It's a little delayed, but it had to be coming at some point. After a week and a half back in the states, it's time for the semester retrospective.
Places visited in South America:
La Serena
El Colorado (skiing)
La Ligua
Pomeire
Isla Negra
La Campana
San Pedro
Antofogasta
Punta Arenas
Puerto Natales
Pucón
Valdivia
Cajón de Maipo
Mendoza
Buenos Aires
Santiago
and of course, Valparaíso and Viña del Mar, my "homes"
hours spent on busses:over 107
hikes: (contrary to popular belief, only) 3
hostels stayed in: 11
occasions of luxury (aka, rediculously nice places stayed in due to parental visits, paid program trips, and crazy-low prices in countries in economic crisis): 6
Everyone should get to go to a country where they're considered gorgeous
It's a real confidence-booster. I'm thinking we need to set up an international database so taht each person can find and visit that location where everyone thinks they're drop-dead gorgeous. I, for example, am returning a few pounds heavier, yet with several outstanding marriage proposals from random men on the streets of Chile.
In Chile, you're blonde
we all are.
Prescriptions are SO overrated
Why bother with doctors if you can just bully pharmacists, like Ashley's host mom? Or, you could send your host kids accross the border to Argentina with a wad of cash which they will then exchange for drugs at a leather store. 'cause that's not shady (nor has it ever happened to me, of course).
Valparaíso was the perfect place for me to study abroad
I realize I never wrote much about it, so here's the short description of my home abroad. Valpo is an industrial port city built on hills rising right up out of hte Pacific. There is not a single Starbucks in the city, and no one knows what bagels are. Its neighboring city, which it literally touches, Viña del Mar, is the most touristic city in Chile because of its beaches. Neither city is particularly wealthy or clean. The area houses some of the best universities in teh country. The culture and architecture are fascinating (if occasionaly frightening - houses buit on hills appear to be more hanging, waiting to fall). The lifestyle of these cities was unlike any experiences I had had before.
I hate dogs.
Perhaps canines and I will have our day of reconciliation, but not today. After carefully picking my way around the many stray dogs of Chile and their resulting bodily functions in the streets, and after the creature that lived in my house shat on my bed and vomitted in corners in the house, I've decided that I hate dogs, and will now for some time.
Use sunscreen
Turns out that song was right. SPF = good, hole in the o-zone right over Chile = bad.
My favorite Chilean game: spot that college t-shirt
Rest assured, your clothing drive donations are reaching those in need. All kinds of college, city, and sports team paraphernalia can be found all over South America. More points are given for more specific institutions (Dormitory t-shirts instead of University - Ashley did spot her freshman year dorm in Chile), and bonus points given if you yourself own the shirt.
The award for all-time best t-shirt find: Ashley's spotting of a t-shirt from our town's local young girls' basketball league.
Chile's favorite American import:
On the music scene, that is. Maroon 5's "She Will Be Loved". They also love a song that I believe is called "The Shadows", but I'm pretty sure the band is European.
Favorite Spanish adition to my iTunes Library: (song)
"Salir Corriendo" by Amaral, which is a pretty awesome band all around. I highly recommend checking out their CD, Estrella del Mar.
Favorite Spanish addition to my iTunes Library: (band)
Bacilos. Even better if you can get your hands on their music videos. "Pasos de Gigante" is especially cute, and a really fun song.
Music video most re-inforcing of all previous Latin Music stereotypes:
David Bisbal's "Oye el Boom". Imagine a muscular man with long curly hair on a desert island surrounded by a hundred women in small brown bikinis. Add dancing, wet bodies, and a few strange pelvic thrusts, and you've got an accurate image of the music video driving millions of Spanish-speaking women wild.
An amazing semester has come to an end. It was difficult, interesting, crazy, and loads of fun, and I couldn't be happier I did it. Just look at all the culture I've gained from my 5 months (half naked men on desert islands aside). ;) Thanks for putting up with all my ramblings. It was a good way for me to remember everything I did, since it all seemed to happen pretty fast.
Friday, December 24, 2004
Sunday, December 19, 2004
a story from my favorite MIT nerd
"i took my resume to the career center for them to look over and they asked me if i knew any languages and i said, yeah, i list them right there: c++, html, -- oh, you meant like, real languages!"
Tales from the end of the world
It may seem like cheating to be updating about a trip in Chile when I’m not in Chile anymore, but in all fairness to me, I’m not yet home either. I’m writing this from somewhere over the Caribbean Sea at 3:30 in the morning because I just woke up and mysteriously can’t sleep. Plus, I still have not posted anything about my last, and quite possibly my best, Chilean adventure.
Exam season in Chile was a bit of a nightmare for me, so as soon as it was over, I was ready to take off on my final trip. I had two free weeks after finals ended, and was originally going to be traveling for both of them. In the end, though, I decided I would rather one shorter trip and then a last week on the beach before I headed home, a good move since it also gave me some more time with my awesome host family before I left. The place I chose for my remaining one week of travels: Chilean Patagonia.
As my friend Lauren (mihijita!) said when she went, “it’s not just an outerwear company”. For this last exciting adventure, I had decided to travel alone and test my independence skills after a semester abroad. I started out in Punta Arenas, a city on the Straits of Magellan. I ended up meeting another exchange student down there and sharing a hostel room with him for two days. While he hung out in the hostel and watched TV, preparing for his hike of Torres del Paine, I went on the Pinguinos tour (translation: penguins) and did some shorter hiking in a national reserve nearby, which was complimented by some unknown flirting with the park ranger. Yeah, I didn’t realize what I was doing until my taxi had pulled up to take me back to my hostel and he was giving me his e-mail address and MSN messenger name. Oops!
After two days in Punta Arenas, I hopped a bus to Puerto Natales, 3 hours north. Puerto Natales is the touristy town on the Fjord of Last Hope and the gateway to the Torres del Paine Park, so to speak. Torres del Paine is supposed to be up there with one of the 10 best hikes in the world, and I’ll believe it. I only had time to do the one day bus trip into the park, but I desperately want to go back some day and spend at least 4 or 5 days hiking in the park. (I know what you’re wondering, but don’t worry, I haven’t completely turned nature girl while here in Chile. I’m still mostly a city-mouse.) The Park is absolutely gorgeous with lagoons and waterfalls and mountains rising up out of the water and into the clouds. The weather in Patagonia is even more changeable than Martha’s Vineyard, and I used to think that was saying something. Every day I was alternately rained on, freezing, and sweating at least once. All this creates very uncertain weather and cloud cover conditions, however, which some find disappointing because of the difficulty in planning anything, but I felt just added a lot to the almost mystical feel of the park.
The Park was definitely my favorite part of the trip, but my boat of the glaciers definitely came in a close second. I took a tour on a boat (oh, how I had missed the feel of ocean under foot, hehe) to see two large glaciers near Puerto Natales. We sailed right up next to one, and the other I was able to walk to. The second was particularly beautiful, with several pieces breaking off and floating into the lake surrounding it. There was, again, some unknowing flirting with the tour guides (I have to start realizing when this is going on), that I was this time unaware of until one of them started touching the neck of my sweater while complimenting me on my Spanish-speaking abilities. I feel like my subconscious must get lonely when I’m traveling alone, even while conscious Caitlin is having a fantastic time. Either that or I just have that nature girl vibe that really reels in the guys. Oh, how crunchy I am. Hehe.
My last night in Puerto Natales was spent in a lovely hostel that I finally got a bed in after two nights in the hostel from hell. (It was next to not one, but two discoteques. Late night karaoke, anyone?) When traveling alone it’s virtually impossible to actually be alone, since the traveling culture really does seem to be one of living together and sharing, and true to form, I met some really cool people all over my travels. Among the many things I learned from them: working papers in Chile are really not a necessity, so if I ever wanted to come back and make some money, I’d be set. (Just kidding, Mom.) In all honesty, though, I did meet amazing people doing amazing things. It made me hope that this is not, by far, my last international adventure. I ended my trip to the “end of the world” relaxing, chatting, and reading in my hostel, and flew back home the next day for a week of beach-ing and goodbyes. My Chile trip ended fantastically, and I am so excited to come home and see all the people I care about!
Exam season in Chile was a bit of a nightmare for me, so as soon as it was over, I was ready to take off on my final trip. I had two free weeks after finals ended, and was originally going to be traveling for both of them. In the end, though, I decided I would rather one shorter trip and then a last week on the beach before I headed home, a good move since it also gave me some more time with my awesome host family before I left. The place I chose for my remaining one week of travels: Chilean Patagonia.
As my friend Lauren (mihijita!) said when she went, “it’s not just an outerwear company”. For this last exciting adventure, I had decided to travel alone and test my independence skills after a semester abroad. I started out in Punta Arenas, a city on the Straits of Magellan. I ended up meeting another exchange student down there and sharing a hostel room with him for two days. While he hung out in the hostel and watched TV, preparing for his hike of Torres del Paine, I went on the Pinguinos tour (translation: penguins) and did some shorter hiking in a national reserve nearby, which was complimented by some unknown flirting with the park ranger. Yeah, I didn’t realize what I was doing until my taxi had pulled up to take me back to my hostel and he was giving me his e-mail address and MSN messenger name. Oops!
After two days in Punta Arenas, I hopped a bus to Puerto Natales, 3 hours north. Puerto Natales is the touristy town on the Fjord of Last Hope and the gateway to the Torres del Paine Park, so to speak. Torres del Paine is supposed to be up there with one of the 10 best hikes in the world, and I’ll believe it. I only had time to do the one day bus trip into the park, but I desperately want to go back some day and spend at least 4 or 5 days hiking in the park. (I know what you’re wondering, but don’t worry, I haven’t completely turned nature girl while here in Chile. I’m still mostly a city-mouse.) The Park is absolutely gorgeous with lagoons and waterfalls and mountains rising up out of the water and into the clouds. The weather in Patagonia is even more changeable than Martha’s Vineyard, and I used to think that was saying something. Every day I was alternately rained on, freezing, and sweating at least once. All this creates very uncertain weather and cloud cover conditions, however, which some find disappointing because of the difficulty in planning anything, but I felt just added a lot to the almost mystical feel of the park.
The Park was definitely my favorite part of the trip, but my boat of the glaciers definitely came in a close second. I took a tour on a boat (oh, how I had missed the feel of ocean under foot, hehe) to see two large glaciers near Puerto Natales. We sailed right up next to one, and the other I was able to walk to. The second was particularly beautiful, with several pieces breaking off and floating into the lake surrounding it. There was, again, some unknowing flirting with the tour guides (I have to start realizing when this is going on), that I was this time unaware of until one of them started touching the neck of my sweater while complimenting me on my Spanish-speaking abilities. I feel like my subconscious must get lonely when I’m traveling alone, even while conscious Caitlin is having a fantastic time. Either that or I just have that nature girl vibe that really reels in the guys. Oh, how crunchy I am. Hehe.
My last night in Puerto Natales was spent in a lovely hostel that I finally got a bed in after two nights in the hostel from hell. (It was next to not one, but two discoteques. Late night karaoke, anyone?) When traveling alone it’s virtually impossible to actually be alone, since the traveling culture really does seem to be one of living together and sharing, and true to form, I met some really cool people all over my travels. Among the many things I learned from them: working papers in Chile are really not a necessity, so if I ever wanted to come back and make some money, I’d be set. (Just kidding, Mom.) In all honesty, though, I did meet amazing people doing amazing things. It made me hope that this is not, by far, my last international adventure. I ended my trip to the “end of the world” relaxing, chatting, and reading in my hostel, and flew back home the next day for a week of beach-ing and goodbyes. My Chile trip ended fantastically, and I am so excited to come home and see all the people I care about!
Saturday, December 11, 2004
Dusting the desert dust off my shoes
(Still can't get my pictures working sorry! But I'll try to get them up as soon as I'm state-side and every little thing on the computer doesn't take forever minutes!)
Grand apologies for the long break in blogging. I could make excuses, but no one wants to hear about them. Instead, here comes a quick account of my trip to the driest desert on earth…much more interesting!
San Pedro de Atacama is a small tourist town in the Atacama Desert in the north of Chile. It is a tourist town because it is the only thing close to four major tourist sites of the desert: lakes in the mountains nearby, the world’s third largest salt deposit, El Tetio Geysers, and Death and Moon Valleys. It’s small because, being the only town for miles, there is no competition to cause it to experience any drastic change. It doesn’t have an ATM in town, though a truck drives through (with a frequency I’m unsure of) with an ATM that accepts only MasterCard. The food is one thing that is really quite affected by tourism, which meant it was some of the best food I’ve had since arriving in Chile.
Most people, to get to San Pedro, fly through Calama, the unappealing mining city about an hour and a half drive away. Ashley and I like it the hard way…we found a deal flying through Antofagasta, an even less appealing mining city located 5 hours away by bus. Through the desert. Antofogasta is on the (west) coast of Chile, it’s one saving grace (yes, I learned it’s possible to have a city that is both in the desert and on the sea… it’s like endless beach). San Pedro is on the east side of Chile. Hence, we had to cross the desert to get from point A to B. But it still got us to there, so no harm done.
We left on a Thursday bright and early and arrived in San Pedro just too late to take any tours. We checked into a great hostel with llamas in the yard and headed for the Native American ruins located just a kilometer outside of town.
img src=”IMGP1471.JPG”
playing in Atacamian ruins
The next day we took a full day tour that went to the salar (salt deposit) and the lakes. Both were amazing, and we also got to meet some cool Brazilians in the process (and some unfortunately boring Slovaks). The group also stopped in a couple of very small towns, and we were able to momentarily and superficially glimpse into rural desert life. Cool (and a little frightening)!
img src=”IMGP1481.JPG”
lots of salt and flamencos
img src=”IMGP1497.JPG”
in front of one of the two lakes
That night we got to go on one of the cooler “tours” I’ve done in Chile: a tour of the night sky. A French man came to the Atacama because of its incredibly clear skies and started giving tours in English, French, and Spanish. He has several high-powered telescopes and plenty of knowledge, so two hours were quickly filled with interesting facts and beautiful sights. It was especially nice to finally have someone point out for me exactly what I am seeing for the first time in the Southern Hemisphere sky (aka, the whole part of the sky we miss out on up North). Yay for Magellanic Clouds!
The next day, Saturday, we checked out the museum and got to see some Native American mummies. That night we went on the tour of Death and Moon Valleys. I walked through Death Valley, apparently where many early explorers died because they greatly underestimated the distance between one oasis and another due to the ability to see so much further in the desert than in most places. We watched the sunset over Moon Valley, more impressive sounding than it was, I assure you, but beautiful nonetheless.
img src=”IMGP1510.JPG”
standing above moon valley
img src=”IMGP1537.JPG”
getting ready for sunset
The next morning Ashley and I woke up at the late great hour of 3:30 am to catch our 4 am tour to see the “near-by” El Tatio Geysers. I suppose 4 hours away is near-by in the desert, and it was certainly worth the trip. The geysers are best seen in the morning when the difference in temperature between the water and the outside air is enough to cause them to spout, obviously an important part of the event. (The Atacama Desert, I should mention, is quite cold at night since the lack of cloud cover keeps in no heat, and, obviously, very warm during the day. The coldness of the night, however, explains why one has to leave very early to get to the geysers when it’s still cold enough outside.)
img src=”GeiserGrande”
The geysers was a great end to our fantastic trip. We gently urged our tour guide, the same one we had for every tour, to please hurry up so we could make our bus to Antofogasta. (Our guide’s name was German, but we decided his nickname should be “puro chile” since he was a Chilean bumpkin to the core, complete with traditional Chilean dance music as the soundtrack in our desert van trips.) Our bus ride to Antofogasta, through the desert, was almost unbearable since it didn’t have air conditioning, but we arrived all in one piece, if a little lighter from the sweating. We spent a rather dreadful night in Antofogasta (but really, who likes industrial desert towns anyway?), and headed home the next morning.
All in all, it was one of my favorite trips of the semester. I had never been to the desert before, and it was fascinating. I don’t think I could ever live there; the lack of water was constantly felt and was, I have to admit, a bit scary, but it was absolutely gorgeous and completely different from anything I had ever seen before. A truly amazing trip!
Grand apologies for the long break in blogging. I could make excuses, but no one wants to hear about them. Instead, here comes a quick account of my trip to the driest desert on earth…much more interesting!
San Pedro de Atacama is a small tourist town in the Atacama Desert in the north of Chile. It is a tourist town because it is the only thing close to four major tourist sites of the desert: lakes in the mountains nearby, the world’s third largest salt deposit, El Tetio Geysers, and Death and Moon Valleys. It’s small because, being the only town for miles, there is no competition to cause it to experience any drastic change. It doesn’t have an ATM in town, though a truck drives through (with a frequency I’m unsure of) with an ATM that accepts only MasterCard. The food is one thing that is really quite affected by tourism, which meant it was some of the best food I’ve had since arriving in Chile.
Most people, to get to San Pedro, fly through Calama, the unappealing mining city about an hour and a half drive away. Ashley and I like it the hard way…we found a deal flying through Antofagasta, an even less appealing mining city located 5 hours away by bus. Through the desert. Antofogasta is on the (west) coast of Chile, it’s one saving grace (yes, I learned it’s possible to have a city that is both in the desert and on the sea… it’s like endless beach). San Pedro is on the east side of Chile. Hence, we had to cross the desert to get from point A to B. But it still got us to there, so no harm done.
We left on a Thursday bright and early and arrived in San Pedro just too late to take any tours. We checked into a great hostel with llamas in the yard and headed for the Native American ruins located just a kilometer outside of town.
img src=”IMGP1471.JPG”
playing in Atacamian ruins
The next day we took a full day tour that went to the salar (salt deposit) and the lakes. Both were amazing, and we also got to meet some cool Brazilians in the process (and some unfortunately boring Slovaks). The group also stopped in a couple of very small towns, and we were able to momentarily and superficially glimpse into rural desert life. Cool (and a little frightening)!
img src=”IMGP1481.JPG”
lots of salt and flamencos
img src=”IMGP1497.JPG”
in front of one of the two lakes
That night we got to go on one of the cooler “tours” I’ve done in Chile: a tour of the night sky. A French man came to the Atacama because of its incredibly clear skies and started giving tours in English, French, and Spanish. He has several high-powered telescopes and plenty of knowledge, so two hours were quickly filled with interesting facts and beautiful sights. It was especially nice to finally have someone point out for me exactly what I am seeing for the first time in the Southern Hemisphere sky (aka, the whole part of the sky we miss out on up North). Yay for Magellanic Clouds!
