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. :)
Monday, August 30, 2004
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!
Friday, August 20, 2004
The week in review
Well, the title was originally going to be “The week in review”, but I guess at this point it’s been more like two. To those to whom I promised an update at the beginning of this week, I am quite sorry. I had a huge exam on Wednesday (which I most certainly did not do well on), and had hundreds of pages of reading to do for it. And the one time I took a quick study break to blog some short proof of life, Internet Explorer died and I lost what I had written. And to those with whom I was trying to talk online early this week, I sincerely apologize for disappearing; the internet at my friend’s house died and we couldn’t figure out how to fix it. At any rate, it’s been an exciting two weeks, and if you have the stamina to read about it, then continue.
I left for Santiago immediately after posting the last entry and got to see my host family’s family. First we visited my host cousin and her newborn daughter. My host cousin and her husband also have a two-year-old son who was in that cute trying-to-talk stage, and the grandmother was there as well (my host aunt? it’s hard to keep track) to help out. I finally had my first Chilean Mama experience. I am the third student my host mother has had, so I think she’s accustomed to not forcing food down poor foreigners throats, which is usually quite pleasant. It was great to have the experience, however, of being in a house where the food was just overflowing from the table. Let’s not joke around, it’s my equivalent of heaven.
After my host cousin’s house, I went to my host grandparents’ house where we spent the night. It wasn’t huge, and it certainly wasn’t warm (in case I’ve forgotten to mention it, buildings here don’t have heat, and Santiago gets COLD at night), but it was so homey. It was really nice because it reminded me a lot of visiting my real grandma in the Pocono’s – a house that seems not to have changed in ages, with all the colors of the ‘70s in all the furniture. But more than anything else, it was like Grandma’s house because of the cousin’s that lived right next-door, just like Bridget and Maggie do! It was so much fun to feel like I was interacting with a big family again, with tons of people talking and laughing and eating tons!
This week was slightly less easy. I have to say I felt a few more pangs of homesickness than usual. Most of that is because on Wednesday, it was finally decided that I definitely had fleas. That’s right, fleas. You may have thought only dogs get them, but here in Chile, it’s quite common for people to have those itchy, pesky insects – you often get them from the micros (busses). That was definitely a Caitlin-where-the-heck-are-you kind of day. I’m certainly not the first person in my program to have them either, which makes it slightly easier to laugh about. I hope you are all able to do the same with me and not disown me for my parasitic visitors.
And on that note, an amusing conversation relayed to me by Lucy, from when she told her mother over the phone that she had fleas…
Lucy: Mom, I have fleas.
Lucy’s Mom: Fleas?
Lucy: Yeah, a lot of us on the program have them. You can get them from the micros.
LM: Do people, like, bring live chickens on?
Lucy: No, Mom, the people here have fleas.
LM: Oh. Wow.
A change of sheets later, however, I’m moving on. And quite in time, since the Fiesta Naval military ball was on Saturday night. Rewind for one moment to Friday night, when Sara, Ashley, and I went out with our dates to a bar since Ashley and Sara hadn’t met theirs yet. (Sara was originally going to go with Luis, whom she danced with at the club last week, but he decided not to take her after she dodged every one of his kiss attempts.) We had a relatively good time, a group setting where there was much less pressure to avoid awkward dancing. The only highlight of the night was when my date asked me if I liked my hair the length it is and then had a short but direct discussion with the other two guys about how girl’s hair should be longer. Cool.
So Saturday night when we went to the ball, my expectations weren’t high, but I was at least excited to be getting dressed up. I knew there would be good reason to bring my Chambers dress to Chile. Ashley and I headed to Sara’s house to get changed and do makeup, hair, etc…basically to be girly for a little bit. We got there around 7:40 because our dates told us Friday that they would pick us up at 8:30. As soon as we walk in the door, however, Sara tells us that Luis called to say he’s be there at 8. Not optimal, but 20 minutes is still plenty for a girl to get ready, so we set to work. Then, around 10 or 5 to 8, we got another call saying that Jean Pierre would be coming to pick up his date too. Now, our dates were named Christian, Matthias, Luis, Sebastian, and Benjamin. There was no Jean Pierre. It turns out the military isn’t real big on advanced warning, and they wanted us to find another girl to go to the ball with this last guy. Super. Luckily, a friend of Daniela’s was at the house, and we threw her in a skirt and black shirt with some makeup quickly and were ready to go. Us American chicks are resourceful.
