk to the metro. Yesterday I thought, hmm, there is a mural with animals and kids on swings, and there are always little kids here, maybe it's not a restaurant. Dani informed me that it is in fact a kindergarten. That's right, a future teacher took almost 3 weeks to realize that this 'restaurant' was in fact a kindergarten. I am going to be a great teacher.

In my Chilean language and culture class today our professor turned us loose on the streets/Casa Central to ask Chileans about the meanings of some distinctly Chilean words. There is probably no faster way to make a class more uncomfortable than to do exactly that. However, it was a fantastic way to learn. In fact, the best way. Talking Chileans about the way they cut words, the double meanings, the idioms, is not only useful but really interesting. I wonder what the students in Casa Central thought all day when the intercambio classes flooded the place asking the meaning of some some pretty outlandish phrases in broken Spanish. They might be used to it and think it's funny. Or they might know to hide. We also were instructed on the 8 levels/steps of a Chilean romance. 8!

Reñaca

2009-08-11T22:13:00.000-07:00

As I had only one class today, I felt that a trip to Reñaca was in order. This small city is close to Viña, 30 minutes by bus. From the beach, you can get a nice view of both Viña and Valpo. Dani, Jono, Thomas, and myself walked the beaches and coast from Reñaca to Con Con. It was an absolutely beautiful walk, where we encountered more castle buildings, sea lions, and "lived dangerously." (this is my new favorite term, it actually doesn't mean much except that I feel adventurous living in Chile; I am not going to jump off cliffs or stand in the way of a Micro, promise.)

Oh and there were pelícanos compactos! Compact pelicans if you will, which simply means that the pelicans were sleeping and were all tucked into themselves. They are super adorable.

And the rat things we saw the other day... still not sure of the ID on those, but if they really are just giant rats, I want one to guard my house, because no one would mess with them. No one.

Hogwarts

2009-08-10T21:44:00.000-07:00

Casa Central is like a miniature Hogwarts; dark passageways, courtyard, stone, tile, huge. I spent honestly 25 minutes looking for one room today. I gave up and asked a lady in the PIIE office, and then proceeded to get lost again and was forced to backtrack. I finally made it there, the meeting room for all information about the volunteer work I will do during the next four and a half months. Several times I had to turn around because I couldn't find another way of getting out of the passage I had just walked into. I always feel very gringa in there.

Today's adventures included a post-class 4-hour excursion to a place called Mastodonte, like a mammoth. The inside looked like a cave. I had Chorrillana, which is a dish of Valparaíso, consisting of fries, onions, meat, and cheese. Yeah, it was like the Westy, but possibly worse for your health. Caroline told me I was gross after I started helping other people eat theirs.

To get to this place, which is a whopping 10 minutes walk from the university, we traveled by trolleybus. Trolley! Now you know by now that I become overly excited by any new form of transportation that I encounter, so you can imagine my look of glee as I entered the world of the trolleybus. Slightly anticlimactic it was, sort of like an agonizingly slow micro attached to wires, which costs less than any other form of transportation and moves slower too. Still, a fun experience. Next time I am going to race it though.

A thought on literal translations: "Cómo se dice, I am on top of my crap?" I heard this stated as a referece to cleverly scheduling classes to fit in extra majors into one's college program, double counting, etc. "Crap" of course means stuff in a sense, scheduling stuff. And "on top of" does not literally mean on top of another object. Now, try to explain that in Spanish, keeping in mind that the literal translation would make no sense and is absolutely rediculous. And then do it all day, for everything you say. For 14 hours. Or 20. One of the most rewarding parts is saying something in a way that sounds Chilean, not American translated word for word. This is a constant challenge.

My brother, Kevin: "Yo man, have you eaten chilly yet, because its chile in chili?"

Sorry to disappoint, but the mysterious creature of the deep was found to be coypu, or nutria. I personally think that it is a new species of mutant rat, endemic to Viña. I will figure out a good name for it.

What is a Chilean?