The next day, Saturday, we checked out the museum and got to see some Native American mummies. That night we went on the tour of Death and Moon Valleys. I walked through Death Valley, apparently where many early explorers died because they greatly underestimated the distance between one oasis and another due to the ability to see so much further in the desert than in most places. We watched the sunset over Moon Valley, more impressive sounding than it was, I assure you, but beautiful nonetheless.
img src=”IMGP1510.JPG”
standing above moon valley
img src=”IMGP1537.JPG”
getting ready for sunset
The next morning Ashley and I woke up at the late great hour of 3:30 am to catch our 4 am tour to see the “near-by” El Tatio Geysers. I suppose 4 hours away is near-by in the desert, and it was certainly worth the trip. The geysers are best seen in the morning when the difference in temperature between the water and the outside air is enough to cause them to spout, obviously an important part of the event. (The Atacama Desert, I should mention, is quite cold at night since the lack of cloud cover keeps in no heat, and, obviously, very warm during the day. The coldness of the night, however, explains why one has to leave very early to get to the geysers when it’s still cold enough outside.)
img src=”GeiserGrande”
The geysers was a great end to our fantastic trip. We gently urged our tour guide, the same one we had for every tour, to please hurry up so we could make our bus to Antofogasta. (Our guide’s name was German, but we decided his nickname should be “puro chile” since he was a Chilean bumpkin to the core, complete with traditional Chilean dance music as the soundtrack in our desert van trips.) Our bus ride to Antofogasta, through the desert, was almost unbearable since it didn’t have air conditioning, but we arrived all in one piece, if a little lighter from the sweating. We spent a rather dreadful night in Antofogasta (but really, who likes industrial desert towns anyway?), and headed home the next morning.
All in all, it was one of my favorite trips of the semester. I had never been to the desert before, and it was fascinating. I don’t think I could ever live there; the lack of water was constantly felt and was, I have to admit, a bit scary, but it was absolutely gorgeous and completely different from anything I had ever seen before. A truly amazing trip!
Monday, November 22, 2004
Alive in Chile
Don't get excited, this is not an actual update yet. It's more of a check for life... yes, I'm still kicking. Two weekends ago I spent an amazing time in the desert, and have been unfortunately over-occupied since then. Sadly, my most recent days in Chile have been, well, downers. Several long stories (and who likes long unhappy stories?), so I will not elaborate, but I did want to say that I'm here, and after an inhumane amount of finals, I will hopefully be able to update. Good things to look forward to (so that I don't end this on a sad note and, pitifully, to remind myself of good things on the horizon): Ashley's sister being here for the next week, the good movies she brought me from my parents, a Felicity-esque Thanksgiving with my new friends on Thursday, travelling down south next week. And, of course, updating everyone on all said adventures.
Exactly 3 weeks until I touch ground in the US! Here's to making them rock!
Exactly 3 weeks until I touch ground in the US! Here's to making them rock!
Friday, November 19, 2004
los diarios...
well, i seem to have finally found the man who can keep me in south america. and if you don't know who i'm talking about, go see los diarios motocicletas (the motorcycle diaries) and you will not only know who i'm talking about, but you will come down here and fight me for him. but dark handsome men with clear grey-blue eyes aside, the movie was absolutely amazing on its merits as well. it makes me incredibly excited to begin my end-of-semester travels next week. a back pack, a guide book, and a bus headed south is all i need :)
check it out
check it out
Sunday, November 07, 2004
Chilean teenyboppers and tea with Pinochet
Question: Recent discussions of the childhood favorite Eloise in the small case study that is my fellow Americans-in-Chile friends reveal the book to be more of an east coast phenomenon – comments or insights as to if this is true and why it might be are welcome and appreciated.
Anyway, on with the real purpose of the blog...
Thursday night I went to Santiago with Ashley and our friend Kendra to catch a concert in the Estadio Victor Jarra. We went to see Alex Ubago who, for those of you not up on your Spanish music, is like the equivalent of Clay Aiken from Spain, and a couple years older. He’s young, dorky-cute, and appeals to teenage girls and their mothers. He has an adorably nerdy way of dancing and performed in jeans and a blazer which may not have the sex appeal of a shoeless Ryan Miller (reference to my last concert in the States), but that can be a hard act to beat.
We spent the night in a hostel close to the center of town and headed to the ritzy outskirts the next morning for some American indulgence. In the expensive Las Condes neighborhood there is both a New York Bagels and a Starbucks, providing us with the big American chain versions of two things we had missed terribly: bagels and real coffee.
Kendra stayed on in Starbucks to work for a bit and then return to Valpo while Ashley and I took off for the Chilean countryside. So we didn’t have tea with Pinochet, but we did plan a relaxing weekend in the same place he had a vacation house, the Cajón de Maipo, or the Maipo (River) Canyon. And the title is a reference to the movie, Tea with Mussolini, but probably didn’t make that much sense as few people that I know have seen it.
Getting to the country was a bit more of a chore than we had planned. It turns out someone decided to change the bus route since the last time LP or Let’s Go checked, and so we found ourselves at the wrong place, receiving advice from a toothless older gentleman. He told us he was going that way and also had been tricked by the change of bus lines (at least it wasn’t just the silly foreigners), and had us follow him on multiple busses through most of Santiago. Before he got off a few stops before us, he gave me his number and insisted that we call him or he would get worried and come looking for us in the country. Ah, relying on the kindness of strangers.
After initial difficulties, we made it into the small town of San José in the Cajón de Maipo. Since the office of tourism had closed for what could only have been a siesta at that time of day, we decided to ask a woman selling jam in the square for hostel recommendations, and she pointed us in the way of the Hostel Tío Valentín. Keeping with our tradition of slightly decrepit but character rich dwellings, the Hostel was owned by a sweet woman who was trying to convert her deceased parents house into a countryside stop for Chilean tourists. For less than 10 USD a night, breakfast included, it was fine by us.
Friday afternoon we hopped a bus and took it to the end of the Cajón line to see what there was to see. It’s an interesting place in that all of the surrounding Chilean area seems to vacation there at some point or another, be they wicked rich or scrape-by poor. Okay, perhaps not quite the latter, but it does yield a wide variety of visitors. We decided to walk a good 9 km of the way back to enjoy the views, take some pictures, and stop for dinner at a cabin resort. Afterwards, we hopped a bus the rest of the way back (about another 11 km), and took turns listening for each other in the shower since the bathroom was the “old-fashioned” type in Chile – a calefont, a gas powered mechanism for heating water that pretty much every house in Chile has somewhere, in the bathroom instead of the safer/better ventilated kitchen or porch. Because who really wants to die of gas inhalation while on vacation?
The next day we hired a van and took the hour and a half ride to the very end of the Cajón, close to the Argentinean border. To start this story, one must be reminded of the facts that 1. I burn easily, and 2. I’m stupid. That being said, it should come as no surprise that I sit here with one of the worst sunburns I’ve ever had. It turns out people aren’t lying when they talk about the whole in the ozone layer being above Chile.
To backtrack a bit, Ashley and I, apparently not having learned much from our previous mountain climbing experiment, decided to climb an Andean hill: the National Monument (which seams to mean just a small national park) Morado. It’s a 16 km hike, 75% of which is rather gradual. We saw a lagoon and a glacier, we didn’t get lost, and I came back with a really bad burn despite my sunscreening efforts. Well, two out of three isn’t bad.
To relax a bit and perhaps soothe my burn, we headed to the “thermal springs”. When the guidebooks say “rustic”, they aren’t kidding. It turns out that these thermal springs were, as the owner described them, “tibia, not hot”. And orange. Well, for 3 USD, Ashley and I will try anything once. How many people can say they bathed in 22 degree Celsius orange waters under both the Andes and the vigilant watch of not one, not two, but three Virgins!? That’s what I thought. The owner insisted that the waters were orange, not because they were dirty, but because of the abundant minerals that were present. And that we shouldn’t shower afterward but let the minerals work their “medicinal effects”. Needless to say, we did not heed his advice.
We slept a good 11 hours that night, sleep that was much needed by this work-hard play-hard study abroader. Unfortunately, it’s not a luxury I will have tonight, so it’s back to work for me. Currently reading (due Wednesday): Mapocho, a book about an incestuous and dead brother and sister, wandering the streets of Santiago. Ah, Chilean postmodernism! Weeks left of such craziness (in other words, classes): 3. Weeks left in Chile: 5. Next up: the Atacama Desert, the driest place on earth, on Thursday!
Anyway, on with the real purpose of the blog...
Thursday night I went to Santiago with Ashley and our friend Kendra to catch a concert in the Estadio Victor Jarra. We went to see Alex Ubago who, for those of you not up on your Spanish music, is like the equivalent of Clay Aiken from Spain, and a couple years older. He’s young, dorky-cute, and appeals to teenage girls and their mothers. He has an adorably nerdy way of dancing and performed in jeans and a blazer which may not have the sex appeal of a shoeless Ryan Miller (reference to my last concert in the States), but that can be a hard act to beat.
We spent the night in a hostel close to the center of town and headed to the ritzy outskirts the next morning for some American indulgence. In the expensive Las Condes neighborhood there is both a New York Bagels and a Starbucks, providing us with the big American chain versions of two things we had missed terribly: bagels and real coffee.
Kendra stayed on in Starbucks to work for a bit and then return to Valpo while Ashley and I took off for the Chilean countryside. So we didn’t have tea with Pinochet, but we did plan a relaxing weekend in the same place he had a vacation house, the Cajón de Maipo, or the Maipo (River) Canyon. And the title is a reference to the movie, Tea with Mussolini, but probably didn’t make that much sense as few people that I know have seen it.
Getting to the country was a bit more of a chore than we had planned. It turns out someone decided to change the bus route since the last time LP or Let’s Go checked, and so we found ourselves at the wrong place, receiving advice from a toothless older gentleman. He told us he was going that way and also had been tricked by the change of bus lines (at least it wasn’t just the silly foreigners), and had us follow him on multiple busses through most of Santiago. Before he got off a few stops before us, he gave me his number and insisted that we call him or he would get worried and come looking for us in the country. Ah, relying on the kindness of strangers.
After initial difficulties, we made it into the small town of San José in the Cajón de Maipo. Since the office of tourism had closed for what could only have been a siesta at that time of day, we decided to ask a woman selling jam in the square for hostel recommendations, and she pointed us in the way of the Hostel Tío Valentín. Keeping with our tradition of slightly decrepit but character rich dwellings, the Hostel was owned by a sweet woman who was trying to convert her deceased parents house into a countryside stop for Chilean tourists. For less than 10 USD a night, breakfast included, it was fine by us.
Friday afternoon we hopped a bus and took it to the end of the Cajón line to see what there was to see. It’s an interesting place in that all of the surrounding Chilean area seems to vacation there at some point or another, be they wicked rich or scrape-by poor. Okay, perhaps not quite the latter, but it does yield a wide variety of visitors. We decided to walk a good 9 km of the way back to enjoy the views, take some pictures, and stop for dinner at a cabin resort. Afterwards, we hopped a bus the rest of the way back (about another 11 km), and took turns listening for each other in the shower since the bathroom was the “old-fashioned” type in Chile – a calefont, a gas powered mechanism for heating water that pretty much every house in Chile has somewhere, in the bathroom instead of the safer/better ventilated kitchen or porch. Because who really wants to die of gas inhalation while on vacation?
The next day we hired a van and took the hour and a half ride to the very end of the Cajón, close to the Argentinean border. To start this story, one must be reminded of the facts that 1. I burn easily, and 2. I’m stupid. That being said, it should come as no surprise that I sit here with one of the worst sunburns I’ve ever had. It turns out people aren’t lying when they talk about the whole in the ozone layer being above Chile.
To backtrack a bit, Ashley and I, apparently not having learned much from our previous mountain climbing experiment, decided to climb an Andean hill: the National Monument (which seams to mean just a small national park) Morado. It’s a 16 km hike, 75% of which is rather gradual. We saw a lagoon and a glacier, we didn’t get lost, and I came back with a really bad burn despite my sunscreening efforts. Well, two out of three isn’t bad.
To relax a bit and perhaps soothe my burn, we headed to the “thermal springs”. When the guidebooks say “rustic”, they aren’t kidding. It turns out that these thermal springs were, as the owner described them, “tibia, not hot”. And orange. Well, for 3 USD, Ashley and I will try anything once. How many people can say they bathed in 22 degree Celsius orange waters under both the Andes and the vigilant watch of not one, not two, but three Virgins!? That’s what I thought. The owner insisted that the waters were orange, not because they were dirty, but because of the abundant minerals that were present. And that we shouldn’t shower afterward but let the minerals work their “medicinal effects”. Needless to say, we did not heed his advice.
We slept a good 11 hours that night, sleep that was much needed by this work-hard play-hard study abroader. Unfortunately, it’s not a luxury I will have tonight, so it’s back to work for me. Currently reading (due Wednesday): Mapocho, a book about an incestuous and dead brother and sister, wandering the streets of Santiago. Ah, Chilean postmodernism! Weeks left of such craziness (in other words, classes): 3. Weeks left in Chile: 5. Next up: the Atacama Desert, the driest place on earth, on Thursday!
Thursday, November 04, 2004
Catching my z´s on overnight buses
I feel it's actually a skill worth perfecting, espeically when living in Chile. This weekend, I once again hopped an overnight bus to go south for a few days. This time it was with my whole program, so we had the bus to ourselves. It was the night of the World Series, so there was a little mini-party/morning at around 1 when we received the call from home. I made a call home to congratulate Tim and talk to Sam, and then konked out as a result of very little sleep of late.
We arrived in Púcon, a touristy-outdoorsy town 10 hours south of here, at around 8 in the morning on Thursday. There are tons of tourists (which means English-speaking actually doesn't atract weird looks) a beautiful lake, a volcano complete with smoking top, and a cute log-cabin town. Plus, being south of here, it's actually quite chilly at night. Combine that with the great smell of the lake and the surrounding forests, it actually felt a little like fall in Northeastern Pennsylvania. Ah, happy memories of Thanksgiving in Moscow, PA, how I miss them.
Thursday we went on a tour of the saltos in the area - literally jumps of water, or waterfalls - which were really quite beautiful. When I'm on my computer (because right now I'm making use of computer lab priviledges at a Santiago hostal where I'm staying) I'll post great pictures. We also went to the thermal springs - bathing in hot waters by the side of a raging river under the mountains...what could be better?!
My program was staying in cabañas - cabins - for the weekend, which at first made me think of 6th grade summer camp style or Georgetown ESCAPE retreat-esque cabins with three tiered bunk beds and little else. Wow was I wrong. I'm never going back to another hostal if I can help it. Staying in a cabin here is like renting out a luxourious house for the night, only much cheaper. Granted, there were bunk beds, but there were four sets of them, plus a double bed, two bathrooms, a living room, and a fantastic kitchen. The grounds also had a pool and a jacuzzi. While it was too cold to actually swim, we decided it would be a good idea to go for a midnight jump-in-the-pool-run-to-the-jakuzzi dip. I believe I tied for the top number of pool to jacuzzi jumps: 3.
Because there were only 8 of us signed from the program signed up to be staying in this 10 person cabaña, and because Ashley and our friend Lauren were coming to visit us down there the next night, we called them up and said, don't stay in a hostal, come stay in our awesome cabin on our program's bill!
They arrived the next day and did just that. We tried to hide the fact that they were staying there, although not very well. Oops. Guess my dreams of joining the CIA and making out with Michael Vartan (ALIAS reference, for those of you who aren't as cool and in touch as I am with pop culture) won't quite pan out.
Friday was our program's trip to a Mapuche center nearbye. We learned about the Mapuche people (I love how we all introduced ourselves, all 32 of us, following traditions), ate food with them, learned some dances, and - Dad, you'll love this after reading My Invented Country by Isabel Allende - shared mate around a fire. (Mate is a type of tea which is made by filling a specific type of cup with the leaves, pouring in boiling water, and using a special straw with very small holes in the bottom so you don't drink any of the leaves. It is often shared in groups. Germaphobes beware.)
That night we were free to get our own dinner. Luckily, because Pucón is such a touristy town, the food there is the best I've had yet in Chile. That means it has flavor. We went to an "Arab" restaurant for Palestinian food that was quite good, although I'm pretty sure what I had wasn't shish kabab as I've ever seen it before. My motto for traveling though is, "when in doubt, eat!" and it hasn't failed me yet.
Another attempt at jacuzzi debauchery failed miserably as the owners were changing the water that night and it wouldn't be warm until the next day. The friendly night guard reminded us, however, that we had a jacuzzi whirlpool tub in our cabins. No need to tell us twice. Sara, Jeff, and I headed back to the "matrimonial baño" in our cabin and took a bath...leading to some weird quotes, probably dangerous pictures, and memories of certain other bathroom experiences involving Chambers, champagne, and an ironing board. I dare not say more.
Saturday was our free day to take advantage of the wonder that is Pucón`s outdoors-y toorism. I went white water rafting for the first time, which is fun because, in Chile, they don't really care if the guides have been drinking. Luckily, my guide was sober, and it was the crazy guide in the other boat that smelled a bit of alcohol, so in the end it was just amusing for us to watch him dance around in the other raft and enjoy our sane leadership.
That afternoon we did something called "canopy", which we quickly nicknamed "monkey flying". It involved ten ziplines from tree to tree over rivers and forest bed in harnesses. And fast speeds. It was crazy fun. The scariest part wasn't hurling yourself over the river but rather climbing up the tree branch assembled ladders to get to seemingly unsturdy platforms in the trees and then waiting to hurl yourself. But of course, our guides just shimmied up the trees like monkeys without a care in the world. Ah, life without lawsuits.