We were taking a van-type car with driver that the boys had rented, which made us all quite happy since we had been nervous about what we would do if our dates drank too much, something that we knew was almost a definite. Of course, the boys showed up in full uniform, being a formal military event, which just made the whole evening a lot more comical. Overall, it was a really great time. The food was good, the music was fun, and the whole place was really well decorated. Sure, maybe we weren’t the perfect dates in terms of what military men are looking for – Sara scolded them as being culturally insensitive for saying Chinese and Japanese food are all the same thing, and I attempted to explain to my date how anti-gay policies in the military are discriminatory and wrong – but we still made it through the night with smiles on all faces. I was also happy to have gone out with them the week before – I knew all of Cristian’s moves so that I could easily dodge kisses and attempts to grind. Sometimes it’s definitely in a woman’s advantage to have a bad dancing partner, especially if she’s the type who naturally tries to lead. I made up my mind early on in the night that there would be no making out on the dance floor, no attempts of his to put my hands on his ass (who dances like that?!), and we were all better off for it. I was also much more comfortable knowing that we had had the pololeando conversation the week before – the we’re-not-dating-and-here’s-why conversation…I thought.
Towards the end of the dance, Christian began trying to tell me something. The music being really loud (and the language being Spanish), I could barely make out what he was saying. So I dragged him outside to some tables and said, “Alright, what are you trying to say.” What follows is a loose translation of the whole conversation since it’s just too good to miss out on. I decided to be firm, I decided to be strong…I decided to lie my heart out. I took my little white lie of an “andandte” (boyfriend) from the week before and made it a theatrical work (and played the part rather well I must say).
Christian, Chilean Military Man (of a whole 19 years of age): Remember what we talked about last week?
Me, US Seductress that you know I am: We talked about a lot of things last week…other American students… (he gives me a look)…pololeando (dating)?
C: Yeah.
M: What about it?
C: Are we?
M: I told you last week, I have an andante (less serious boyfriend).
C: Yeah, so?
M: Well (and this is where I decided to pull out all the stops), Christian, I don’t know you very well, but I’m going to confide something in you: I think I’m in love with my andante. We’ve been talking a lot, and I really just want to be with him. And while I’m not sure yet if he feels the same way, I just can’t go out with anyone else while I’m so in love with him.
C: But he’s very far away, and you’re here until December.
M: Yes, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m in love. It just wouldn’t be right for me to go out with anyone else right now. (He looks frustrated.) Besides, you don’t like short hair.
C: That doesn’t matter.
M: It’s just not right. But you’re my friend, right?
C: (He corrects a grammatical error I made in the last sentence, and then,) yeah, sure.
M: Let’s go dance…
And that’s the point at which he started looking moody. Luckily there were about 10 minutes of songs left, and then a short drive home, but he was not exactly a happy camper. I’m hoping the fact that his friend made fun of him in the car had more to do with it than I did, but you never know. I’m quite the heartbreaker :-P. He was able to perk up enough on the way home to ask how old my blonde sister was…I quickly told him not old enough (not to mention way to far away). My estimation of the whole situation is lonely military boys who have to move fast given that they only have the weekends to do any moving whatsoever. Still, it’s certainly a funny story to write home about.
I wonder if they realize how funny we all think the uniform makes the situation…This was taken at the end of the night, after Sara sat her date down and told him a similar story to mine that wasn’t a lie, he got drunk and decided to test out his English, and Ashley effectively dodged attempted kisses and “you’re super beautiful” compliments. Really, who says that? And yes, those are stuffed dogs in our hands – presents from the military academy.
Ashley and I decided to have our own after-party at her house, formal dress optional.
One lesson to take from the whole experience is that dating in Chile is just not an option for me. The male-female relations here are so foreign to me that unless I found a really progressive man, I can’t ever imagine fitting the cultural requirements of a girlfriend, nor can I imagine wanting to have a culturally adequate man. And these are not the type of norms people step out of a whole lot. While Chile is a very modern country in many ways, women are still expected to serve men, men to look after women. Men are always given their food first at meals (thank God I live in a house of just women and don’t have to see it every day), the women are to make sure they are comfortable and happy. It was not acceptable for me to go to the bathroom by myself at the naval ball, Christian had to accompany me and wait at the door. And while I was going out with some pretty rigid boys in a rather strict setting, even in the most seemingly normal of houses, girls go as far as to break their boyfriends crackers apart for them, because that’s what is supposed to be done. Perhaps I’m not describing it very well, but please believe me when I say the interaction is just completely foreign to me.
And to end, because I’ve once again blabbed on for quite a long time, I’ve ventured into the Pacific Ocean for the first time! I’ve been told that it’s never really warm enough to swim here and that the water is some of the coldest in the world, but I’ve at least put my feet in. And really, just the fact that the weather is getting better and I can walk and sit by the ocean is good enough for me!
Sooo much cooler than Chilean Military Men. When Lynnae and I were on the beach taking these pictures, a little girl about Brianna’s age came up to us and asked if we were “on holiday”. Woohoo for little kids with British accents and being by the beach.