2009-08-09T20:48:00.000-07:00

Now that I am sort of used to the idea of being here, I can open my eyes to the culture of the city and the people. Or of the two cities, as they are different. Eventually, I will travel enough to have a sense of Chileans as a whole people, not limited to two tiny dots on a map.

First, what makes South America different? Again, from a very small perspective of only two relatively unfamiliar cities at this point. Today I saw someone hanging laundry on a line outside. At home, we use a dryer. For some reason, I associated this event as being very South American. Why? I don't know exactly, a stereotype surely. Not everyone in Chile does this surely, and lots of US citizens do the same of course. Do I maybe think it is a little more earthy, less wasteful, more simple? Yes. I have been doing some thinking along these lines, where these associations come from, and whether or not they are negative.

I met Ken two nights ago, a Chilean whose father is an ambassador to Japan. Ken speaks fluent Japanese and English in addition to Spanish. Yeah, the rest of us suck at life in comparison. I also enjoy the Aussies, Jono and Thomas. Today, I went with them on a run through Viña, along the beach at sunset, through the festival of Día de los niños and the raging crowds of people. We chased a turtle for like 40 minutes at the ocean only to find that it was a crab, which we then saved from an insensitive child. I had my first taste of Pacific Ocean on my bare feet. Then we saw this weird rodent thing in the river on our walk back. It was a large rat-beaver creature-of-the-deep thing, which we determined after a discussion of whether or not it was a cormorant or duck. It was dark, ok? More discussion. I think that they take their lives less seriously than me, and that that is a good thing. I love structure, but probably need less. Outside of my comfort zone for sure, but that is a good thing, a growing experience. Funny how you are drawn to people so different from you, yet similar in remarkable ways. We must be drawn to people that are different in order to help ourselves grow. At the same time, we are drawn to similarities that we can relate to. It's an interesting balance, and one that I find changes as you mature.

Thomas: "You need to work on your glare. It's too Christian."

Speaking of, I feel like the Prodigal Son whenever I go back to my house. After running around all over the place, they feed me with fresh food and wash my clothes and ask me all about my adventures. Chileans in my experience are extremely welcoming and homey people. They make me feel less touristy and more at home.

Santiago

2009-08-08T13:08:00.000-07:00

On Friday undertook my first my first excursion to Santiago. Thomas the German and I took the 10am bus from Valpo to the terminal in Santiago. After about half an hour of figuring out where we were, we somehow figured out the metro (yes, just as fun as the one in Valpo/Viña) to closer to Centro to meet up with Michael, Thomas's friend from their university in Germany. He served as our guide for the day, for sure a good thing because Thomas and I looked at each other that morning and were both like, ok, we are here, now what do we do? Good travel companions, but they spoke in German a lot and I often had no idea what was going on, it was funny. We began on Cerro San Cristóbal, a huge hill in the middle of the city. It is part terraced patio, part park, including a zoo and huge park at the top. We rode a funicular to the top, it's like an ascensor. In case you can't tell, I love those things. The view would have been spectacular, except for the smog. It is insane. Santiago sits in a bowl, surrounded by mountains, and the smog is trapped there. Lots of dogs at the top too, sunning themselves on the patio.

After a lunch of empanadas in the Centro, we visited the Museo de Artes Visuales, which had a spectacular Valentina Cruz exhibit. The top floor was the Museo Arquelógico de Santiago, which included exhibits of indigenous peoples. Later, we walked around Plaza de Armas, which also contained the Municipal de Chile. It was heavily guarded by carabineros. Close by was the Inglesia de San Francisco, the oldest building in Santiago. Finally, we climbed the cerro Santa Lucía, part natural rock formation, part castle, with lots and lots of stairs, trails, and couples. The view from here was much better, as it was closer to sunset and the smog seemed not as bad. The architecture, arches, spires, and fountains, was beautiful. After eating a real tortilla (sort of omelette) we said our goodbyes to Michael, our guide, and headed back to Valpo after a full day of Santiago.