My program took off that night after our crazy fun activities, but Ashley, Lauren, and I decided to hang around one more night since we didn't have school on Monday because of the national holiday of (wait for it) All Saints Day. And they claim separation of church and state. (By the way, Chile is still just trying out a divorce law. Sometimes I'm amazed at where I am.) We stayed at an adorable vegitarian friendly hostal called école, which called to mind certain hair salons in DC due to it's "e. coli" like similarity. It was very hippy-esque, complete with "ANYBODY BUT BUSH IN 2004" sign on the door. Woohoo.
Sunday we had high hopes of hiking the national park Huerquehue (we nicknamed it Panqueque - pancake in Spanish - with good reason) but woke up to pouring rain. It was also election day in Chile, and, since no alcohol can be sold on election day here, we couldn't find much in the way of restaurants. So we stayed by the fire in our hostal, talked to backpackers from literally all over the world, found out quickly they all hated Bush (I don't care what you think of him, we're in deep trouble with international relations - it's the first thing people tell you here), and ate more good vegetarian food. Quite the relaxing day that I needed.
Our bus left that night around 9 and we were taking... EJECUTIVO! While this may have no significance for any of you, after several all night bus trips, I was thrilled to pay a few extra bucks for a bit more leg room and a seat that reclined back to like 45 degrees! I got into Valpo at like 9 in the morning, to find that my sheets had been changed! I get excited by the strangest things since being in Chile.
In the immortal words of Porky, that's all folks. To all my friends in ye ole United States, anyone wanna join me in, as Meaghan calls it, the "rest of the world"?
We arrived in Púcon, a touristy-outdoorsy town 10 hours south of here, at around 8 in the morning on Thursday. There are tons of tourists (which means English-speaking actually doesn't atract weird looks) a beautiful lake, a volcano complete with smoking top, and a cute log-cabin town. Plus, being south of here, it's actually quite chilly at night. Combine that with the great smell of the lake and the surrounding forests, it actually felt a little like fall in Northeastern Pennsylvania. Ah, happy memories of Thanksgiving in Moscow, PA, how I miss them.
Thursday we went on a tour of the saltos in the area - literally jumps of water, or waterfalls - which were really quite beautiful. When I'm on my computer (because right now I'm making use of computer lab priviledges at a Santiago hostal where I'm staying) I'll post great pictures. We also went to the thermal springs - bathing in hot waters by the side of a raging river under the mountains...what could be better?!
My program was staying in cabañas - cabins - for the weekend, which at first made me think of 6th grade summer camp style or Georgetown ESCAPE retreat-esque cabins with three tiered bunk beds and little else. Wow was I wrong. I'm never going back to another hostal if I can help it. Staying in a cabin here is like renting out a luxourious house for the night, only much cheaper. Granted, there were bunk beds, but there were four sets of them, plus a double bed, two bathrooms, a living room, and a fantastic kitchen. The grounds also had a pool and a jacuzzi. While it was too cold to actually swim, we decided it would be a good idea to go for a midnight jump-in-the-pool-run-to-the-jakuzzi dip. I believe I tied for the top number of pool to jacuzzi jumps: 3.
Because there were only 8 of us signed from the program signed up to be staying in this 10 person cabaña, and because Ashley and our friend Lauren were coming to visit us down there the next night, we called them up and said, don't stay in a hostal, come stay in our awesome cabin on our program's bill!
They arrived the next day and did just that. We tried to hide the fact that they were staying there, although not very well. Oops. Guess my dreams of joining the CIA and making out with Michael Vartan (ALIAS reference, for those of you who aren't as cool and in touch as I am with pop culture) won't quite pan out.
Friday was our program's trip to a Mapuche center nearbye. We learned about the Mapuche people (I love how we all introduced ourselves, all 32 of us, following traditions), ate food with them, learned some dances, and - Dad, you'll love this after reading My Invented Country by Isabel Allende - shared mate around a fire. (Mate is a type of tea which is made by filling a specific type of cup with the leaves, pouring in boiling water, and using a special straw with very small holes in the bottom so you don't drink any of the leaves. It is often shared in groups. Germaphobes beware.)
That night we were free to get our own dinner. Luckily, because Pucón is such a touristy town, the food there is the best I've had yet in Chile. That means it has flavor. We went to an "Arab" restaurant for Palestinian food that was quite good, although I'm pretty sure what I had wasn't shish kabab as I've ever seen it before. My motto for traveling though is, "when in doubt, eat!" and it hasn't failed me yet.
Another attempt at jacuzzi debauchery failed miserably as the owners were changing the water that night and it wouldn't be warm until the next day. The friendly night guard reminded us, however, that we had a jacuzzi whirlpool tub in our cabins. No need to tell us twice. Sara, Jeff, and I headed back to the "matrimonial baño" in our cabin and took a bath...leading to some weird quotes, probably dangerous pictures, and memories of certain other bathroom experiences involving Chambers, champagne, and an ironing board. I dare not say more.
Saturday was our free day to take advantage of the wonder that is Pucón`s outdoors-y toorism. I went white water rafting for the first time, which is fun because, in Chile, they don't really care if the guides have been drinking. Luckily, my guide was sober, and it was the crazy guide in the other boat that smelled a bit of alcohol, so in the end it was just amusing for us to watch him dance around in the other raft and enjoy our sane leadership.
That afternoon we did something called "canopy", which we quickly nicknamed "monkey flying". It involved ten ziplines from tree to tree over rivers and forest bed in harnesses. And fast speeds. It was crazy fun. The scariest part wasn't hurling yourself over the river but rather climbing up the tree branch assembled ladders to get to seemingly unsturdy platforms in the trees and then waiting to hurl yourself. But of course, our guides just shimmied up the trees like monkeys without a care in the world. Ah, life without lawsuits.
My program took off that night after our crazy fun activities, but Ashley, Lauren, and I decided to hang around one more night since we didn't have school on Monday because of the national holiday of (wait for it) All Saints Day. And they claim separation of church and state. (By the way, Chile is still just trying out a divorce law. Sometimes I'm amazed at where I am.) We stayed at an adorable vegitarian friendly hostal called école, which called to mind certain hair salons in DC due to it's "e. coli" like similarity. It was very hippy-esque, complete with "ANYBODY BUT BUSH IN 2004" sign on the door. Woohoo.
Sunday we had high hopes of hiking the national park Huerquehue (we nicknamed it Panqueque - pancake in Spanish - with good reason) but woke up to pouring rain. It was also election day in Chile, and, since no alcohol can be sold on election day here, we couldn't find much in the way of restaurants. So we stayed by the fire in our hostal, talked to backpackers from literally all over the world, found out quickly they all hated Bush (I don't care what you think of him, we're in deep trouble with international relations - it's the first thing people tell you here), and ate more good vegetarian food. Quite the relaxing day that I needed.
Our bus left that night around 9 and we were taking... EJECUTIVO! While this may have no significance for any of you, after several all night bus trips, I was thrilled to pay a few extra bucks for a bit more leg room and a seat that reclined back to like 45 degrees! I got into Valpo at like 9 in the morning, to find that my sheets had been changed! I get excited by the strangest things since being in Chile.
In the immortal words of Porky, that's all folks. To all my friends in ye ole United States, anyone wanna join me in, as Meaghan calls it, the "rest of the world"?
Wednesday, November 03, 2004
Chilean Phenomenon #3: Nescafé
As part of my Queer-Eye-For-the-Straight-Guy-esque attempt to spiffy up my room, I now have a wall of beautiful people cut from the magazines my lifesaving parents have sent me. Among my Matthew Perry’s and Jennifer Aniston’s I happen to also have an add for coffee which shows several couples drinking coffee together in someone’s house and sports the commentary: 3658 miles from the coffee fields of the Colombian Andes. But still the perfect climate for Colombian Coffee.
I’m not exactly sure how many miles I am from the Colombian Andes, but I can assure you it’s closer than 3658. And I’m still stuck drinking dark powder and water that people here keep insisting is coffee.
That’s because, in Chile, one does not drink coffee, one drinks Nescafé. My host family even has a coffee maker, but they never use it. Their logic? Why bother to take the time with the coffee maker if it’s so easy to make Nescafé and it tastes pretty much the same. But let’s not fault Chileans for their complete lack of taste buds.
Instead, let’s fault them for the way they drink their Nescafé. Because one would figure that if forced to drink powdered coffee, it would be best to add cream and sugar in the normal manner and do one’s best to pretend the stuff was real. But that’s not the way it works in Chile. If you ask for coffee in a café, you have the option of getting Nescafé made with water or with milk. As in powder, plus all water or all milk. And then you can add sugar to either one of them. Just try asking them to make the Nescafé with water, allowing room for a little bit of milk at the end, and they look at you like you’re from Mars. And by the way, I did mean actual milk. Because there doesn’t seem to be such a thing as putting cream in your coffee here. It’s usually about 2% milk, and it comes out of a box. Refrigerating is, like so many things, optional.
The truth is, for a long time I held off. I was happy drinking my cheap tea ever night with “onces”, the tea time that replaces dinner here, instead of subjecting myself to the sludge that results when mixing powdered coffee with hot water. And then I got back from a wonderful weekend in Buenos Aires and discovered I had to read a book in very colloquial Spanish. In 2 days. So, in the not quite immortal words of “Love Potion #9”, I held my nose, I closed my eyes, I took a drink.
In the end, I can’t say that I’ve quite “embraced” Nescafé, but I’ve accepted it, and I’m definitely a better person for it. There’s just not really nothing else to take me through those godlessly early classes.
I’m not exactly sure how many miles I am from the Colombian Andes, but I can assure you it’s closer than 3658. And I’m still stuck drinking dark powder and water that people here keep insisting is coffee.
That’s because, in Chile, one does not drink coffee, one drinks Nescafé. My host family even has a coffee maker, but they never use it. Their logic? Why bother to take the time with the coffee maker if it’s so easy to make Nescafé and it tastes pretty much the same. But let’s not fault Chileans for their complete lack of taste buds.
Instead, let’s fault them for the way they drink their Nescafé. Because one would figure that if forced to drink powdered coffee, it would be best to add cream and sugar in the normal manner and do one’s best to pretend the stuff was real. But that’s not the way it works in Chile. If you ask for coffee in a café, you have the option of getting Nescafé made with water or with milk. As in powder, plus all water or all milk. And then you can add sugar to either one of them. Just try asking them to make the Nescafé with water, allowing room for a little bit of milk at the end, and they look at you like you’re from Mars. And by the way, I did mean actual milk. Because there doesn’t seem to be such a thing as putting cream in your coffee here. It’s usually about 2% milk, and it comes out of a box. Refrigerating is, like so many things, optional.
The truth is, for a long time I held off. I was happy drinking my cheap tea ever night with “onces”, the tea time that replaces dinner here, instead of subjecting myself to the sludge that results when mixing powdered coffee with hot water. And then I got back from a wonderful weekend in Buenos Aires and discovered I had to read a book in very colloquial Spanish. In 2 days. So, in the not quite immortal words of “Love Potion #9”, I held my nose, I closed my eyes, I took a drink.
In the end, I can’t say that I’ve quite “embraced” Nescafé, but I’ve accepted it, and I’m definitely a better person for it. There’s just not really nothing else to take me through those godlessly early classes.
How to get through an election, Chilean style
First of all, the best Chilean way to get rid of that rock in your stomach that’s been there all day is to mix up a batch of white wine, chopped up strawberries, and sugar. Drink around four glasses of that, and you start to feel a bit more relaxed.
So began my election night at Ashley’s house. Ashley, inspired by Emily’s recipe, made salsa and guacamole and bought chips, and I made a Caesar salad with the package I cajoled my parents into bringing me on their trip. As close as we could get to the good American foods we were missing, with our new favorite Chilean beverage.
When holding an election party in a foreign land, you should under no circumstances be bipartisan. Election nights aren’t bipartisan; it’s totally against their nature. And when you’re missing the mother country as I was, you don’t want to face the possibility of fights over the best way to govern her.
Not unexpectedly, I wasn’t too pleased with the election results. I mean, come on, I’m an international politics major living abroad for a semester and therefore hearing every other day about another way in which the world now hates America because of Bush; I don’t think anyone should be too surprised that my eyes welled up a bit several times today.
I won’t go into any of my overly-exhausted commentary that I subjected my friends here to after the wine had worn off last night (we stayed up pretty much all night). Really, it seems the only question that remains is, any thoughts/comments on another semester abroad?
So began my election night at Ashley’s house. Ashley, inspired by Emily’s recipe, made salsa and guacamole and bought chips, and I made a Caesar salad with the package I cajoled my parents into bringing me on their trip. As close as we could get to the good American foods we were missing, with our new favorite Chilean beverage.
When holding an election party in a foreign land, you should under no circumstances be bipartisan. Election nights aren’t bipartisan; it’s totally against their nature. And when you’re missing the mother country as I was, you don’t want to face the possibility of fights over the best way to govern her.
Not unexpectedly, I wasn’t too pleased with the election results. I mean, come on, I’m an international politics major living abroad for a semester and therefore hearing every other day about another way in which the world now hates America because of Bush; I don’t think anyone should be too surprised that my eyes welled up a bit several times today.
I won’t go into any of my overly-exhausted commentary that I subjected my friends here to after the wine had worn off last night (we stayed up pretty much all night). Really, it seems the only question that remains is, any thoughts/comments on another semester abroad?
Dear Authors of “Great” Chilean History Articles,
Perhaps you were not aware, but, so as not to confuse one’s audience, basic writing rule-of-thumb dictates that one generally start, not end, with one’s thesis. Of course, stylistic writing permits much artistic license, such as when i decide not to capitalize correctly, or ending a sentence a preposition with. Or even starting a sentence with a conjunction. But as you can see, it usually just comes off as uneducated and awkward. I therefore pose to you the following question: if 95% of you write your thesis at the end of your articles, and if going against the writing manual grain is successfully stylistic perhaps 5% of the time, is it really possible that all of your articles, or even a majority, are well written?
(Somewhat less than) Respectfully,
A worn reader
Perhaps you were not aware, but, so as not to confuse one’s audience, basic writing rule-of-thumb dictates that one generally start, not end, with one’s thesis. Of course, stylistic writing permits much artistic license, such as when i decide not to capitalize correctly, or ending a sentence a preposition with. Or even starting a sentence with a conjunction. But as you can see, it usually just comes off as uneducated and awkward. I therefore pose to you the following question: if 95% of you write your thesis at the end of your articles, and if going against the writing manual grain is successfully stylistic perhaps 5% of the time, is it really possible that all of your articles, or even a majority, are well written?
(Somewhat less than) Respectfully,
A worn reader
A visit from the 'rents
(note: can't get the pictures up for some reason (what else is new), and too tired to figure it out tonight. soon to come.)
While in BBAA (like my cool South American know how in abbreviating Buenos Aires? and then my defeating abbreviation’s point with long explanation/commentary?), I received an e-mail (and proceeded to share said e-mail with the whole hotel from my squeals in the second floor computer room – two computers, three screens, and one working internet hookup…and until I just wrote it out, I had considered it incredibly luxurious) informing me that I had T minus four days to plan a familial visit. After relentlessly sending my mother e-mails of plane prices in an effort to convince her to visit in her short vacation between switching jobs (way to go on the U Penn hookup, Mom!), somehow my whole family decided to visit Chile. For the weekend.
Four days is actually more like it. They left Friday night from Philly, arriving in the Santiago International Airport Saturday morning. I hired a van (I felt like such a snob passing up my student fair on a packed bus to ride in a personally hired vehicle with the rest of my family, it was fantastic!) to take us directly to the…beachfront apartment I had picked out for the weekend! I felt so proud of myself, signing contracts in Spanish and the like. We were on the 21st floor of very US-esque apartment buildings which I had admired on many a run by the beach. And it came out to half the price of what a comparable quality hotel would be since Chile hasn’t yet gotten the memo on families of 6 traveling through South America and we would have needed multiple rooms spread throughout a hotel. Perhaps the McA______ family ought to have some sort of fanfare arranged to announce their arrival to any continent. Because the fam certainly isn’t about to get accustomed to hostel dwelling any time soon.
Saturday afternoon we spent with the host family and, luckily, Ashley as an extra translator. It’s amazing how much one’s language abilities improve when 5 American-as-Uncle-Sam family members require it. Or at least one’s abilities to fake language abilities. Either way. After a long nap for the family, we went to the Cocoloco, a restaurant atop one of the highest buildings in Valparaíso that spins (like the one I took pictures from in Santiago at the very beginning of my trip). And, lucky for my parents, is supposed to be the best place to go for good Chilean food. One might consider it an oxymoron. I don’t mean to ditch on my adopted country, and I did eat rather well that night, but Americans coming into Chile tend to be a bit disappointed by the complete lack of seasoning or inventiveness in the cuisine.
Despite everyone being exhausted after our late dinner, Jackie and I still met up with some friends and headed out clubbing. My goal was to show her a semi-Chilean night – we would go to a Chilean club and dance among Chileans and she would have a Chilean drink, but under no circumstances was she 1. getting drunk, 2. dancing with random Chilean men, or 3. staying out past two (the last bit for just as much of my own sanity as I has awaken at a mere 5 a.m. to get to Santiago and meet the plane that turned out to be 2 hours late). I was mostly successful in my plans for the evening. We went to Stocolmo, a popular club with the marinos, one of whom has remained close with Sara and came with us dancing. Just my luck, it was my marino date (from way back when in August) Cristian’s birthday, and he was at the club drunk. In case it wasn’t mentioned in previous blogs, said Chilean navy man was miserable for the last half an hour I was with him at the naval ball after telling him we couldn’t go out…except for when I mentioned that I had a sister blonder than me (Jackie), at which point he brightened immediately and asked how old she was. I was, obviously, less than thrilled at the thought of him and my fifteen-year-old sister in the same Chilean night club. Luckily, all turned out well though, Jackie got away from me long enough to share a dance with a drunk marino (with me right next to her, ignoring the come-on attempts of my own drunk marino for the night, whose name I promptly forgot/never cared to remember).
(It should also be mentioned, in passing, that Jackie held her Chilean alcohol very well, and wasn’t even remotely tipsy all night. Chilean drinks tend to be especially strong and can make even the best of us find themselves running up the hill to their houses at 4 in the morning, only to awaken the next day and decide it had been a very poor idea.)
