el Liceo Santa Theresa de los Andes

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

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

(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

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?

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

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

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.