miel and micros

2009-08-06T17:50:00.000-07:00

Classes have begun! My first day on Wed was my fullest, with 4 classes back to back. My first class is at the campus in Sausalito, which is just like the education building at Millersville. Well, not exactly, but it is really far from everything else, just like at MU, except further, like in Viña, where my next class is 45 minutes later is in Casa Central in Valpo. It's an exciting trip though, and I love it. I arrived 15 minutes before my class started. You can tell who the exchange students are because they are the only ones to arrive more than 5 second before the class is about to begin. Once in the classroom, I looked to the other estadounidense and said that I felt very gringa. She did to, but it was not a bad feeling, just observation. I thought that since this was a class with Chileans, that I would have a hard time understanding the professor, but I understood the majority of what he said. I immediately loved the idea of education classes here and can't wait to learn about the education system and get out into schools.

Later, my classes were with other exchange student, almost all gringo. And almost all girls. Very similar to my classes at MU in this regard. My professors are excellent. I think I will add a class to make 5, so some changes are likely to occur. While I am throwing around Chilean words, I should point out that my use of flaite was bad. It is a bad term to use, very degrading. Oops oops oops. Now I know. I enjoy integrating idioms into my life, sípo, yapo, obviopo... (po is just tacked on to the end for who knows why, but it's interesting anyway).

And I get to ride the metro to class! Every day! Normal people would not find this interesting, but all forms of public transportation to me are interesting and fun. I love to watch people, and especially to watch my bag during rush hour. Speaking of, I took a micro to my house yesterday because it was dark when I left the university, and it was packed. Like packed to the point where there were seriously 15 people standing on this bus. I think standing for a micro ride should be an olympic sport. It takes endurance, perfect timing, balance, and a constant vigilance for your bag. And then after the nauseating ride around corners and up impossibly steep hills, you have to get off. This is a task in and of itself. You have to pull the thing and then like 10 people step off or move aside for you to leave, then everyone gets back on. So teamwork is a big component too. It is actually great fun, and I will probably do it fairly often just for the experience, though it is a bit more expensive than the metro. The metro has the best view of the ocean, which I also quite like.

On to miel... aka bee sauce. This unprocessed honey. I ate so much of it today that I felt nauseous (a common theme apparently). I can't get enough, I want to eat it with a spoon. It's apparently hard to get in the US. Between that and the bread, I don't know how I will adjust to American food again. Tea is great also, I drink like 4 cups a day to keep warm and because it is delicious.

Random note that I forgot to add in past blogs... Dani's friends like to use the bathroom of doom as a game. Remember, the one that traps you in without hope of escape without help? Well, they like to do just that, lock themselves in on purpose because it is funny. And it is. I love standing in front of the door and pretending like I don't understand.

And finally, the elusive 1 peso coin. I have been looking forward to getting one of these since I got here. I finally got the correct change. The one peso coin is worth almost nothing... less than 1/5 of a penny. This is part of the reason why I want it I suppose, I think it's funny. Also, it is teenie, like the size of my thumbnail. It is also really light, like it is hard to believe it's metal. But way lighter than the 5 peso coin, which is also adorably small and worth nothing. Yes, I used the word adorable. You would too if you saw how little it was. Maybe not, but it still gave me a full paragraph to write about.

2009-08-03T23:24:00.000-07:00

Two thoughts. The first is that the metros are sweet, fast, entertaining, and cheap, and therefore they are my new favorite thing. Second, nothing beats midnight fries with a friend in Viña.

Actually, three thoughts. This morning, well afternoon when I got up, I walked into the kitchen and my host mom was making me fresh orange juice, as in squeezing the oranges. When I return to the US, I will not be able to drink that orange juice, I can't go back to that after tasting Chile oranges. The bread too. At tea time, about 7pm, I always eat like 4 bread sandwiches with spreads and cheese and whatever. It's not loaf bread... it's better.