Sunday consisted of my dad fumbling through his first attempt at ordering coffee on his own at a Chilean café (see soon-to-come entry on the phenomenon that is Nescafé®), a trip to the Viña del Mar church for the second half of a mass in (duh) Spanish (somehow it all seems a bit demonic when in a foreign language, but at least Catholic mass means it’s all, in essence, the same), ate at cafés in Valparaíso, and had a birthday party for Brianna in a Valpo bar since her b-day had been the Thursday before. Because really, how many fourth-graders can say they went to Chile for the weekend and celebrated their 10-th birthday in a bar?
From our apartment balcony
The McA______ family together again
Monday was our last day in Viña, and we ate at the Cap Ducal, a restaurant in the shape of a boat with a beautiful view of the Viña ocean. We hired the same driver to take us back to Santiago, where I had, with the permission, nay encouragement, of Mom, made a reservation in the Mariott Santiago, a five (count them!) five star hotel!
The view from our hotel room.
Needless to say, Monday night in Santiago was amazing. As I would say among fellow study abroad-ers here in Chile, it was lujo and cuico – luxurious and snob-ish. In other words, perfect. We went to a ritzy Italian restaurant, we watched baseball on TV, I showered in the cleanest shower I’ve seen in a while. I’ll spare you the pictures I took of the bathroom, but suffice it to say, I was in heaven.
Tuesday we spent doing the Santiago-tourist thing. National library, national cathedral, la Moneda (Chile’s equivalent of the White House), etc. The whole day was a bit melancholy for me because it was like I was losing my family and my old lifestyle that night. Countdown all day until when their flight took off and I returned once again to my practical life from US-style dreamland.
The McA______ sisters do la Moneda
The light through the cloud on my (I admit it) teary bus ride home from Santiago after sending off my family to the international gate of the airport was that I realized I was going back to someplace familiar. Unlike the beginning of this semester when I had said goodbye to my family and was driving into a completely foreign place that, admittedly, freaked me out a little bit, this time as the bus drove down Agua Santa between the cities of Valpo and Viña and I saw the lights twinkling all over my hilly South American home, I had the comfort of a familiar bed and host family waiting for me. And, if that failed, I also had Love Actually, recently delivered by very nice parents. When all else fails, there’s nothing like Hollywood to get me through things.
A packed four days, but packed with wonderful times. You just can’t write home about Chile; it needs to be lived to be understood. On that note, any other visitors (or repeat customers, ahem, family members!) are welcome to visit whenever. Paying for a night in a five star is optional, I’m sure I could pick out something around 3 or 4 USD for us. And haven’t you always wanted to say, “See you in South America!”
While in BBAA (like my cool South American know how in abbreviating Buenos Aires? and then my defeating abbreviation’s point with long explanation/commentary?), I received an e-mail (and proceeded to share said e-mail with the whole hotel from my squeals in the second floor computer room – two computers, three screens, and one working internet hookup…and until I just wrote it out, I had considered it incredibly luxurious) informing me that I had T minus four days to plan a familial visit. After relentlessly sending my mother e-mails of plane prices in an effort to convince her to visit in her short vacation between switching jobs (way to go on the U Penn hookup, Mom!), somehow my whole family decided to visit Chile. For the weekend.
Four days is actually more like it. They left Friday night from Philly, arriving in the Santiago International Airport Saturday morning. I hired a van (I felt like such a snob passing up my student fair on a packed bus to ride in a personally hired vehicle with the rest of my family, it was fantastic!) to take us directly to the…beachfront apartment I had picked out for the weekend! I felt so proud of myself, signing contracts in Spanish and the like. We were on the 21st floor of very US-esque apartment buildings which I had admired on many a run by the beach. And it came out to half the price of what a comparable quality hotel would be since Chile hasn’t yet gotten the memo on families of 6 traveling through South America and we would have needed multiple rooms spread throughout a hotel. Perhaps the McA______ family ought to have some sort of fanfare arranged to announce their arrival to any continent. Because the fam certainly isn’t about to get accustomed to hostel dwelling any time soon.
Saturday afternoon we spent with the host family and, luckily, Ashley as an extra translator. It’s amazing how much one’s language abilities improve when 5 American-as-Uncle-Sam family members require it. Or at least one’s abilities to fake language abilities. Either way. After a long nap for the family, we went to the Cocoloco, a restaurant atop one of the highest buildings in Valparaíso that spins (like the one I took pictures from in Santiago at the very beginning of my trip). And, lucky for my parents, is supposed to be the best place to go for good Chilean food. One might consider it an oxymoron. I don’t mean to ditch on my adopted country, and I did eat rather well that night, but Americans coming into Chile tend to be a bit disappointed by the complete lack of seasoning or inventiveness in the cuisine.
Despite everyone being exhausted after our late dinner, Jackie and I still met up with some friends and headed out clubbing. My goal was to show her a semi-Chilean night – we would go to a Chilean club and dance among Chileans and she would have a Chilean drink, but under no circumstances was she 1. getting drunk, 2. dancing with random Chilean men, or 3. staying out past two (the last bit for just as much of my own sanity as I has awaken at a mere 5 a.m. to get to Santiago and meet the plane that turned out to be 2 hours late). I was mostly successful in my plans for the evening. We went to Stocolmo, a popular club with the marinos, one of whom has remained close with Sara and came with us dancing. Just my luck, it was my marino date (from way back when in August) Cristian’s birthday, and he was at the club drunk. In case it wasn’t mentioned in previous blogs, said Chilean navy man was miserable for the last half an hour I was with him at the naval ball after telling him we couldn’t go out…except for when I mentioned that I had a sister blonder than me (Jackie), at which point he brightened immediately and asked how old she was. I was, obviously, less than thrilled at the thought of him and my fifteen-year-old sister in the same Chilean night club. Luckily, all turned out well though, Jackie got away from me long enough to share a dance with a drunk marino (with me right next to her, ignoring the come-on attempts of my own drunk marino for the night, whose name I promptly forgot/never cared to remember).
(It should also be mentioned, in passing, that Jackie held her Chilean alcohol very well, and wasn’t even remotely tipsy all night. Chilean drinks tend to be especially strong and can make even the best of us find themselves running up the hill to their houses at 4 in the morning, only to awaken the next day and decide it had been a very poor idea.)
Sunday consisted of my dad fumbling through his first attempt at ordering coffee on his own at a Chilean café (see soon-to-come entry on the phenomenon that is Nescafé®), a trip to the Viña del Mar church for the second half of a mass in (duh) Spanish (somehow it all seems a bit demonic when in a foreign language, but at least Catholic mass means it’s all, in essence, the same), ate at cafés in Valparaíso, and had a birthday party for Brianna in a Valpo bar since her b-day had been the Thursday before. Because really, how many fourth-graders can say they went to Chile for the weekend and celebrated their 10-th birthday in a bar?
From our apartment balcony
The McA______ family together again
Monday was our last day in Viña, and we ate at the Cap Ducal, a restaurant in the shape of a boat with a beautiful view of the Viña ocean. We hired the same driver to take us back to Santiago, where I had, with the permission, nay encouragement, of Mom, made a reservation in the Mariott Santiago, a five (count them!) five star hotel!
The view from our hotel room.
Needless to say, Monday night in Santiago was amazing. As I would say among fellow study abroad-ers here in Chile, it was lujo and cuico – luxurious and snob-ish. In other words, perfect. We went to a ritzy Italian restaurant, we watched baseball on TV, I showered in the cleanest shower I’ve seen in a while. I’ll spare you the pictures I took of the bathroom, but suffice it to say, I was in heaven.
Tuesday we spent doing the Santiago-tourist thing. National library, national cathedral, la Moneda (Chile’s equivalent of the White House), etc. The whole day was a bit melancholy for me because it was like I was losing my family and my old lifestyle that night. Countdown all day until when their flight took off and I returned once again to my practical life from US-style dreamland.
The McA______ sisters do la Moneda
The light through the cloud on my (I admit it) teary bus ride home from Santiago after sending off my family to the international gate of the airport was that I realized I was going back to someplace familiar. Unlike the beginning of this semester when I had said goodbye to my family and was driving into a completely foreign place that, admittedly, freaked me out a little bit, this time as the bus drove down Agua Santa between the cities of Valpo and Viña and I saw the lights twinkling all over my hilly South American home, I had the comfort of a familiar bed and host family waiting for me. And, if that failed, I also had Love Actually, recently delivered by very nice parents. When all else fails, there’s nothing like Hollywood to get me through things.
A packed four days, but packed with wonderful times. You just can’t write home about Chile; it needs to be lived to be understood. On that note, any other visitors (or repeat customers, ahem, family members!) are welcome to visit whenever. Paying for a night in a five star is optional, I’m sure I could pick out something around 3 or 4 USD for us. And haven’t you always wanted to say, “See you in South America!”
Tuesday, November 02, 2004
election day
i already voted, did you?
this is it...
P.S. true story, i actually bought a phone card for calling the US, specifically for today. just in case. in case of what, i'm still not sure, but the rock in my stomach told me make sure i had my 56 pre-paid minutes.
this is it...
P.S. true story, i actually bought a phone card for calling the US, specifically for today. just in case. in case of what, i'm still not sure, but the rock in my stomach told me make sure i had my 56 pre-paid minutes.
Monday, November 01, 2004
Another great student abroad
Check out this picture that Sam took while abroad in Egypt and the BBC decided was cool enough to post.
Monday, October 25, 2004
Buenos Aires, the Cliffnotes Version
How to throw a Chilean wedding shower
or, as we would say here, "despedir a soltera" - literally "goodbye to being single". The Chilean way is to buy nice underwear, no surprises there, and (get ready for it) phallic shaped food products. I've heard it is possible to encounter such goodies in the United States as well, but the Chileans really seem to have the industry cornered. We decided to pass on the penis-shaped cake filled with condensed milk, and just went with a chocolate penis.
Jenn, my friend from the good ole American middle, or what she likes to call Iowa, is getting married. In less than a year. Now that my life has flashed before my eyes, I draw your attention to the screen behind her and her chocolate phallus. The screen, if you cannot read it, says "WHAT IS BUSH'S PLAN TO REPAIR RELATIONS W OTHER COUNTRIES"
So, if you hadn't guessed from the picture, the way to make the Chilean bachellorette party more American, besides going to the most beautiful city South America has to offer to hold it (can you tell I loved Buenos Aires), is to polish off the party with watching the debates. Rest assured, friends, I've found friend just as dorky as myself, right here in Chile.
Must do's and see's in BBAA
- A tango show. It's supposed to be the best place in the world for it, and I believe it. Plus, it's supposed to be one of the best places in the world for beef, so spring for the show with dinner. And then finish your whole huge plate of steak, like I did. (Nothing's changed here.) While at said tango show, it is highly recommended that you not admit you don't know the words to the songs that everyone in the audience is singing along with, and just join in at the top of your lungs. They'll be too drunk to know the difference.
- People tangoing in the streets. For no other reason than I think it's spectacularly romantic. That's right, not only do I still eat tons, but I'm also still a sap. All hopes that South America would rid me of my vices are being dashed teh more I write.
- The architecture. Which isn't hard to miss, and is spectacular. No wonder they call it the Paris of South America.
- A "Tenador Libre" restaurant. Translated "Free Fork", it's an all-you-can-eat-buffet. And because, I will remind those who have forgotten, Argentines have strong Italian descendence, the food is usually quite splendid. I personally went to two: one for 7 USD and one for 3.
- Because, that's right, the other great thing about Argentina is the prices. All the prices look normal, and then you remember that you get to divide by three! Not that I'm one to take advantage of a country in economic crisis, except that... okay, maybe I am. My wardrobe is happier for it, and someone had to buy those adorable black leather ballet flats.
- Evita Peron's grave, adorned with flowers. I would not, however, recommend going when there's about to be a funeral in a neighboring mausoleum, but that, as Britney would say, is your perogative.
- The cemetary in which Eva Peron's grave is located. A given from the above recommendation, but I've now discovered that walking around a cemetary can tell a person a lot about place, interestingly enough. Slightly morbid, but interesting.
- the Aurolineas Argentina stewardesses. On my list, they would be must see, but you know, perhaps they fall under the must do catagory for some. Really though, it's their amazingly stylish jackets that must be seen. I wonder how irresponsible it would be to run off and be a stewardess for a year, just for the cute jacket...
- And finally, the amazing view flying over the Andes, coming home from Argentina. Buenos Aires might have awesome food and shopping and tango and buildings, etc, but there's nothing like being like max two hours from beautiful mountains at all times. Or going to school on the beach for that matter. Here's to hoping I finish my work in time to get some sun soon! Sometimes it's just so good to be in Chile :)
or, as we would say here, "despedir a soltera" - literally "goodbye to being single". The Chilean way is to buy nice underwear, no surprises there, and (get ready for it) phallic shaped food products. I've heard it is possible to encounter such goodies in the United States as well, but the Chileans really seem to have the industry cornered. We decided to pass on the penis-shaped cake filled with condensed milk, and just went with a chocolate penis.
Jenn, my friend from the good ole American middle, or what she likes to call Iowa, is getting married. In less than a year. Now that my life has flashed before my eyes, I draw your attention to the screen behind her and her chocolate phallus. The screen, if you cannot read it, says "WHAT IS BUSH'S PLAN TO REPAIR RELATIONS W OTHER COUNTRIES"
So, if you hadn't guessed from the picture, the way to make the Chilean bachellorette party more American, besides going to the most beautiful city South America has to offer to hold it (can you tell I loved Buenos Aires), is to polish off the party with watching the debates. Rest assured, friends, I've found friend just as dorky as myself, right here in Chile.
Must do's and see's in BBAA
- A tango show. It's supposed to be the best place in the world for it, and I believe it. Plus, it's supposed to be one of the best places in the world for beef, so spring for the show with dinner. And then finish your whole huge plate of steak, like I did. (Nothing's changed here.) While at said tango show, it is highly recommended that you not admit you don't know the words to the songs that everyone in the audience is singing along with, and just join in at the top of your lungs. They'll be too drunk to know the difference.
- People tangoing in the streets. For no other reason than I think it's spectacularly romantic. That's right, not only do I still eat tons, but I'm also still a sap. All hopes that South America would rid me of my vices are being dashed teh more I write.
- The architecture. Which isn't hard to miss, and is spectacular. No wonder they call it the Paris of South America.
- A "Tenador Libre" restaurant. Translated "Free Fork", it's an all-you-can-eat-buffet. And because, I will remind those who have forgotten, Argentines have strong Italian descendence, the food is usually quite splendid. I personally went to two: one for 7 USD and one for 3.
- Because, that's right, the other great thing about Argentina is the prices. All the prices look normal, and then you remember that you get to divide by three! Not that I'm one to take advantage of a country in economic crisis, except that... okay, maybe I am. My wardrobe is happier for it, and someone had to buy those adorable black leather ballet flats.
- Evita Peron's grave, adorned with flowers. I would not, however, recommend going when there's about to be a funeral in a neighboring mausoleum, but that, as Britney would say, is your perogative.
- The cemetary in which Eva Peron's grave is located. A given from the above recommendation, but I've now discovered that walking around a cemetary can tell a person a lot about place, interestingly enough. Slightly morbid, but interesting.
- the Aurolineas Argentina stewardesses. On my list, they would be must see, but you know, perhaps they fall under the must do catagory for some. Really though, it's their amazingly stylish jackets that must be seen. I wonder how irresponsible it would be to run off and be a stewardess for a year, just for the cute jacket...
- And finally, the amazing view flying over the Andes, coming home from Argentina. Buenos Aires might have awesome food and shopping and tango and buildings, etc, but there's nothing like being like max two hours from beautiful mountains at all times. Or going to school on the beach for that matter. Here's to hoping I finish my work in time to get some sun soon! Sometimes it's just so good to be in Chile :)
Resolved
So I'm thinking blogs will never get put up unless I return to the old Georgetown way of Caitlin-blogging: procrastination tactics. And in little chunks. Whenever I can get myself to take a break from oppressive Chilean work. So here it goes, in my marathon of the next couple days, I promise to update on 1. the amazingly beautiful city of Buenos Aires, 2. my visitors from fa' fa' away, and 3. a brand new Chilean phenomenon: Nescafe. Of course, all will be posted in choppy highlight style, but I doubt any of the nice people that are still actually reading this care about what I seemed to think was funny after a bottle of wine in an Argentinian all-you-can-eat buffet, so I'll try to cut the extras ;). Without further ado, a few minutes from now, you should be seeing: Buenos Aires, the Cliffnotes version.
Thursday, October 14, 2004
check out Emily Powell!
She keeps me proud, even from a different continet (which is actually up to debate according to the Swiss man I met on a Chilean beach, but there's no time for that now).
For a quick update, I fell in love this past weekend, and the one coming up I'll be seeing my family. For a slightly longer update, what I fell in love with was the city of Buenos Aires and its tango, and my family is coming because they decided last minute that there really is nothing better to do than spend a long weekend in South America with me. I highly encourage others to do the same :). And in the next few days I'll get out of the internet cafe, back on my computer, and will post a real update of Buenos Aires along with awesome pictures.
Sending some serious South American love to everyone!
She keeps me proud, even from a different continet (which is actually up to debate according to the Swiss man I met on a Chilean beach, but there's no time for that now).
For a quick update, I fell in love this past weekend, and the one coming up I'll be seeing my family. For a slightly longer update, what I fell in love with was the city of Buenos Aires and its tango, and my family is coming because they decided last minute that there really is nothing better to do than spend a long weekend in South America with me. I highly encourage others to do the same :). And in the next few days I'll get out of the internet cafe, back on my computer, and will post a real update of Buenos Aires along with awesome pictures.
Sending some serious South American love to everyone!
Wednesday, October 06, 2004
La Campana
“Thousands of Chileans and increasing numbers of foreign visitors reach the summit of La Campana every year. On a clear day, the view from La Campana, stretching from the ships at anchor in the Pacific harbor to the Andean summit of Aconcagua, is spectacular.
“It’s possible to hitchhike or drive to the abandoned mine site at the end of the road leading into the park from the Granizo entrance, considerably shortening the hike to the summit, but it’s much more interesting and rewarding to hike the trail all the way from the park entrance. Figure at least four hours to the top and three hours back down.