Well, the title was originally going to be “The week in review”, but I guess at this point it’s been more like two. To those to whom I promised an update at the beginning of this week, I am quite sorry. I had a huge exam on Wednesday (which I most certainly did not do well on), and had hundreds of pages of reading to do for it. And the one time I took a quick study break to blog some short proof of life, Internet Explorer died and I lost what I had written. And to those with whom I was trying to talk online early this week, I sincerely apologize for disappearing; the internet at my friend’s house died and we couldn’t figure out how to fix it. At any rate, it’s been an exciting two weeks, and if you have the stamina to read about it, then continue.
I left for Santiago immediately after posting the last entry and got to see my host family’s family. First we visited my host cousin and her newborn daughter. My host cousin and her husband also have a two-year-old son who was in that cute trying-to-talk stage, and the grandmother was there as well (my host aunt? it’s hard to keep track) to help out. I finally had my first Chilean Mama experience. I am the third student my host mother has had, so I think she’s accustomed to not forcing food down poor foreigners throats, which is usually quite pleasant. It was great to have the experience, however, of being in a house where the food was just overflowing from the table. Let’s not joke around, it’s my equivalent of heaven.
After my host cousin’s house, I went to my host grandparents’ house where we spent the night. It wasn’t huge, and it certainly wasn’t warm (in case I’ve forgotten to mention it, buildings here don’t have heat, and Santiago gets COLD at night), but it was so homey. It was really nice because it reminded me a lot of visiting my real grandma in the Pocono’s – a house that seems not to have changed in ages, with all the colors of the ‘70s in all the furniture. But more than anything else, it was like Grandma’s house because of the cousin’s that lived right next-door, just like Bridget and Maggie do! It was so much fun to feel like I was interacting with a big family again, with tons of people talking and laughing and eating tons!
This week was slightly less easy. I have to say I felt a few more pangs of homesickness than usual. Most of that is because on Wednesday, it was finally decided that I definitely had fleas. That’s right, fleas. You may have thought only dogs get them, but here in Chile, it’s quite common for people to have those itchy, pesky insects – you often get them from the micros (busses). That was definitely a Caitlin-where-the-heck-are-you kind of day. I’m certainly not the first person in my program to have them either, which makes it slightly easier to laugh about. I hope you are all able to do the same with me and not disown me for my parasitic visitors.
And on that note, an amusing conversation relayed to me by Lucy, from when she told her mother over the phone that she had fleas…
Lucy: Mom, I have fleas.
Lucy’s Mom: Fleas?
Lucy: Yeah, a lot of us on the program have them. You can get them from the micros.
LM: Do people, like, bring live chickens on?
Lucy: No, Mom, the people here have fleas.
LM: Oh. Wow.
A change of sheets later, however, I’m moving on. And quite in time, since the Fiesta Naval military ball was on Saturday night. Rewind for one moment to Friday night, when Sara, Ashley, and I went out with our dates to a bar since Ashley and Sara hadn’t met theirs yet. (Sara was originally going to go with Luis, whom she danced with at the club last week, but he decided not to take her after she dodged every one of his kiss attempts.) We had a relatively good time, a group setting where there was much less pressure to avoid awkward dancing. The only highlight of the night was when my date asked me if I liked my hair the length it is and then had a short but direct discussion with the other two guys about how girl’s hair should be longer. Cool.
So Saturday night when we went to the ball, my expectations weren’t high, but I was at least excited to be getting dressed up. I knew there would be good reason to bring my Chambers dress to Chile. Ashley and I headed to Sara’s house to get changed and do makeup, hair, etc…basically to be girly for a little bit. We got there around 7:40 because our dates told us Friday that they would pick us up at 8:30. As soon as we walk in the door, however, Sara tells us that Luis called to say he’s be there at 8. Not optimal, but 20 minutes is still plenty for a girl to get ready, so we set to work. Then, around 10 or 5 to 8, we got another call saying that Jean Pierre would be coming to pick up his date too. Now, our dates were named Christian, Matthias, Luis, Sebastian, and Benjamin. There was no Jean Pierre. It turns out the military isn’t real big on advanced warning, and they wanted us to find another girl to go to the ball with this last guy. Super. Luckily, a friend of Daniela’s was at the house, and we threw her in a skirt and black shirt with some makeup quickly and were ready to go. Us American chicks are resourceful.