Flaites

2009-08-02T23:48:00.000-07:00

The beaches of Viña that are closest to my house, though unswimmable, are stunning. I walked from Recreo to Viña, through the plazas, past the Reloj de Flores, which is super cool, and along the ocean. I met up with Trena and Ariel, and we hung out there practicing Spanish until sunset. Then pizza hut. Yes it is the same, minus the language. I returned after tea for the cine at the Mall with Ariel. Enemigos Públicos is excellent by the way, you should all go see it (it's in English). Most of the movies were in English with Spanish subtitles, and were US films. There was only one Chilean film, which very much surprised me.

So in Viña, it is not really safe to walk around at night after dark by yourself, particularly this late. So, we took a colectivo to Cafe Journal, where I could get another colectivo to my house. Precautions taken, no problem. There was this guy close to the cafe, among other people as well. We waited maybe 30 feet away from where he was, but he immediately started creeping towards us, watching. For sure up to no good. I have no absolutely doubts that he was going to do something bad, likely try to rob one or both of us. His actions confirmed it- he got sort of close, and Ariel sort of shielded me and then pulled me away quickly in the opposite direction. We walked quickly up the hill and he did not follow, but went somewhere out of sight. If I had been alone, I would not have even stopped in the area, I would have ran. A scary experience for both of us. After a few minutes a colectivo came and I was safe, but he had to wait for one by himself then. It was absolutely insane. I was glad to have a Chilean friend there. Creepy, stalkerish, shady people one encounters on the street are called flaites. They are the reason you take friends with you at night.

Seriously, don't worry, I never travel alone at night, and never have to walk far because there are colectivos, which are much safer than busses at night. And I have good friends to travel with Please don't worry, I am paranoid, keep money in two places on me at all times, secure all my stuff to my body and don't carry any extra, carry my stuff in front and hold it, carry a phone, have keys which could be a weapon, travel with others, and have at least some common sense and a knowledge of how to get around safely. Constant vigilance! (thank you Moody).

Gringa

2009-08-01T18:01:00.000-07:00

Being Gringo means you are from the United States. I have never been so different. I am tall, white, and sound like I am making fun of the Spanish language whenever I talk. One does not really think about these things until they are in a situation where everyone around them is different; at least that is the case for me. Yesterday, Dani had some friends over for her birthday. When I introduced myself, I was immediately referred to as the Gringa. There is not a bad connotation to the word, though from my description it may seem that way. For me, it would be like saying the Mexican, or the German, etc. I wonder what Chileans think of Americans. Do they think of the English language when they meet me? I'm sure. And American music; it is played here constantly. Being Gringa means I am different, and therefore several things. One, apparently more interesting. Two, a target. Everything I need is hidden on me in pockets or underneath my clothing, unless I have a bag, which is slung across my body and held in front. I am very much aware that I am a target. Every time I am on the street I wonder if people can look at me at tell. I feel like they can, but of course there is diversity here too, ethnic, religious, cultural, language, so maybe I do not stand out super much. I also wonder if every Chilean that does not look Latino/a is automatically thought of as Gringo, or as foreign, or maybe not either because they do not look out of place for their clothing or mannerisms (I am excluding language at this point and just thinking about looks and actions, though that of course is shallow). Just stuff I was thinking about. None of this is meant to be generalizing of Chileans, Americans, or whoever in any way, it is just a summarization of my thoughts and observations. Not of this is meant to be negative in any way, just thoughts, neutral.

Today I saw a movie at a Cafe in Valparaíso and was again accompanied by Thomas. It was a small cafe, and I wondered where the movie could be. Turns out, the basement. This did creep me out the entire time, but was safer than it sounds, I believe, because there were other people there, Chileans no less, and I thought that if it were really unsafe, that the Chileans would know, and that no one else would be around. Never would I have gone there alone, or without a crowd around me. Still, I watched the door the entire time because I was afraid it would be closed. Not the case, the owners watched the movie with us and were very nice; they told us that El Topo is a Mexican film, directed by a Chilean. It was a very odd movie, but good practice at least. Mexicans speak much more clearly than the residents of Viña and Valpo, anyway.

ascensores

2009-07-31T22:07:00.001-07:00

So I was waiting for the micro this morning when this man camp up to me asking for the time. Upon hearing me speak, he immediately reverted to English, but I stopped it. He asked where in the US I was from, and I said, apparently unclearly, PA. He definitely heard "Transylvania" and started talking about Dracula. I admit that I was entertained, so I nodded and let him keep going. This actually happened to me later in the day again, a similar event, and I think it is super funny.