“From Granizo, 373m above sea level, the abruptly steep trail to the summit climbs 1455m in only 7km – an average grade of nearly 21%. Fortunately, most of the hike is in shade, and there are three water sources en route: Primera Aguada, at an elevation of 580m; Segunda Aguada; and the abandoned mine site, where the trail continues to the summit.
“At the point where the trail skirts a granite wall, prior to the final vertiginous ascent, is a plaque commemorating the 101st anniversary of Darwin’s climb. At another rpoint slightly beyond this, the Club Montañés de Valparaíso has placed another plaque, honoring climbers who died in 1968 when an earthquake unleashed a landslide.
“Sturdy, sensible footwear is essential, as parts of the trail are slippery even when dry; sneakers can be awkward.”
~Lonely Planet: Chile & Easter Island, 6th edition, May 2003
For those of you who don’t know, Conestoga is the name of my high school, and “’stoga rules the hills” was a cross country mantra we used to write all over spirit shirts in a diluted attempt to convince ourselves we actually enjoyed the insane hill workouts we put ourselves through to prepare for races. Well, after Saturday’s excursion on the “hill” La Campana, whose LP description is written above, I can say it’s definitely still true.
I woke up at 6:15 on Saturday to catch a train to the countryside and go hiking. My friends had hiked La Campana about a month and a half ago when there was snow on top and suggested it might be better in spring, so here we were, the first weekend in October, taking off for a pleasant hike. Well I’m glad I hadn’t read the above description beforehand, because, not knowing anything about hiking, I think I may have been a bit intimidated. Not to mention the fact that Chile has been expecting an earthquake for a few weeks now. Things I perhaps should have thought about before going on an intense hike.
La Campana
The climbing started out great. It turns out that my 5-mile runs have left me in better shape than I thought I was in, because I felt fine and was having a wonderful time. The hike was definitely rigorous but enjoyable and possible, and had several convenient resting points. We stopped at one such point to rest and fill up our water bottles from the clean natural spring (how outdoorsy am I?!) and eat lunch, including some awesome trail mix that Ashley made.
After our resting point, which was the half-way mark time wise, was when our hike got a bit interesting. Around that point was where the climb stopped being so much of a trail and was more of straight up and down rock climbing. But hey, whatever, it was something different and fun. The climbing was a bit difficult, and we were getting close to the time when we had to turn around to make it back down before sunset, but with a final push, we made it to the top!
me climbing
on top of the world!
the view from the summit
And then we started down. Now, it must be noted that two whole “Chilean phenomenon” blog entries could be devoted to 1) the seeming disregard for the value of life in Chile and 2) the lack of markings…anywhere. The lawsuit is certainly not an institution here as it is in Chile. You show up at a national park to walk around a bit, they say, follow the arrows, and make no effort to get one to sign any sort of waiver or warn a person that perhaps such an endeavor could be extremely risky. That being explained, it should not have surprised us that 1) climbing down a steep mountain of unstable rocks is difficult and 2) the “path” of unstable rocks is not clearly marked.
So we got lost.
Right about when I took this picture.
With every step, a mini-avalanche was unleashed, making mobility, and therefore getting un-lost, very difficult. But what is there to do but keep going down and keep looking for something resembling a path. Of course, during all this, we were also thinking about the fast approaching sunset. There was actually a point where we were thinking we were going to have to spend the night on the mountain, because once it got dark, it would not have been safe to move on the unstable stones. You know when you’re cheering yourself up with thoughts like “You can see the town, so if you just keep walking in that direction, you’ll probably reach it in a few days,” you’re at a low point.
But we kept cool, and kept walking toward what we thought would be a path, and eventually did make it back to the halfway point. At that point we had about an hour and a half more of walking to do and only an hour of light. So we booked it. And after that, we used the two small flashlights I had with me: one on my keychain and one on my cell phone. So take that all of you who make fun of me for being afraid.
And now, four days later, I learn that two days ago a boy died there on a school filed trip. So I have to ask myself, what the heck did I do this weekend? And I thought this weekend in Buenos Aires was what I had to be worried about when it came to safety. I feel like going to Tango shows and shoe shopping will be a walk in the park (no pun intended, I swear) after mountain climbing. Yep, I’m a city girl to the core. No more mountain adventures for me for a while!
My weekends in Europe
So, although is a long-overdue entry, I still want to briefly post about my travels to Valdivia, Chile and Mendoza, Argentina. Two weekends in a row, Ashley and I packed our nice big backpacks and jumped on busses to various parts of South America. Because really, when else in your life are you going to say “13 hours by bus? That’s not bad!” and then head to random South American towns for the weekend. Yeah.
So that’s what we did. Wednesday night, several weeks ago, we hopped a bus at 8:00 at night (sadly, missing our Pilates class, but sacrifices are made for the sake of travel) and arrived the next morning at 9 in Valdivia. Valdivia is a “city” in Chile that has the feel of a homey New England town. Which we didn’t realize until we got there. All we really knew was that a lot of Germans had settled there and that, as a result, there was a lot of good kuchen (a desert). Cool, we were headed to Switzerland for the weekend. (Which I say having never been anywhere near Switzerland or the continent on which it is located.)
Valdivia is where three rivers meet, and is surrounded by the volcano region. Mountains, water, and it’s only 20 minutes from the beach – it’s gorgeous. There were actually people rowing on the rivers too, as in crew. It was so familiar and happy. So the first day we did the normal tourist thing – take a boat tour of the rivers. Ashley and I had our own private tour from a salty old man with several teeth missing and a dog that didn’t bug the heck out of me. The rivers are beautiful and, because Ashley and I are somehow charmed, the day was gorgeous without a cloud in the sky…usually Valdivia has rain every single day, and we didn’t see a drop our whole weekend there.
The next day, Friday, we were going to go to the coast, but that morning, the Spanish-speaking, German owner of our hostel knocked on our door and asked if we wanted to go on a “tour” – his personally assembled off-road trip to a mini-mountain and the beach for hiking and rock climbing. Why not? So we put on our Merrels – definitely the best thing I brought with me to Chile, and squeezed with two other gringas into his truck. We drove off-road to a national park where we climbed mentioned mini-mountain, took lots of pictures of the thirteen volcanoes we could see from the top, drove down to the coast and climbed on the rocky shores looking at local wildlife, and then took off on a terrifying trip along the coast to watch the sunset on the Pacific. Mario, our guide, told us how terrible the bus drivers are as I prayed I wouldn’t meet each telephone pole we passed head on. Because really, would you have a random Chilean tour along the Pacific any other way?
Saturday we hopped a bus to the beach, where we checked out an old Spanish fort, met up with a very odd Swiss man who seemed only to want to talk about himself, and then proceeded to walk a mile or two up the beach (again, climbing over plenty of rocks to do so), accompanied the whole time by aforementioned Swiss dude. Trying not to be too embarrassed of his very poor Spanish-speaking ability whenever he tried to talk to locals. After hanging out there for a while, we hopped a bus back to Valdivia, reclaimed our items from our hostel, bid farewell to Mario, and hopped the 8 pm bus back to Valparaíso. Just in time for the Sunday procrastination payback…in which I work like a maniac to finish everything for the coming week.
The next weekend was my girly relaxing weekend. Which worked out well since I happened to get a really bad cold that weekend. (If anyone was wondering, it turns out “flem” is the same word in Spanish too…I was informed that my cough had it. Cool.) That weekend, Ashley and I only had to be on the bus for 7 hours. We were headed to Argentina (that’s right, I have more stamps in my passport!) for the weekend, to a town called Mendoza. Mendoza has a lot of Italians (and therefore really good food) like much of Argentina, but is best known for its shopping. So basically, this was our weekend in Italy. We arrived on a Thursday and decided to take the weekend slow. Thursday night we walked around all the stores and looked. Friday we entered some stores, tried some things on, and thought about buying. And finally, Saturday, I bought myself two new pairs of shoes (because really, who doesn’t need cute shoes when they’re sick?) for less than $20 total together (yay countries in financial crisis with big leather markets and without sales tax), gifts for friends and familiy, and two skirts to keep me going through the eternal spring that seems to be the Chilean climate. Which trust me, I’m not complaining about at all.
Of course, we also based much of the weekend on what we were going to eat, when. Because really, what else is more important than food when traveling? Especially when you haven’t chosen your own food in months due to living with host families. Italian food it was, and lots of it. We went to two Italian restaurants, an Italian pizzeria, and two “tenedor libre” (all-you-can-eat buffet) restaurants, the last category being the most interesting. The first we went to for a huge lunch with every possible type of food you could imagine. I even had some stir fry for the first time since arriving in South America. And a salad with all the vegetables mixed together; for whatever reason, they’re very big on piles here. Then, the next night, Ashley and I found ourselves in a vegetarian restaurant (quite a rarity in the beef capital of the universe that is Argentina) owned by a little Argentinean woman who had lived in New York City for several years and seemed determined to practice her English with us. I’m not completely sure she spoke either English or Spanish completely fluently. She also informed us that all Chileans are liars, that if you’re a liar you’re a thief, and that jealous neighbors had cut off her gas lines and so all the food we were eating had been cooked in her house and then reheated in the microwave in the restaurant. “Colorful” would charitably describe our new friend. It was incredibly amusing.
Also amusing, was the laundry list of things that we had to pick up for Ashley's host mom in Argentina. Because facial cream is apparently much too expensive in Chile. But it wasn't just skin products that we left with. One of the items on the list was more of a treasure hunt, and one that we're hoping was within all boundries of the law. Ashley's host mom gave us the address of a leather store in the town, where we were instructed to go and ask for Maurio (or some similar name). He was, of course, there, and we gave him a letter from Ashley's mom requesting several prescription drugs along with a wad of cash. And then we stopped by the next day and picked them up. All looking totally legitimate except for the lack of the pharmacy receipt on the outside. Hmmm... smile and nod. And maybe run. Drug deals in Argentina is one way to spend your South American weekends.
The last night, Ashley and I decided to ditch our fun little hostel and treat ourselves to a one star hotel. Because if we were going to be able to afford someplace with a private bathroom and towels, Argentina would be the place to do it. Besides, we weren’t exactly cool enough for our hostel where there was pizza and beer every night…and we were going to bed at 10 pm. It came out to about $20 for the night (split two ways). Not too bad. And the next morning we hopped a bus back to Chile, over the Andes again (where someone told me my cough was surely a result in changing temperatures from crossing the mountain range, something I somehow doubt) and were back in Valpo by 3-ish on Sunday, again in time for me to freak out about the fact that I hadn’t finished enough work (mostly a result of the fact that I was sleeping 12 hours a night trying to overcome my cold).
Well, I did my best to make the recap short but interesting, and it looks as if I haven’t succeeded in either. Kudos if you’ve made it to the end, if you haven’t, I don’t blame you. Hope you at least enjoyed the pictures!
So that’s what we did. Wednesday night, several weeks ago, we hopped a bus at 8:00 at night (sadly, missing our Pilates class, but sacrifices are made for the sake of travel) and arrived the next morning at 9 in Valdivia. Valdivia is a “city” in Chile that has the feel of a homey New England town. Which we didn’t realize until we got there. All we really knew was that a lot of Germans had settled there and that, as a result, there was a lot of good kuchen (a desert). Cool, we were headed to Switzerland for the weekend. (Which I say having never been anywhere near Switzerland or the continent on which it is located.)
Valdivia is where three rivers meet, and is surrounded by the volcano region. Mountains, water, and it’s only 20 minutes from the beach – it’s gorgeous. There were actually people rowing on the rivers too, as in crew. It was so familiar and happy. So the first day we did the normal tourist thing – take a boat tour of the rivers. Ashley and I had our own private tour from a salty old man with several teeth missing and a dog that didn’t bug the heck out of me. The rivers are beautiful and, because Ashley and I are somehow charmed, the day was gorgeous without a cloud in the sky…usually Valdivia has rain every single day, and we didn’t see a drop our whole weekend there.
The next day, Friday, we were going to go to the coast, but that morning, the Spanish-speaking, German owner of our hostel knocked on our door and asked if we wanted to go on a “tour” – his personally assembled off-road trip to a mini-mountain and the beach for hiking and rock climbing. Why not? So we put on our Merrels – definitely the best thing I brought with me to Chile, and squeezed with two other gringas into his truck. We drove off-road to a national park where we climbed mentioned mini-mountain, took lots of pictures of the thirteen volcanoes we could see from the top, drove down to the coast and climbed on the rocky shores looking at local wildlife, and then took off on a terrifying trip along the coast to watch the sunset on the Pacific. Mario, our guide, told us how terrible the bus drivers are as I prayed I wouldn’t meet each telephone pole we passed head on. Because really, would you have a random Chilean tour along the Pacific any other way?
Saturday we hopped a bus to the beach, where we checked out an old Spanish fort, met up with a very odd Swiss man who seemed only to want to talk about himself, and then proceeded to walk a mile or two up the beach (again, climbing over plenty of rocks to do so), accompanied the whole time by aforementioned Swiss dude. Trying not to be too embarrassed of his very poor Spanish-speaking ability whenever he tried to talk to locals. After hanging out there for a while, we hopped a bus back to Valdivia, reclaimed our items from our hostel, bid farewell to Mario, and hopped the 8 pm bus back to Valparaíso. Just in time for the Sunday procrastination payback…in which I work like a maniac to finish everything for the coming week.
The next weekend was my girly relaxing weekend. Which worked out well since I happened to get a really bad cold that weekend. (If anyone was wondering, it turns out “flem” is the same word in Spanish too…I was informed that my cough had it. Cool.) That weekend, Ashley and I only had to be on the bus for 7 hours. We were headed to Argentina (that’s right, I have more stamps in my passport!) for the weekend, to a town called Mendoza. Mendoza has a lot of Italians (and therefore really good food) like much of Argentina, but is best known for its shopping. So basically, this was our weekend in Italy. We arrived on a Thursday and decided to take the weekend slow. Thursday night we walked around all the stores and looked. Friday we entered some stores, tried some things on, and thought about buying. And finally, Saturday, I bought myself two new pairs of shoes (because really, who doesn’t need cute shoes when they’re sick?) for less than $20 total together (yay countries in financial crisis with big leather markets and without sales tax), gifts for friends and familiy, and two skirts to keep me going through the eternal spring that seems to be the Chilean climate. Which trust me, I’m not complaining about at all.
Of course, we also based much of the weekend on what we were going to eat, when. Because really, what else is more important than food when traveling? Especially when you haven’t chosen your own food in months due to living with host families. Italian food it was, and lots of it. We went to two Italian restaurants, an Italian pizzeria, and two “tenedor libre” (all-you-can-eat buffet) restaurants, the last category being the most interesting. The first we went to for a huge lunch with every possible type of food you could imagine. I even had some stir fry for the first time since arriving in South America. And a salad with all the vegetables mixed together; for whatever reason, they’re very big on piles here. Then, the next night, Ashley and I found ourselves in a vegetarian restaurant (quite a rarity in the beef capital of the universe that is Argentina) owned by a little Argentinean woman who had lived in New York City for several years and seemed determined to practice her English with us. I’m not completely sure she spoke either English or Spanish completely fluently. She also informed us that all Chileans are liars, that if you’re a liar you’re a thief, and that jealous neighbors had cut off her gas lines and so all the food we were eating had been cooked in her house and then reheated in the microwave in the restaurant. “Colorful” would charitably describe our new friend. It was incredibly amusing.
Also amusing, was the laundry list of things that we had to pick up for Ashley's host mom in Argentina. Because facial cream is apparently much too expensive in Chile. But it wasn't just skin products that we left with. One of the items on the list was more of a treasure hunt, and one that we're hoping was within all boundries of the law. Ashley's host mom gave us the address of a leather store in the town, where we were instructed to go and ask for Maurio (or some similar name). He was, of course, there, and we gave him a letter from Ashley's mom requesting several prescription drugs along with a wad of cash. And then we stopped by the next day and picked them up. All looking totally legitimate except for the lack of the pharmacy receipt on the outside. Hmmm... smile and nod. And maybe run. Drug deals in Argentina is one way to spend your South American weekends.
The last night, Ashley and I decided to ditch our fun little hostel and treat ourselves to a one star hotel. Because if we were going to be able to afford someplace with a private bathroom and towels, Argentina would be the place to do it. Besides, we weren’t exactly cool enough for our hostel where there was pizza and beer every night…and we were going to bed at 10 pm. It came out to about $20 for the night (split two ways). Not too bad. And the next morning we hopped a bus back to Chile, over the Andes again (where someone told me my cough was surely a result in changing temperatures from crossing the mountain range, something I somehow doubt) and were back in Valpo by 3-ish on Sunday, again in time for me to freak out about the fact that I hadn’t finished enough work (mostly a result of the fact that I was sleeping 12 hours a night trying to overcome my cold).
Well, I did my best to make the recap short but interesting, and it looks as if I haven’t succeeded in either. Kudos if you’ve made it to the end, if you haven’t, I don’t blame you. Hope you at least enjoyed the pictures!
Wednesday, September 08, 2004
“How to start a war with your host dog”, or “My relationship with Ino: a memoir in progress”
A war with one’s host dog requires careful time and preparation. It is not, I repeat not, anything to be taken lightly. First, one must decide if said war is to be just or unjust. As a matter of policy, just wars are usually preferable for intra-familial relations, however if a goal of the war is to disrupt that fragile peace that is crashing a foreigner’s house as a source of income for several months, then an unjust war has many benefits. Because this latter situation should only be undertaken in extreme circumstances, and because this author desires no responsibility in such a war, we’ll carry on assuming all anthro-canine wars are just.
Coming up with just cause for a war is generally not very difficult. Suspecting your dog of dragging fleas into your bed, for example, is certainly within the bounds of just cause. Discovering that your dog has a certain fondness for emptying your trashcan all over your floor and bed a few times every week also qualifies. And, while slightly less definite of an example, discovering dog hair and clods of dirt on your bed daily is considered by most to be within limits as well. The most important thing to remember is that “just”, like “beauty” is often in the eyes of the beholder. Public perception of justice is much more essential than your own piece of mind. If you’re unleashing a war on your host dog, chances are you’ve thrown conscience to the wind at this point. As a result of this fact, one should also be sure to always consider one’s audience. If you want to be thought just in the eyes of your peers, your hatred for your dog’s little red sweater may be sufficient, however if you seek the approval of your host family, I’d steer clear of declaring a war on their dog because of a bad canine fashion choice that they themselves made.
After that first step, things can be a bit trickier, but this is where creativity comes into play. Much of the battle details will certainly depend on the battlefield (host home), troops (you, the dog, any other pets and humans in the home that happen to become involved), allies (this can get interesting…), etc. In my own experience, tactics have ranged from simply shutting the door in host dog’s face and not allowing him in the room to engaging in a growling match. Obviously, things get more complicated the more people become involved. For example, after I started closing the door more often, my host sister put the dog outside my door at one point and seemed to be waiting to see if I would let him in when I walked into my room. Being as I am not one to upset the delicate host family balance, I lost that battle, and Ino happily entered and leapt to his favorite spot by the window. My next move however, is one to be well noted: faking concern and care for the enemy to others is always a good method. “I’m keeping my door closed while I’m in class today because the window is open, and I’m afraid Ino might try to sit there and then fall.” Remember, it’s all about perception. And if all else fails, a good growling match never hurt anyone. It may sound crazy, but most dogs will think twice about coming to your chair at the dinner table after you’ve barked back. Just make sure nobody else sees.
Coming up with just cause for a war is generally not very difficult. Suspecting your dog of dragging fleas into your bed, for example, is certainly within the bounds of just cause. Discovering that your dog has a certain fondness for emptying your trashcan all over your floor and bed a few times every week also qualifies. And, while slightly less definite of an example, discovering dog hair and clods of dirt on your bed daily is considered by most to be within limits as well. The most important thing to remember is that “just”, like “beauty” is often in the eyes of the beholder. Public perception of justice is much more essential than your own piece of mind. If you’re unleashing a war on your host dog, chances are you’ve thrown conscience to the wind at this point. As a result of this fact, one should also be sure to always consider one’s audience. If you want to be thought just in the eyes of your peers, your hatred for your dog’s little red sweater may be sufficient, however if you seek the approval of your host family, I’d steer clear of declaring a war on their dog because of a bad canine fashion choice that they themselves made.
After that first step, things can be a bit trickier, but this is where creativity comes into play. Much of the battle details will certainly depend on the battlefield (host home), troops (you, the dog, any other pets and humans in the home that happen to become involved), allies (this can get interesting…), etc. In my own experience, tactics have ranged from simply shutting the door in host dog’s face and not allowing him in the room to engaging in a growling match. Obviously, things get more complicated the more people become involved. For example, after I started closing the door more often, my host sister put the dog outside my door at one point and seemed to be waiting to see if I would let him in when I walked into my room. Being as I am not one to upset the delicate host family balance, I lost that battle, and Ino happily entered and leapt to his favorite spot by the window. My next move however, is one to be well noted: faking concern and care for the enemy to others is always a good method. “I’m keeping my door closed while I’m in class today because the window is open, and I’m afraid Ino might try to sit there and then fall.” Remember, it’s all about perception. And if all else fails, a good growling match never hurt anyone. It may sound crazy, but most dogs will think twice about coming to your chair at the dinner table after you’ve barked back. Just make sure nobody else sees.
Chilean Phenomenon #2: Confort
A reconsideration of the inelasticity of demand of toilet paper
In many places in Chile, one will not only find, but rather come to expect toilet paper not to be a luxury accompanying bathroom services. The industry, overcome by a Kleenex-like marvel in which the entire country calls the product by a brand name - “Confort” -, is also not graced with a __-style quality level perhaps implied by the name (Comfort in English), but comes in a more which-grain-of-sand-paper-would-you-like variety? Nice bathrooms do generally have toilet paper in the stalls, however the majority of bathrooms just have one roll outside of all the stalls, which has a 3 to 1 chance of being empty. Some bathrooms employ people to hand out a few squares Soviet Union-allowance-style to those willing to pay. And then there’s the approximately 14.5% of bathrooms that just don’t have toilet paper. Coming from a country where toilet paper is so taken for granted that we have full Seinfeld episodes devoted to “sparing a square”, it can be hard for Americans to get used to the frequent lack of toilet paper. Most begin carrying a roll with them in their backpacks, some take up what we experts like to call the “drip-dry” method. Some of us with very small blathers have developed somewhat of a complex and wake up in the middle of the night, desperately having to run to the bathroom after nightmares of TP-less bathrooms. It very much depends on the person. Discovering that your own home, in fact, is out of toilet paper, is a rather special situation, but one that I gather from my friends is not as common as I might think. I’m just the one with all the luck. And if you think it’s amazing that I just managed to easily turn out 300 words on toilets in Chile, you’re only beginning to understand the obsession that overcomes you when living here.
In many places in Chile, one will not only find, but rather come to expect toilet paper not to be a luxury accompanying bathroom services. The industry, overcome by a Kleenex-like marvel in which the entire country calls the product by a brand name - “Confort” -, is also not graced with a __-style quality level perhaps implied by the name (Comfort in English), but comes in a more which-grain-of-sand-paper-would-you-like variety? Nice bathrooms do generally have toilet paper in the stalls, however the majority of bathrooms just have one roll outside of all the stalls, which has a 3 to 1 chance of being empty. Some bathrooms employ people to hand out a few squares Soviet Union-allowance-style to those willing to pay. And then there’s the approximately 14.5% of bathrooms that just don’t have toilet paper. Coming from a country where toilet paper is so taken for granted that we have full Seinfeld episodes devoted to “sparing a square”, it can be hard for Americans to get used to the frequent lack of toilet paper. Most begin carrying a roll with them in their backpacks, some take up what we experts like to call the “drip-dry” method. Some of us with very small blathers have developed somewhat of a complex and wake up in the middle of the night, desperately having to run to the bathroom after nightmares of TP-less bathrooms. It very much depends on the person. Discovering that your own home, in fact, is out of toilet paper, is a rather special situation, but one that I gather from my friends is not as common as I might think. I’m just the one with all the luck. And if you think it’s amazing that I just managed to easily turn out 300 words on toilets in Chile, you’re only beginning to understand the obsession that overcomes you when living here.
“This is how I imagined Chile: strange men offering me avocados on the bus.”
Ashley and I took off for a day trip yesterday to the small town of La Ligua, about 3 hours from Valparaíso. Towns in Chile have a odd tendency to specialize in one thing, and everyone in the town takes up that trade. Last week we went to Polmeire, the pottery town, this week was the town of sweaters and sweets. Unlike Polmeire, where every store seemed to have the exact same things, the sweaters of the Valle Hermoso in La Ligua were often distinct. Unfortunately for the sweater lover in me, but luckily for the cheap college student in me, a lot of the sweaters were more thinly woven, light sweaters since it’s spring, and I had more interest in warmer winter sweaters. Still, that didn’t stop me from buying several Christmas presents and two items for myself, along with several dulces, sweets, the main ingredient of which is manjar – Chilean dulce de leche, or a caramel type spread.
The whole thing was a really awesome experience, and another fun cultural glimpse. Ashley commented on how she couldn’t imagine living in a small house and knitting her whole life, and a certain spoiled someone responded, “I know, I bet there’s practically no internet.” (Meaghan, maybe I’m starting to understand your fear of boats.) The waiter at the restaurant (and when I say the restaurant, I really mean that it was one of only two restaurants on the street), rather than handing us a menu, asked if we wanted the stew or the chicken. I had chicken breast – white meat! – for the first time since being here. The food was amazing, but the two-item menu definitely threw me.
The most insane experience of the day, though, was the trip home. Ashley and I chose the cleanest looking seats on our bus, about 5 rows from the back. Spread out throughout the bus were about 10 children, all dressed in school uniforms (not a shock since public and private schools wear them here, so uniforms are the natural and expected attire of all kids everywhere in Chile), and all between the ages of 6 and 14. Gradually, these kids began making their ways toward us until Ashley and I were literally surrounded on all sides by children. There was a man sitting in one of the seats in front of us, but besides him, every seat remotely adjoining ours, plus the aisle, was filled with kids, standing and staring at us.
Finally, Ashley took the first step and said hello to one of them, and gradually the questions began. The most interesting were about transportation to and from the US: How did you get here? How long did it take? Can I take a bus if I want to go to the United States? It was about then that we realized that not only had these kids never been anywhere near an airplane, but telling them 9 hours on a plane meant absolutely nothing to them in terms of distance. The kid sitting behind me kept touching my hair in amazement, and one of the kids sitting near Ashley smelled distinctly of urine. In the midst of the cultural drill session (the questions didn’t stop, which was fine because it was better than them staring at us), the man in the seat in front of us turned around to face us as well. I thought he was going to offer some words of encouragement, but instead, he just handed each of us an avocado and turned around again. Talk about the bizarre express.
Luckily, the students got off in about 20 minutes. I was willing to answer questions for that long, but certainly not 3 hours worth. Somewhere during all that time, the man turned to us again and instructed us to eat our avocados. Because that was exactly what I wanted: raw avocado on a bus in rural Chile. Not knowing what else to do, we dug in, and Ashley turned to me and said, “Somehow, this is exactly how I imagined Chile: strange men offering me avocados on the bus.”
The whole thing was a really awesome experience, and another fun cultural glimpse. Ashley commented on how she couldn’t imagine living in a small house and knitting her whole life, and a certain spoiled someone responded, “I know, I bet there’s practically no internet.” (Meaghan, maybe I’m starting to understand your fear of boats.) The waiter at the restaurant (and when I say the restaurant, I really mean that it was one of only two restaurants on the street), rather than handing us a menu, asked if we wanted the stew or the chicken. I had chicken breast – white meat! – for the first time since being here. The food was amazing, but the two-item menu definitely threw me.
The most insane experience of the day, though, was the trip home. Ashley and I chose the cleanest looking seats on our bus, about 5 rows from the back. Spread out throughout the bus were about 10 children, all dressed in school uniforms (not a shock since public and private schools wear them here, so uniforms are the natural and expected attire of all kids everywhere in Chile), and all between the ages of 6 and 14. Gradually, these kids began making their ways toward us until Ashley and I were literally surrounded on all sides by children. There was a man sitting in one of the seats in front of us, but besides him, every seat remotely adjoining ours, plus the aisle, was filled with kids, standing and staring at us.
Finally, Ashley took the first step and said hello to one of them, and gradually the questions began. The most interesting were about transportation to and from the US: How did you get here? How long did it take? Can I take a bus if I want to go to the United States? It was about then that we realized that not only had these kids never been anywhere near an airplane, but telling them 9 hours on a plane meant absolutely nothing to them in terms of distance. The kid sitting behind me kept touching my hair in amazement, and one of the kids sitting near Ashley smelled distinctly of urine. In the midst of the cultural drill session (the questions didn’t stop, which was fine because it was better than them staring at us), the man in the seat in front of us turned around to face us as well. I thought he was going to offer some words of encouragement, but instead, he just handed each of us an avocado and turned around again. Talk about the bizarre express.
Luckily, the students got off in about 20 minutes. I was willing to answer questions for that long, but certainly not 3 hours worth. Somewhere during all that time, the man turned to us again and instructed us to eat our avocados. Because that was exactly what I wanted: raw avocado on a bus in rural Chile. Not knowing what else to do, we dug in, and Ashley turned to me and said, “Somehow, this is exactly how I imagined Chile: strange men offering me avocados on the bus.”
Study Abroad In Chile, Kent State-Style
I don’t really feel I have the right to be telling this story, since it didn’t happen to me, but I also don’t think an account of my Chilean experience would be complete without it. Ashley came over to my house Thursday night for a study and knitting party, despite the fact that neither of us had classes on Friday. I’m in “force myself to stay home sometimes” mode, even when it is a weekend night, trying not to get overwhelmed with homework, which is easy to do in my classes. As soon as we took a break from my family, Ashley broke out into English because, as she said, some things are just too hard to tell about in Spanish.
Ashley and I attend different universities on opposite sides of the same Chilean city. My university is the private public school, hers is the public university. My classmates wear fairly simple clothing for the most part, hers have forgotten how to bathe properly and dress in a sort of punk grunge fusion. My school is very calm and go with the flow, hers misses several weeks of class every semester for strikes. And the most popular time to strike for young militant communists like them? Right around September 11, the date of Pinochet’s military takeover of Allende’s Communist-run government.
This year the strikes started on Thursday, which is what Ashley had to tell me about. Earlier in the week, the school had been turned into a Communist’s playground with pictures of Allende and hammer-and-sickle’s everywhere. It was obvious the strikes were beginning soon, but Ashley had no idea when or how big of a deal they would be. On Thursday, during a break in her class, her professor and some students went to the window and started speaking quickly. Then, they looked at her and said, “What do we do about her?” She was told that, because she was a US citizen, it was more dangerous for her to be there and that she should probably go home. Most of the people here have been pretty good about separating the things they don’t like about the US from us students, but you never know what excited militant communists might be moved to.
So classes ended and Ashley went outside to discover that the strikes had in fact started. She told me it was insane: people everywhere, roadblocks, everyone basically going crazy. She wanted to stay a few minutes and observe, but realized things were starting to get a big rowdy, and started heading down the hill, away from the university. And who do you think was coming up the hill in hummers and trucks but the Chilean police, the carabineros. They busted through the roadblock, and just started spraying tear gas into the crowd. Because that’s a calm response to a half-an-hour old protest. Ashley, a block away from where the gas was spraying, did the natural and intelligent thing and booked it out of there, walked the several miles to her house, and stopped for ice cream along the way.
And apparently this is normal. Ashley’s host mother had about the same reaction mine did to the flea news: uh-huh. Tear gas and parasites, these are the things we’re used to here. Ashley was terrified, but says that, since she got out unharmed, it was definitely one of those top memorable experiences. Is it wrong that I think it’s awesome that she witnessed a Chilean Militant protest and lived to tell about it? Well, never fear, Comrades, I won’t be marching over to join in but will be content to watch on the news.
Ashley and I attend different universities on opposite sides of the same Chilean city. My university is the private public school, hers is the public university. My classmates wear fairly simple clothing for the most part, hers have forgotten how to bathe properly and dress in a sort of punk grunge fusion. My school is very calm and go with the flow, hers misses several weeks of class every semester for strikes. And the most popular time to strike for young militant communists like them? Right around September 11, the date of Pinochet’s military takeover of Allende’s Communist-run government.
This year the strikes started on Thursday, which is what Ashley had to tell me about. Earlier in the week, the school had been turned into a Communist’s playground with pictures of Allende and hammer-and-sickle’s everywhere. It was obvious the strikes were beginning soon, but Ashley had no idea when or how big of a deal they would be. On Thursday, during a break in her class, her professor and some students went to the window and started speaking quickly. Then, they looked at her and said, “What do we do about her?” She was told that, because she was a US citizen, it was more dangerous for her to be there and that she should probably go home. Most of the people here have been pretty good about separating the things they don’t like about the US from us students, but you never know what excited militant communists might be moved to.
So classes ended and Ashley went outside to discover that the strikes had in fact started. She told me it was insane: people everywhere, roadblocks, everyone basically going crazy. She wanted to stay a few minutes and observe, but realized things were starting to get a big rowdy, and started heading down the hill, away from the university. And who do you think was coming up the hill in hummers and trucks but the Chilean police, the carabineros. They busted through the roadblock, and just started spraying tear gas into the crowd. Because that’s a calm response to a half-an-hour old protest. Ashley, a block away from where the gas was spraying, did the natural and intelligent thing and booked it out of there, walked the several miles to her house, and stopped for ice cream along the way.
And apparently this is normal. Ashley’s host mother had about the same reaction mine did to the flea news: uh-huh. Tear gas and parasites, these are the things we’re used to here. Ashley was terrified, but says that, since she got out unharmed, it was definitely one of those top memorable experiences. Is it wrong that I think it’s awesome that she witnessed a Chilean Militant protest and lived to tell about it? Well, never fear, Comrades, I won’t be marching over to join in but will be content to watch on the news.
Wednesday, September 01, 2004
Today started out as a hope-that’s-shower-condensation-on-the-toiled-seat kind of day. I had to wake up at 6:45 to travel into a poorer area of urban Chile (after several nights of very little sleep and very much studying), and I was not in the mood to play guessing games with the sanitation of my bathroom. But I was going to said area to teach English to 5th graders, and besides, Pame had just taken a shower, it probably was just condensation on the toilet seat.
I feel like anyone who’s spent time in a place where his or her second language is spoken will agree with me when I say it’s hard to speak that language in the morning, especially after waking up from a very short amount of sleep. I had the misfortune of arriving at the school on the same day as several education students who are doing their student teacher assignments at the school. Practicing the Jessie’s Travel Rule #2: English speakers Non-Disclosure Rule, I walked into the school yard a little bewildered and nodded or said “Gracias” with my best Chilean accent as teachers pointed me toward where they thought I was supposed to be: the school director’s office where the education students were introducing themselves. I popped into the room, obviously realized that I was interrupting, and continued my attempt to appear intelligent in the ways of Spanish by simply nodding while the director explained to me that these were pedagogy students and to the students that I was an exchange student. Then he of course turned to me and said something that involved several female names. Of course, I understand everything but the question I have to answer. Looking a bit confused, I answered (in Spanish of course), “I’m Caitlin.” He gave me a pathetic look and nodded, saying, in English, “Yes. Come with me,” and lead me to the teachers lounge.
Well, one blunder isn’t terrible, and one blunder it was, because the rest of the time was amazing. Can I just teach Chilean children my whole time here? Okay, maybe I don’t want to do that, but it was a great hour and a half, and I get to do it every week, what luck! The teacher I was helping left me alone with the students every now and then, at which point they all burst with excitement and would run up to me, begging me to tell them what the English versions of their names are and pleading for my autograph. And I thought REACH skits at the elementary schools of Main Line Pennsylvania were crazy. That’s right, I’m now a star in the Achupallas neighborhood of Viña del Mar, Chile. Pretty exciting. Of course, there were a couple awkward questions I had to field with the grace and charm we all know I possess, like when two boys asked me what it meant when someone said “son of a bitch”. I wasn’t ready to start out my first day with letting the teacher overhear me saying “hijo de puta” to the students. Even during those times, though, I was on a high. When I left, the students closest to the door came to kiss me goodbye and everyone else shouted their own happy goodbyes. I now know the recipe to instant mood boost: be an American around young students who as of yet are not disenchanted with the United States and just admire it’s movies and music. And be the person in charge who’s not giving them homework; that always helps too.