After finally sorting through the class scheduling confusion at Casa Central, I met up with Thomas again for a small lunch and a trip to buy our Chilean identification cards at the Registro Civil in Valparaíso. We waited there almost two hours... I pulled number 91, and it was only 0n 40... but all the same it was super fun, especially if he knew a word in German but not Spanish or English. I love the German accent coupled with Chilean Spanish. Anyway, it turns out that neither of us had the correct paperwork (I needed my actual passport, not a photocopy) and we have to go back again anyway to buy our IDs. So we decided to ride an ascensor! Ascensores are these cool things that are like funicular elevators, but are much older than those. They basically eliminate the need to walk up about 200 steps, and are really really fun. At the top of Ascensor Reina Victoria, we has a sweet view of Valpo and met the really nice conductor guy. Upon hearing the German accent, he excitedly pointed out the Lutheran church close by, and we chatted it up for a while. And there was a slide, descending from the platform! This we utilized of course. After a trip exploring the surrounding streets, we parted ways, and I followed the palms of Avenida Brazil back to the university. Walking around the city and exploring the crazy steep streets and haphazard colorful buildings is my new favorite activity. On one street today, we saw two TVs stacked vertically, painted with the words "apaga la tele, vive tu vida." Turn of the tv, live your life. There is a lot one can take away from this place, and I have just scratched the surface, I think.

Tarjeta por el metro

2009-07-30T20:43:00.000-07:00

Two trips into Viña today, on with Javi for some excellent ice cream, flavored Mil Hojas and Frescado (raspberry), and a trip on foot to buy a metro card. A metro card is like a prepaid phone card; every time you enter and exit the metro, you swipe it and it deducts from your prepaid pesos. The process to get the discount student one is simple, but the people in the metro office made it complicated. I had to talk through one of those ticket things, and it was nearly impossible to make out anything. Eventually I made it to the office, and it was so funny. The first man sort of freaked out when I talked to him, and tried to find someone who spoke English. I understood quite a bit of what he said, but he handed me off to someone else anyway. The next guy was really nice and used lots of hand gestures to make sure I knew what he was talking about. Satisfied that I somehow got the card and had made a scene while doing it, I had some time before dark to get to know Viña. It is busy and interesting, and I much want to explore every inch of it. I came across a market on a sidestreet and found postcards, finally. When I showed them to my host mom, she took one and circled our apartment building on it, among hundreds of other buildings. Now everyone can see exactly where I live, apparently.

Connections: both the people and the transportation kind

2009-07-29T22:55:00.000-07:00

Today began with a tour of the university buildings throughout Viña, then of Valpo. There is not one large campus, but many tiny ones spread throughout the two cities. The oceanography building is literally on top of the ocean. Upon seeing some unfamiliar birds there, I asked around and later found that Garret was familiar with them. As it turns out, he has the same Birds of Chile book that I do, and he mentioned the author by his first name. I excitedly explained that some family friends (the Moultons) who travel the world in search of birds, had this guy, Alvaro, as their guide in Chile. An interesting connection. Then I found another one- as it turns out, Trena of group Q was tutored by Javi for part of the summer. Javi exchanged with Millersville last semester and was my Spanish practice buddy. I also met Thomas, a German exchange student, on the bus. Almost forgot, our group name has become "Garret y los flores..." No se.

Later we explored the beaches and market in Vina. We saw cool sand figures that were actually colored and maintained. I found the cutest thing in the world, an adorable Chilean boy holding a bunny. I talked to him and he gave the bunny to his sister, who chatted with me and permitted a bunny petting. The father was nice too- they were super friendly/adorable. Everyone has been this way, very open and friendly, willing to talk to you.