I feel like anyone who’s spent time in a place where his or her second language is spoken will agree with me when I say it’s hard to speak that language in the morning, especially after waking up from a very short amount of sleep. I had the misfortune of arriving at the school on the same day as several education students who are doing their student teacher assignments at the school. Practicing the Jessie’s Travel Rule #2: English speakers Non-Disclosure Rule, I walked into the school yard a little bewildered and nodded or said “Gracias” with my best Chilean accent as teachers pointed me toward where they thought I was supposed to be: the school director’s office where the education students were introducing themselves. I popped into the room, obviously realized that I was interrupting, and continued my attempt to appear intelligent in the ways of Spanish by simply nodding while the director explained to me that these were pedagogy students and to the students that I was an exchange student. Then he of course turned to me and said something that involved several female names. Of course, I understand everything but the question I have to answer. Looking a bit confused, I answered (in Spanish of course), “I’m Caitlin.” He gave me a pathetic look and nodded, saying, in English, “Yes. Come with me,” and lead me to the teachers lounge.
Well, one blunder isn’t terrible, and one blunder it was, because the rest of the time was amazing. Can I just teach Chilean children my whole time here? Okay, maybe I don’t want to do that, but it was a great hour and a half, and I get to do it every week, what luck! The teacher I was helping left me alone with the students every now and then, at which point they all burst with excitement and would run up to me, begging me to tell them what the English versions of their names are and pleading for my autograph. And I thought REACH skits at the elementary schools of Main Line Pennsylvania were crazy. That’s right, I’m now a star in the Achupallas neighborhood of Viña del Mar, Chile. Pretty exciting. Of course, there were a couple awkward questions I had to field with the grace and charm we all know I possess, like when two boys asked me what it meant when someone said “son of a bitch”. I wasn’t ready to start out my first day with letting the teacher overhear me saying “hijo de puta” to the students. Even during those times, though, I was on a high. When I left, the students closest to the door came to kiss me goodbye and everyone else shouted their own happy goodbyes. I now know the recipe to instant mood boost: be an American around young students who as of yet are not disenchanted with the United States and just admire it’s movies and music. And be the person in charge who’s not giving them homework; that always helps too.
Just Another Night with Chilean Transvestites
I’ve been thinking for a while that maybe I should write about a different Chilean phenomenon each week. You know, familiarize my friends and family at home with the wonder that is Chilean culture. After last night, now seems like an appropriate time to write about the Chilean phenomenon that is “machismo”. The large majority of the visible, Chilean male population is desperate and outspoken cowards. If you have of remotely light-colored hair, they’ll say just about anything and everything to you and give you looks that actually do make your skin crawl. As Lucy Alta pointed out, the guys with their heads hanging out their car windows make you want to scream, “You are going to crash. Why don’t you look where you are driving??” In the end however, these men won’t actually do a thing. You can glare at most of them and they cower. My biggest problem is that I’ll probably get accustomed to being honked at while running here and will go home to the states and give one of my friends the finger when they try to honk a friendly hello. Still, although most men would never do anything, sometimes I get freaked out. Especially when returning from a dance club at five in the morning.
Lucy Alta, Katie, and I, had all been at the discotheque at the casino, a place where those who can afford to gather to dance poorly to (as Katie put it) all the 80s music you want to forget. We’re talking lots of men with glasses (the dorky, not the cute kind) who are slightly too old trying far too hard to look like they have any idea what they’re doing. Lucy and I walked Katie to her apartment, and then began walking down Libertad, one of the safest streets in Viña, to find a colectivo together, a sort of taxi that drives along certain lines. While walking along Libertad, two men passed us, glared in that way, slowed down, allowed us to pass, and began following us. Which was odd, but unfortunately not totally unusual, and we weren’t exactly positive they were following us. So we just kept looking for a colectivo, with perhaps a slightly hastened pace. Fate then provided us with what would soon be a much-needed bit of comic relief. Lucy and I definitely passed by two Chilean transvestites. Working the corner in a country where homosexuality and confused gender roles alike are less accepted than at a Christian Right tea party. Chilean transvestites, I applaud you.
Like I said, it proved itself much needed when, in the middle of the next block, a shady looking man in a large jacket and a skull cap walking toward us on the sidewalk did not move aside as he came closer to us, but rather, came right up next to us and began whispering sketchily under his breath before passing us by. It’s amazing how even a word like “beautiful” can make you shiver when said in a certain way. That wasn’t what made the humor necessary though. It was when I turned around to check on our two followers and noticed that the shady, skull-capped man had also turned around and was following closely. We once again picked up our pace, dashing toward the Plaza where the colectivos wait for passengers. We noticed that at this point, the first two men had positioned themselves on either side of us, which, while I was trying to stay calm, really did freak me out. We hopped in a colectivo, not bothering to argue much when the driver told us she was going to charge us double the usual (it’s still a $1.50 cab ride), and took off.
Sure, it’s possible that the two original guys slowed down because they wanted to watch two blondes go down the street and were actually going their separate ways and not trying to surround us when they split to either side of us. Not terribly harmful. And the man in the huge coat who muttered under his breath at us could have just turned around because he forgot something wherever he was coming from. In fact, that’s the worst part of all of it is that a girl feels like she can’t trust men here because they’re men, which seems so stupid. Like the fact that I can’t offer my seat to a tired-looking man on the bus because he “can’t” take it. The gender relations, as I’ve often said here, are the one thing I could never get used to. But things have to be changing, which is good news…here’s to Chilean transvestites everywhere!
Lucy Alta, Katie, and I, had all been at the discotheque at the casino, a place where those who can afford to gather to dance poorly to (as Katie put it) all the 80s music you want to forget. We’re talking lots of men with glasses (the dorky, not the cute kind) who are slightly too old trying far too hard to look like they have any idea what they’re doing. Lucy and I walked Katie to her apartment, and then began walking down Libertad, one of the safest streets in Viña, to find a colectivo together, a sort of taxi that drives along certain lines. While walking along Libertad, two men passed us, glared in that way, slowed down, allowed us to pass, and began following us. Which was odd, but unfortunately not totally unusual, and we weren’t exactly positive they were following us. So we just kept looking for a colectivo, with perhaps a slightly hastened pace. Fate then provided us with what would soon be a much-needed bit of comic relief. Lucy and I definitely passed by two Chilean transvestites. Working the corner in a country where homosexuality and confused gender roles alike are less accepted than at a Christian Right tea party. Chilean transvestites, I applaud you.
Like I said, it proved itself much needed when, in the middle of the next block, a shady looking man in a large jacket and a skull cap walking toward us on the sidewalk did not move aside as he came closer to us, but rather, came right up next to us and began whispering sketchily under his breath before passing us by. It’s amazing how even a word like “beautiful” can make you shiver when said in a certain way. That wasn’t what made the humor necessary though. It was when I turned around to check on our two followers and noticed that the shady, skull-capped man had also turned around and was following closely. We once again picked up our pace, dashing toward the Plaza where the colectivos wait for passengers. We noticed that at this point, the first two men had positioned themselves on either side of us, which, while I was trying to stay calm, really did freak me out. We hopped in a colectivo, not bothering to argue much when the driver told us she was going to charge us double the usual (it’s still a $1.50 cab ride), and took off.
Sure, it’s possible that the two original guys slowed down because they wanted to watch two blondes go down the street and were actually going their separate ways and not trying to surround us when they split to either side of us. Not terribly harmful. And the man in the huge coat who muttered under his breath at us could have just turned around because he forgot something wherever he was coming from. In fact, that’s the worst part of all of it is that a girl feels like she can’t trust men here because they’re men, which seems so stupid. Like the fact that I can’t offer my seat to a tired-looking man on the bus because he “can’t” take it. The gender relations, as I’ve often said here, are the one thing I could never get used to. But things have to be changing, which is good news…here’s to Chilean transvestites everywhere!
Confessions of an American Shopaholic in Chile
Okay, it’s time to lay it all out on the table. It started with a little thing I like to call Líder. It seemed so practical at first, the ability to buy everything cheaply all in one place. Sure, it eerily resembled Wal-Mart, though not as sketchy. (Note: I apologize if Wal-Mart does not seem sketchy to you. If you would like to have a conversation about it later, fine, but that’s really not the point of this story, so, moving along…) Then I began noticing the font of the Líder signs, not to mention the striking similarity between Walmart and Líder slogans, the latter of which translated is: Always the lowest prices. Always. That’s right, “Attention world shoppers: Caitlin is shopping at Chilean Wal-Mart.” Somehow managing to justify recent purchases with the desperate situation of the stained comforter (see previous entries), I am still trying to cut back on my frequency of Líder trips.
My shopping problems do not end there, though. Yesterday, at the end of a pleasant day of café-ing with Ashley, we dashed into Ripley to see if they had anymore functional; much needed; and, most importantly, cheap turtlenecks. (Ripley and Falabella are the two big Chilean department stores. Unlike US department stores, Ripley and Falabella are where just about everyone goes for standard, classic clothing. Read: where I go when I’m missing the Gap. The quality is not quite as great, but it’s certainly not terrible. The prices are higher than in some small stores, but still drastically lower than in the states.) Somehow the fact that they didn’t have any turtlenecks didn’t stop me from buying two pairs of pants (complete with J. Crew style belts); a rugby style shirt; and a, if I do say so myself, rather slick zip-up sweater. Figuring I had done enough damage for one day and needing to finish my homework, I hopped on a micro and headed back home to Viña.
Not wasting an opportunity to be an obnoxious American, I was talking to my friend Maria on my cell phone on the micro, and it ran out of its prepaid minutes. Being as desperately attached to my cell phone as I am and noticing that the bus I was on went to the mall, I decided to skip my stop and go straight there to buy another cellular card. Somewhere, somehow, between the ride to the mall and the buying more minutes, I managed to get a tiny bit homesick. Deciding in this unwell state that I didn’t want to return home, I made the unwise decision to “window shop”. I had wanted to check out the prices of some US stores here, such as ZARA and Ralph Lauren and United Colors of Benetton, the last of which I entered casually. All of a sudden I was standing in line, holding a 30 USD corduroy and suede bag, nodding in agreement to the liquidation no-exchange policy. I walked out of the store, realizing what I had done (but - let’s face it - still loving my new bag). I made myself leave the mall right away, declaring a moratorium on shopping. Except for the next day in Pomeire, a pottery village, “‘cause, those are, like, souvenirs”; or anything really, really cute or really, really cheap…
My shopping problems do not end there, though. Yesterday, at the end of a pleasant day of café-ing with Ashley, we dashed into Ripley to see if they had anymore functional; much needed; and, most importantly, cheap turtlenecks. (Ripley and Falabella are the two big Chilean department stores. Unlike US department stores, Ripley and Falabella are where just about everyone goes for standard, classic clothing. Read: where I go when I’m missing the Gap. The quality is not quite as great, but it’s certainly not terrible. The prices are higher than in some small stores, but still drastically lower than in the states.) Somehow the fact that they didn’t have any turtlenecks didn’t stop me from buying two pairs of pants (complete with J. Crew style belts); a rugby style shirt; and a, if I do say so myself, rather slick zip-up sweater. Figuring I had done enough damage for one day and needing to finish my homework, I hopped on a micro and headed back home to Viña.
Not wasting an opportunity to be an obnoxious American, I was talking to my friend Maria on my cell phone on the micro, and it ran out of its prepaid minutes. Being as desperately attached to my cell phone as I am and noticing that the bus I was on went to the mall, I decided to skip my stop and go straight there to buy another cellular card. Somewhere, somehow, between the ride to the mall and the buying more minutes, I managed to get a tiny bit homesick. Deciding in this unwell state that I didn’t want to return home, I made the unwise decision to “window shop”. I had wanted to check out the prices of some US stores here, such as ZARA and Ralph Lauren and United Colors of Benetton, the last of which I entered casually. All of a sudden I was standing in line, holding a 30 USD corduroy and suede bag, nodding in agreement to the liquidation no-exchange policy. I walked out of the store, realizing what I had done (but - let’s face it - still loving my new bag). I made myself leave the mall right away, declaring a moratorium on shopping. Except for the next day in Pomeire, a pottery village, “‘cause, those are, like, souvenirs”; or anything really, really cute or really, really cheap…
Monday, August 30, 2004
... and one to the present
and Darling Timothy,
Oh if only the printer here worked. Perhaps I should just buy some of the magazines on the street and hang pictures in my room. I haven't seen any magazines with naked men, but if a puritanical fear of porn is the source of the problem, maybe thinking I was looking at lesbian porn would just enhance the situation. What say you?
Love,
Caitlin
P.S. True story, the internet cafe I went to last week with Ashley had private computers in the back. You pay more for a little cubby of your own. Expressly for porn use. No joke, there are signs saying this.
P.P.S. A very well decorated pirate bar has been encountered on the street near Ashley's house. An outing is being arranged and pictures will be taken, never you worry.
P.P.P.S. To anyone else reading this, let it be a lesson to you all. Leave Caitlin fun comments, get full letters written to you in posts on the blog. :)
Oh if only the printer here worked. Perhaps I should just buy some of the magazines on the street and hang pictures in my room. I haven't seen any magazines with naked men, but if a puritanical fear of porn is the source of the problem, maybe thinking I was looking at lesbian porn would just enhance the situation. What say you?
Love,
Caitlin
P.S. True story, the internet cafe I went to last week with Ashley had private computers in the back. You pay more for a little cubby of your own. Expressly for porn use. No joke, there are signs saying this.
P.P.S. A very well decorated pirate bar has been encountered on the street near Ashley's house. An outing is being arranged and pictures will be taken, never you worry.
P.P.P.S. To anyone else reading this, let it be a lesson to you all. Leave Caitlin fun comments, get full letters written to you in posts on the blog. :)
A Letter to the Beyond
Dearest Jessie,
I am so sorry to have made your alumnal grave so uncomfortable, but am glad to see that the Jessie Drinking Influence knows no barriers of graduation or state boundries. It's like we're both back at Georgetown and I'm IMing you in search of cheap wine all over again.
Love,
Caitlin
I am so sorry to have made your alumnal grave so uncomfortable, but am glad to see that the Jessie Drinking Influence knows no barriers of graduation or state boundries. It's like we're both back at Georgetown and I'm IMing you in search of cheap wine all over again.
Love,
Caitlin
Oh, I should know better than to stay subscribed to Victoria's Secret e-mails while in a country that doesn't have a single VS store. Silly Caitlin. For those of you interested in the American Slut's current situation, though, my self-declared moritorium on thongs for fear that my family thought I was too outlandish has ended! I found out that one of my sister's owns one thong while doing the laundry. They might still think I show too much breast, but at least I know I won't be handwashing my underwear in secret! During my break from fun underwear, I briefly took up a sock obsession, so now I get to pick out matching socks with all my outfits too. Can I just say I love cheap clothes shopping in Chile!
you know what i haven't done in a while? written a short, 4 am procrastination post. without caps or any facade of being grammatically correct. that's right, classes are in session, chilean-style, and caitlin's finally gotten the guts to sneak on her host family's internet at night. caution: boring, pointless entries lie ahead.
The Newes From Chile
Tales of the Chilean Ski Bunny
This weekend I decided to try out the more “cuico” side of Chilean life…that is, snobby. I went to the Andes with eight of my friends to ski. I had to keep saying it to myself to believe it: we’re skiing in the Andes. It was Lucy Alta (tall), Lucy Baja (short), Jenn, Jeff, Rob, Lauren, Ashley, Byron, and myself. We started out with a trip to Santiago on Friday. Renting ski stuff on the mountain, which is about an hour from Santiago, is really expensive, so you have to go to the rich area of Santiago to rent it, and hire a van to pick you and your ski gear up and then take you up. Which you can only do during certain hours of the day, because, to better handle traffic, it’s been mandated that you can only drive up in the morning and down at night. If it sounds like a lot of work, it is. But in the end, it really wasn’t any more work than skiing in the states (I’ve been told, since we all know I’m no real ski bunny), and tons of fun. After trying on sizes at the ritzy ski shop in Santiago, we left our stuff to be picked up the next day (because who really wants to ride the bus and metro with skis?) and headed to Jumbo, a Cosco like store in Chile, to pick up cooking supplies for the weekend. We then headed back to our adorable Hostel Indiana, which the owner described to us as our second home, for the night. I must confess hostels aren’t exactly my thing when you’re in Chile, the land of no heating, and the windows of your room don’t fully close and there aren’t exactly sheets on top of the hard mattress on which your sleeping. But really, for about $5, I was happy to have a place to rest before sleeping, and since we were all crammed into our rooms in little bunk beds, it was very much like summer camp in a fun way.
Making plans for the weekend at the Hostel Indiana
Fast forward to Saturday morning, 6:30 a.m. when we have to get up to meet our ride. It’s amazing how little you care about how you look when it’s early in the morning, you’re about to get dressed to go skiing, and you have to walk outside to get to the more than shady looking bathrooms. Showers were definitely and unanimously vetoed, and we hopped into the van perhaps a little smelly, but not really caring anyway. A quick stop at Ski Arroho to pick up our ski stuff, and we were off, up a windy path to the mountain ski slopes, El Colorado. I definitely had never seen real mountains before coming to Chile. It was amazing to climb from Santiago, where it’s chilly but never below freezing, up above tree line in the matter of an hour. Because there were nine of us, we had the van to ourselves, and the diver was very helpful. As soon as we got up there, he helped us look for a place to stay on the mountain, since it would be a real hassle to have to go back down to Santiago for the night. Knowing that it might be expensive, Lucy and Byron set off with the driver to see what was possible. And lucky for us, somehow they found a crazy man who was for some reason willing to rent one of his apartment/hotel rooms out to nine college kids. Who would have guessed? It had a kitchen, cable TV, one and a half baths, two bedrooms (one with two bunk beds = sleeps 4 and one “matrimonial bed”, shared by Jenn and Lucy), and a living room with two day beds and a trundle. And most importantly, because it was in a place where the pipes could actually freeze, it had heat!