When I returned to my house from Viña central, I ended up taking a regular taxi, which is not as good because it is more expensive, because I could not find the right micro or colectivo. The driver at one point asked me where to go, and I told him that I had no idea. 20 minutes and 5 or six direction stops later, I arrived safely at Plaza Recreo. That's right, my driver was lost.

On micros and colectivos... I figured it out. It's like they are attached to an electrical track. That is my reasoning for how they are able to make turns at warp speed and power up and down hills, ducking and weaving, without smashing into anything. Let me tell you, anyone who can drive through that is an amazing, and very confident, driver.

After a somehow successful trip to buy a card for my prepaid phone and uber late lunch, I passed time at the house and eventually made my way to Cafe Journal. The coletivos are safe to use for night travel, which makes life easier (don't worry mom). Our group joined up there, and I ran into Thomas again. We chatted and made sure that each of us had a safe ride back to our houses before parting. Downtown Viña at night with friends is both safe and fun, an experience which will likely become regular.

Orientation

2009-07-28T21:15:00.000-07:00

Orientation week at PUCV is similar to that at any other college, except harder to understand and more interesting. We have orientation groups and leaders (monitors). My Monitor is Caroline, who was an exchange student at MU last semester. It was exciting to see a familiar Chilean face on Monday when this all started (Alina too). Of the 280 exchange students, 180 are from the US. Much of this week is spent picking out appropriate classes and learning about how Valparaiso works- especially safety. I saw graffiti that said "El Karma... y mi bolso?" (bolso= purse or bag). Perhaps inspired by an actual theft. It made me wonder how safe it is to walk around alone, being gringa. I at no point have felt very unsafe, except for the shady steps of the Micro mishap. Good news on the Micros- if I stay on the 504 for two more stops, I end up at the stop right next to my house.

In between getting passport photos and doing paperwork for our visas, I walked around Valpo with other group Q members, Garret, Laura, and Jen. We found a street that had cars parked on the sidewalk, and the sidewalk was steps... it was that steep. I also tried a Mil Hojas pastry thing at a panderia. Through the confusion and incorrect grammar, everyone seems to get the idea of what I am talking about or asking for, and I can therefore be sort of independent, which is really a good feeling. I must rethink my crossing the street strategy though, drivers here are a little on the crazy side.

The best part of today was successfully discussing with my host mom, Carmen, the story of my camp bunny, Inca Toll. This rabbit was named after a trail at camp, which was named after the concept of Inca roads. In order to go on the road, you must pay a toll of adding a stone to the road. The name also matches Chile because the Incas used to live here, not in Valpo, but in the Andes closeby. So camp ties in to Chile. An apt name for my travel bunny. More importantly, the communication component was there. Sort of. Carmen also enjoys when I talk about my volcano dreams and act out an eruption with hand gestures and noises because I don't know the words. She says I can visit a dormant one. It better be very dormant.

adventuras de los micros

2009-07-27T19:58:00.000-07:00

Micros are the busses that run everywhere. Today, I took one for the first time. Earlier, I had navigated using a colectivo (taxi) and was rather proud of my new skill. I found the right micro, but could not figure out where to get off. I ended up past the neighborhood where I live, in who knows were, some part of Viña. So I thought, well I will just walk back. After 20 minutes in a shady part of town, where people went out of their way to talk to me, which freaked me out more than anything, I found two motorcycle police. They graciously directed me to plaza recreo, but more importantly, they were able to understand what I said to them. The route in which I was directed turned down an uber steep hill, which quickly turned into a scary decent of doom. The sun had set by this point. I could see plaza recreo in the distance, so I continued on the shady street and up a weird staircase with a million steps and a huge vertical incline. Near dark, I made it back to my house. Part of being lost is really fun, but the other part is being afraid of who might be nearby.

the bathroom story

2009-07-26T21:49:00.000-07:00

Today was my first taste of Valparaíso. It is beautiful- hilly, with buildings of a million different colors, and plazas with palm trees. Carmen, my Chilean mother, took me around the city for a while. I bought more warm clothes- it is winter here, and although most of what I packed is sweaters, it is not enough. I also took a walk today at the Plaza Recreo and down to the ocean. There are stairs on the sidewalks of some streets, like San Francisco.

To the bathroom story- of yesterday, actually. The bathroom door at my house sticks from expanding from moisture or whatever. So I closed it when I went it there and couldn't get out. I had to be rescued. Twice. Yes, I did it again. I actually locked myself in a bathroom. Well, I thought it was sort of funny.

2009-07-25T16:54:00.000-07:00

Mayita and I finally made it onto a plane bound for Santiago. I tried unsuccessfully to watch 3 movies while on board, but just continued to fall asleep and wake up confused. At 10:30, I was able to see the snowcapped peaks surrounding Santiago, and had my first real strong push of nerves. Mayita walked me through the airport process, and we parted ways after customs, hopefully to meet again. Good thing she was there through the entire 35 hour flight process. After leaving the smog bowl that was Santiago, I was taken to my chilean family in Vina, 50 hours after leaving home. Carmen ran out to greet me, and her and Daniella welcomed me into their nice apartment. I have a view of the city from my room- though an uphill view, still beautiful all the same. Dani took me to downtown Viña on a super cheap taxi, part of an amazing public transport system. After buying some supplies at what is possibly the world's largest supermarket, and the largest mall I have ever seen, we headed back to Recreo. There is a beautiful park/plaza right across the street from our house. I watched the sun set over the Pacific from the street right there. Then we ate this great meal of all things breadlike- delicioso. My Spanish is very shaky, not due to the chilean accent or speed, but the modismos, idioms. I was all excited over knowing the word for cake, for instance, but it turns out the Chileans use a different word anyway. Another exchange student, from Denmark, was hanging out with Dani, and her Spanish (and English) is very good, so I hold on to hope for now. More exploring soon.

stranded

2009-07-24T16:23:00.000-07:00

By 2:00 Thursday afternoon I waved by last goodbyes and settled in for a shuttle ride to Philly, after the frantic packing chaos had finally ended. Two other passengers, a guy by the name of Dane, and his mother, chatted with me about running and teaching and living in Arizona We ran into each other at least 5 more times at the airport while waiting for our delayed flights. I also met a couple from Toronto (the lady was also a teacher) who loved my bunny and thought I was hilarious for whatever reason. After stuffing myself with more greasy American food (the day's total consisting of McDonald's and a Philly cheese steak), I met Mayita, who had exactly the same itinerary as me. Turns out she is a coordinator for teachers in Puerto Varas, Chile. She flies to Santiago periodically to work with the English program in schools there. How exciting- the perfect person to meet! Hopefully I will get a chance to visit one of her schools. After boarding the plane to Toronto, we hear the captain tell us that there are 30 planes ahead of us waiting to take off. 30!! Upon arrival, we find that we have missed our connecting flight, the only one to Santiago for 24 hours. Great. After waiting 45 minutes for our luggage (which was in the wrong place), we realize that basically the entire airport has shut down. And no one we found could help us at all, including all information services and helplines. After a grand tour of the entire airport at least twice, we finally encounter airport employees who can help us. At 3am. They set us up in a sweet hotel and gave us 5 meals (though we used all 3 of our vouchers for the hotel food on one meal), in addition to a limo ride to and from the airport. Not so bad. After a very late night snack and some great conversation, we took the shady taxi, after some persuasion (the limos had all gone) to our safe haven. After spending the next day walking around in Toronto,which was fun, I am antsy to fly out. Highlights of this adventure include the best cheese spinach soup ever, hearing a real Canadian accent for the first time, having my stuffed bunny, Inca Toll, accidentally go off singing "Making Melodies" 5 times, including while we are checking into the hotel (everyone in the vicinity was intrigued, let me tell you), and finding out that Canada has a $2 coin- how cool is that?