Ready to ski! My nickname for the trip was Edward the Turtle. Quite fitting, no?
We quickly got changed and hit the slopes. I, not having skied in about five years, somehow thought it would just come back to me and threw myself over the edge of the somewhat steep bunny slope, apparently with the notion that “turning” was out of the question. Sure, the first few times down the slopes consisted of nothing more than me rapidly gaining frightening amounts of speed and then just tipping over when I felt it was time to stop, but I persevered. As Lucy said, I fell a lot in the beginning, but every single time I hopped back up and started skiing (terribly) again. Of course, my spirits were broken a little when Lucy and I ended up mistakenly on a very steep, very windy Intermediate slope without really realizing it. I had made the error of following Jeff to what he thought would be an Easy slope. That it was not, and Lucy and I freaked out, and proceeded to make, what can only be called gallant but fruitless, attempts to walk back up the mountain. Two Chilean women stopped and, rightly, informed us that we simply could not do what we were attempting to do, and kindly helped us put our skis back on (a problem since in the mess of snow I was trying to do it backward) and make it down the hill safely. Of course, at the bottom of the hill, Lucy and I thought that the ski lift would take us to a point where there were easy hills, like we hadn’t learned our lesson at all. So we naively hopped on and found ourselves in aforementioned steep and windy situation. Nowhere to go but down, we began our descent, Lucy taking slow wide turns, and I alternately throwing myself down the hill and then falling. I know you’re wishing you had the video. At one particularly bad point, I threw myself off my skis, the action of which then threw my skis into random parts of the hill, difficult to encounter in the mess of wind. Upon finding both of them and trying to put them back on, several familiar faces whizzed by me on the mountain, shouting always encouraging words. It was, of course, my fellow gringos, one of whom was Ashley who, thank God, taught me how to turn and took the hill very slowly down with me, shouting things like “Looking good,” and “Don’t worry, I’ll pick up your poles!” I fell a couple of times, but luckily made it almost to the bottom of the hill without major event.
And I say almost, because despite my recently acquired turning abilities, I apparently had not yet mastered creating a stop from a turn. And decided that the best thing to bring me to a halt was an orange fence. Being the good sport that I am, I allowed pictures to be taken, and Lucy and Byron decided it needed to be captioned…
Crash, crash, crash into a fence!
(from the Outkast song Roses, which I only know from my nine-year-old sister Brianna, because yes, she is that much cooler than I am.) Ashley, after snapping the photo, helped me out of the fence, and from there I progressed to master my turning so that the next day I could progress from the Bunny Slopes to some intentionally skied Intermediates.
This is where we were skiing!
Before I could move on up the skiing chain of command however, I had to spend an awesome night in our mountain apartment. Definitely homier than our “second home” Hostel Indiana. It was one of those nights you always thought you should have in college, with everyone just hanging out, so happy to be there together. Everyone was able to take a hot shower as we watched the sunset over Santiago and the beautiful view of mountains that we had on all sides. While watching the Chilean tennis doubles at the same time. I have to say, I’m still American through and through, but it was routing for the Chileans. They’ve never had a gold medal, and the tennis player is from Viña del Mar! Plus you just can’t help getting sucked up into the excitement of the whole thing while here. When we drove back to Santiago Sunday night, the streets were literally filled with people and cars flying the Chilean flag and screaming/honking horns. It was outrageous. But don’t worry, I’m routing for home sweet United States in the rest of the games. My allegiance is true.
The views from our apartment.
Lucy Baja, Rob, and I, Post-skiing
We cooked pasta and soup, alternated hydration with pisco, and played a little MASH (you know you remember the fortune-telling game of 3rd grade fame, don’t pretend you don’t) and never-have-I-ever Chambers-style (absolutely no pressure to drink) because you can always get to know people better. After a full day though, we were pretty exhausted and went to bed by 10:30. Which still didn’t make it any easier to wake up to ski at 9:00 the next morning, but we did it. The second day was equally amazing, especially since I managed to make it over to some Intermediate slopes. Ashley even tricked me into going on a Red Diamond, which here is in between Intermediate and Expert, with the label of “Difficult”. The best part of the whole trip was just how positive everyone was. Despite the fact that we were all different levels of skiing, from Lauren who had never skied to Lucy who’s a Coloradoan expert, we were all skiing our hardest and being incredibly supportive of each other. Laughing with others and at oneself is always a must! I must say, after the CIEE Learn to Ski in a Day program, I feel quite confident in my skiing abilities and can’t wait to show them off in the states! Ski trip anyone?
Reentry
Unfortunately, our amazing weekend made reentry into daily life a little difficult. I returned Sunday night to find my room rearranged because my family had cleaned the house while I was gone. Which shouldn’t be too big of a deal, but it’s still weird. Especially the fact that the bedside lamp that I moved to the desk so I could use it while working had been replaced on the bedside table. I love my family, but sometimes I get a little frustrated. There was also something wrong with our calefont, so I was unable to shower Sunday night or Monday morning. After a pretty bad knee bust-up from skiing, I could have really used a nice warm shower. On top of it all, I had a lot of homework that I probably should have been working on over the weekend. Luckily, I had my crucial Wednesday night pick-me-up with Ashley. Our Wednesday night outings are starting to become a routine since neither one of us has morning classes on Thursday, and we both have busy days on Wednesday. Wednesday is so the new Thursday. Every week, we go to the gym that I just joined with Ashley for our Pilates class (did anyone say Yogalates?!). After, we’ve been going out for a little bit to some local bar or another. This week we went to J. Cruz (not sure I spelled that right), a whole in the wall restaurant that looks super shady. You may ask why on earth we chose to wander down the back alley to such a place, but the food’s reputation had preceded it. Now, when I write “food”, you may imagine several options, however it’s important to emphasize that at J. Cruz, you order one thing, and that is a huge plate of french fries with cooked onions and bites of steak on top. This does not necessarily sound like it should be Ashley and my kind of place, but it is awesome. Hands down the best french fries I’ve ever had, I desperately wish I could share them with all of you. Save money. Buy plane tickets to Chile. The fries’ll be on me.
Queer Eye anyone?
I also had a change of attitude toward my room yesterday that I’m incredibly excited about. When I first moved in, I wasn’t exactly enthralled with my room, but, like several things here, I told myself it was only five months, and that I would just live with it. Finally, a month and a half into my stay, I was getting a bit weary of the stained comforter on my bed and the mildewed walls. Constantly complaining to myself in my head, my frustration was growing. Finally, Tuesday night, I snapped to it. “Am I not an American?” I asked myself. “Was I not born in the land of Trading Spaces and Queer Eye for the Straight Guy? Surely I can make something of this situation. It’s the American thing to do.” So today began my quest to remake my room. Granted I can’t do much with it seeing as my family doesn’t even like me to move my lamp around, but what can be done, will be done. (P.S. Mom and Dad, perhaps this would be a good time to tell you that the credit card bill that will be coming to the house this month includes a few house making items such as pillows and throws to cover up aforementioned stained comforter. I figured this would not be something to which you would object.) Perhaps not the most exciting thing to be happening in a foreign land, but for the home decorator in all of us, I will post some before and after pictures in a couple weeks. And if anyone has suggestions of how to remake a somewhat barren room (with a large and unidentified object sitting in the corner), I would be in your debt!
Finally, a quick apology is in order for my especially poor writing quality of late. I’m always writing blog entries late at night, the only time I really have the opportunity to, saving them to my computer, and then posting them when I’m able to sneak online. My family loves the internet, and there’s almost always someone who’s not really willing to give it up. Also, the constant switch between Spanish and English means I really don’t speak either language well. What all this amounts to is me constantly writing entries in a semi-drugged state of exhaustion. Hopefully the grammatical errors aren’t great and the interest-level of posted material isn’t completely miniscule!
This weekend I decided to try out the more “cuico” side of Chilean life…that is, snobby. I went to the Andes with eight of my friends to ski. I had to keep saying it to myself to believe it: we’re skiing in the Andes. It was Lucy Alta (tall), Lucy Baja (short), Jenn, Jeff, Rob, Lauren, Ashley, Byron, and myself. We started out with a trip to Santiago on Friday. Renting ski stuff on the mountain, which is about an hour from Santiago, is really expensive, so you have to go to the rich area of Santiago to rent it, and hire a van to pick you and your ski gear up and then take you up. Which you can only do during certain hours of the day, because, to better handle traffic, it’s been mandated that you can only drive up in the morning and down at night. If it sounds like a lot of work, it is. But in the end, it really wasn’t any more work than skiing in the states (I’ve been told, since we all know I’m no real ski bunny), and tons of fun. After trying on sizes at the ritzy ski shop in Santiago, we left our stuff to be picked up the next day (because who really wants to ride the bus and metro with skis?) and headed to Jumbo, a Cosco like store in Chile, to pick up cooking supplies for the weekend. We then headed back to our adorable Hostel Indiana, which the owner described to us as our second home, for the night. I must confess hostels aren’t exactly my thing when you’re in Chile, the land of no heating, and the windows of your room don’t fully close and there aren’t exactly sheets on top of the hard mattress on which your sleeping. But really, for about $5, I was happy to have a place to rest before sleeping, and since we were all crammed into our rooms in little bunk beds, it was very much like summer camp in a fun way.
Making plans for the weekend at the Hostel Indiana
Fast forward to Saturday morning, 6:30 a.m. when we have to get up to meet our ride. It’s amazing how little you care about how you look when it’s early in the morning, you’re about to get dressed to go skiing, and you have to walk outside to get to the more than shady looking bathrooms. Showers were definitely and unanimously vetoed, and we hopped into the van perhaps a little smelly, but not really caring anyway. A quick stop at Ski Arroho to pick up our ski stuff, and we were off, up a windy path to the mountain ski slopes, El Colorado. I definitely had never seen real mountains before coming to Chile. It was amazing to climb from Santiago, where it’s chilly but never below freezing, up above tree line in the matter of an hour. Because there were nine of us, we had the van to ourselves, and the diver was very helpful. As soon as we got up there, he helped us look for a place to stay on the mountain, since it would be a real hassle to have to go back down to Santiago for the night. Knowing that it might be expensive, Lucy and Byron set off with the driver to see what was possible. And lucky for us, somehow they found a crazy man who was for some reason willing to rent one of his apartment/hotel rooms out to nine college kids. Who would have guessed? It had a kitchen, cable TV, one and a half baths, two bedrooms (one with two bunk beds = sleeps 4 and one “matrimonial bed”, shared by Jenn and Lucy), and a living room with two day beds and a trundle. And most importantly, because it was in a place where the pipes could actually freeze, it had heat!
Ready to ski! My nickname for the trip was Edward the Turtle. Quite fitting, no?
We quickly got changed and hit the slopes. I, not having skied in about five years, somehow thought it would just come back to me and threw myself over the edge of the somewhat steep bunny slope, apparently with the notion that “turning” was out of the question. Sure, the first few times down the slopes consisted of nothing more than me rapidly gaining frightening amounts of speed and then just tipping over when I felt it was time to stop, but I persevered. As Lucy said, I fell a lot in the beginning, but every single time I hopped back up and started skiing (terribly) again. Of course, my spirits were broken a little when Lucy and I ended up mistakenly on a very steep, very windy Intermediate slope without really realizing it. I had made the error of following Jeff to what he thought would be an Easy slope. That it was not, and Lucy and I freaked out, and proceeded to make, what can only be called gallant but fruitless, attempts to walk back up the mountain. Two Chilean women stopped and, rightly, informed us that we simply could not do what we were attempting to do, and kindly helped us put our skis back on (a problem since in the mess of snow I was trying to do it backward) and make it down the hill safely. Of course, at the bottom of the hill, Lucy and I thought that the ski lift would take us to a point where there were easy hills, like we hadn’t learned our lesson at all. So we naively hopped on and found ourselves in aforementioned steep and windy situation. Nowhere to go but down, we began our descent, Lucy taking slow wide turns, and I alternately throwing myself down the hill and then falling. I know you’re wishing you had the video. At one particularly bad point, I threw myself off my skis, the action of which then threw my skis into random parts of the hill, difficult to encounter in the mess of wind. Upon finding both of them and trying to put them back on, several familiar faces whizzed by me on the mountain, shouting always encouraging words. It was, of course, my fellow gringos, one of whom was Ashley who, thank God, taught me how to turn and took the hill very slowly down with me, shouting things like “Looking good,” and “Don’t worry, I’ll pick up your poles!” I fell a couple of times, but luckily made it almost to the bottom of the hill without major event.
And I say almost, because despite my recently acquired turning abilities, I apparently had not yet mastered creating a stop from a turn. And decided that the best thing to bring me to a halt was an orange fence. Being the good sport that I am, I allowed pictures to be taken, and Lucy and Byron decided it needed to be captioned…
Crash, crash, crash into a fence!
(from the Outkast song Roses, which I only know from my nine-year-old sister Brianna, because yes, she is that much cooler than I am.) Ashley, after snapping the photo, helped me out of the fence, and from there I progressed to master my turning so that the next day I could progress from the Bunny Slopes to some intentionally skied Intermediates.
This is where we were skiing!
Before I could move on up the skiing chain of command however, I had to spend an awesome night in our mountain apartment. Definitely homier than our “second home” Hostel Indiana. It was one of those nights you always thought you should have in college, with everyone just hanging out, so happy to be there together. Everyone was able to take a hot shower as we watched the sunset over Santiago and the beautiful view of mountains that we had on all sides. While watching the Chilean tennis doubles at the same time. I have to say, I’m still American through and through, but it was routing for the Chileans. They’ve never had a gold medal, and the tennis player is from Viña del Mar! Plus you just can’t help getting sucked up into the excitement of the whole thing while here. When we drove back to Santiago Sunday night, the streets were literally filled with people and cars flying the Chilean flag and screaming/honking horns. It was outrageous. But don’t worry, I’m routing for home sweet United States in the rest of the games. My allegiance is true.
The views from our apartment.
Lucy Baja, Rob, and I, Post-skiing
We cooked pasta and soup, alternated hydration with pisco, and played a little MASH (you know you remember the fortune-telling game of 3rd grade fame, don’t pretend you don’t) and never-have-I-ever Chambers-style (absolutely no pressure to drink) because you can always get to know people better. After a full day though, we were pretty exhausted and went to bed by 10:30. Which still didn’t make it any easier to wake up to ski at 9:00 the next morning, but we did it. The second day was equally amazing, especially since I managed to make it over to some Intermediate slopes. Ashley even tricked me into going on a Red Diamond, which here is in between Intermediate and Expert, with the label of “Difficult”. The best part of the whole trip was just how positive everyone was. Despite the fact that we were all different levels of skiing, from Lauren who had never skied to Lucy who’s a Coloradoan expert, we were all skiing our hardest and being incredibly supportive of each other. Laughing with others and at oneself is always a must! I must say, after the CIEE Learn to Ski in a Day program, I feel quite confident in my skiing abilities and can’t wait to show them off in the states! Ski trip anyone?
Reentry
Unfortunately, our amazing weekend made reentry into daily life a little difficult. I returned Sunday night to find my room rearranged because my family had cleaned the house while I was gone. Which shouldn’t be too big of a deal, but it’s still weird. Especially the fact that the bedside lamp that I moved to the desk so I could use it while working had been replaced on the bedside table. I love my family, but sometimes I get a little frustrated. There was also something wrong with our calefont, so I was unable to shower Sunday night or Monday morning. After a pretty bad knee bust-up from skiing, I could have really used a nice warm shower. On top of it all, I had a lot of homework that I probably should have been working on over the weekend. Luckily, I had my crucial Wednesday night pick-me-up with Ashley. Our Wednesday night outings are starting to become a routine since neither one of us has morning classes on Thursday, and we both have busy days on Wednesday. Wednesday is so the new Thursday. Every week, we go to the gym that I just joined with Ashley for our Pilates class (did anyone say Yogalates?!). After, we’ve been going out for a little bit to some local bar or another. This week we went to J. Cruz (not sure I spelled that right), a whole in the wall restaurant that looks super shady. You may ask why on earth we chose to wander down the back alley to such a place, but the food’s reputation had preceded it. Now, when I write “food”, you may imagine several options, however it’s important to emphasize that at J. Cruz, you order one thing, and that is a huge plate of french fries with cooked onions and bites of steak on top. This does not necessarily sound like it should be Ashley and my kind of place, but it is awesome. Hands down the best french fries I’ve ever had, I desperately wish I could share them with all of you. Save money. Buy plane tickets to Chile. The fries’ll be on me.
Queer Eye anyone?
I also had a change of attitude toward my room yesterday that I’m incredibly excited about. When I first moved in, I wasn’t exactly enthralled with my room, but, like several things here, I told myself it was only five months, and that I would just live with it. Finally, a month and a half into my stay, I was getting a bit weary of the stained comforter on my bed and the mildewed walls. Constantly complaining to myself in my head, my frustration was growing. Finally, Tuesday night, I snapped to it. “Am I not an American?” I asked myself. “Was I not born in the land of Trading Spaces and Queer Eye for the Straight Guy? Surely I can make something of this situation. It’s the American thing to do.” So today began my quest to remake my room. Granted I can’t do much with it seeing as my family doesn’t even like me to move my lamp around, but what can be done, will be done. (P.S. Mom and Dad, perhaps this would be a good time to tell you that the credit card bill that will be coming to the house this month includes a few house making items such as pillows and throws to cover up aforementioned stained comforter. I figured this would not be something to which you would object.) Perhaps not the most exciting thing to be happening in a foreign land, but for the home decorator in all of us, I will post some before and after pictures in a couple weeks. And if anyone has suggestions of how to remake a somewhat barren room (with a large and unidentified object sitting in the corner), I would be in your debt!
Finally, a quick apology is in order for my especially poor writing quality of late. I’m always writing blog entries late at night, the only time I really have the opportunity to, saving them to my computer, and then posting them when I’m able to sneak online. My family loves the internet, and there’s almost always someone who’s not really willing to give it up. Also, the constant switch between Spanish and English means I really don’t speak either language well. What all this amounts to is me constantly writing entries in a semi-drugged state of exhaustion. Hopefully the grammatical errors aren’t great and the interest-level of posted material isn’t completely miniscule!