We were taking a van-type car with driver that the boys had rented, which made us all quite happy since we had been nervous about what we would do if our dates drank too much, something that we knew was almost a definite. Of course, the boys showed up in full uniform, being a formal military event, which just made the whole evening a lot more comical. Overall, it was a really great time. The food was good, the music was fun, and the whole place was really well decorated. Sure, maybe we weren’t the perfect dates in terms of what military men are looking for – Sara scolded them as being culturally insensitive for saying Chinese and Japanese food are all the same thing, and I attempted to explain to my date how anti-gay policies in the military are discriminatory and wrong – but we still made it through the night with smiles on all faces. I was also happy to have gone out with them the week before – I knew all of Cristian’s moves so that I could easily dodge kisses and attempts to grind. Sometimes it’s definitely in a woman’s advantage to have a bad dancing partner, especially if she’s the type who naturally tries to lead. I made up my mind early on in the night that there would be no making out on the dance floor, no attempts of his to put my hands on his ass (who dances like that?!), and we were all better off for it. I was also much more comfortable knowing that we had had the pololeando conversation the week before – the we’re-not-dating-and-here’s-why conversation…I thought.
Towards the end of the dance, Christian began trying to tell me something. The music being really loud (and the language being Spanish), I could barely make out what he was saying. So I dragged him outside to some tables and said, “Alright, what are you trying to say.” What follows is a loose translation of the whole conversation since it’s just too good to miss out on. I decided to be firm, I decided to be strong…I decided to lie my heart out. I took my little white lie of an “andandte” (boyfriend) from the week before and made it a theatrical work (and played the part rather well I must say).
Christian, Chilean Military Man (of a whole 19 years of age): Remember what we talked about last week?
Me, US Seductress that you know I am: We talked about a lot of things last week…other American students… (he gives me a look)…pololeando (dating)?
C: Yeah.
M: What about it?
C: Are we?
M: I told you last week, I have an andante (less serious boyfriend).
C: Yeah, so?
M: Well (and this is where I decided to pull out all the stops), Christian, I don’t know you very well, but I’m going to confide something in you: I think I’m in love with my andante. We’ve been talking a lot, and I really just want to be with him. And while I’m not sure yet if he feels the same way, I just can’t go out with anyone else while I’m so in love with him.
C: But he’s very far away, and you’re here until December.
M: Yes, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m in love. It just wouldn’t be right for me to go out with anyone else right now. (He looks frustrated.) Besides, you don’t like short hair.
C: That doesn’t matter.
M: It’s just not right. But you’re my friend, right?
C: (He corrects a grammatical error I made in the last sentence, and then,) yeah, sure.
M: Let’s go dance…
And that’s the point at which he started looking moody. Luckily there were about 10 minutes of songs left, and then a short drive home, but he was not exactly a happy camper. I’m hoping the fact that his friend made fun of him in the car had more to do with it than I did, but you never know. I’m quite the heartbreaker :-P. He was able to perk up enough on the way home to ask how old my blonde sister was…I quickly told him not old enough (not to mention way to far away). My estimation of the whole situation is lonely military boys who have to move fast given that they only have the weekends to do any moving whatsoever. Still, it’s certainly a funny story to write home about.
I wonder if they realize how funny we all think the uniform makes the situation…This was taken at the end of the night, after Sara sat her date down and told him a similar story to mine that wasn’t a lie, he got drunk and decided to test out his English, and Ashley effectively dodged attempted kisses and “you’re super beautiful” compliments. Really, who says that? And yes, those are stuffed dogs in our hands – presents from the military academy.
Ashley and I decided to have our own after-party at her house, formal dress optional.
One lesson to take from the whole experience is that dating in Chile is just not an option for me. The male-female relations here are so foreign to me that unless I found a really progressive man, I can’t ever imagine fitting the cultural requirements of a girlfriend, nor can I imagine wanting to have a culturally adequate man. And these are not the type of norms people step out of a whole lot. While Chile is a very modern country in many ways, women are still expected to serve men, men to look after women. Men are always given their food first at meals (thank God I live in a house of just women and don’t have to see it every day), the women are to make sure they are comfortable and happy. It was not acceptable for me to go to the bathroom by myself at the naval ball, Christian had to accompany me and wait at the door. And while I was going out with some pretty rigid boys in a rather strict setting, even in the most seemingly normal of houses, girls go as far as to break their boyfriends crackers apart for them, because that’s what is supposed to be done. Perhaps I’m not describing it very well, but please believe me when I say the interaction is just completely foreign to me.
And to end, because I’ve once again blabbed on for quite a long time, I’ve ventured into the Pacific Ocean for the first time! I’ve been told that it’s never really warm enough to swim here and that the water is some of the coldest in the world, but I’ve at least put my feet in. And really, just the fact that the weather is getting better and I can walk and sit by the ocean is good enough for me!
Sooo much cooler than Chilean Military Men. When Lynnae and I were on the beach taking these pictures, a little girl about Brianna’s age came up to us and asked if we were “on holiday”. Woohoo for little kids with British accents and being by the beach.
Saturday, August 07, 2004
It is absolutely gorgeous in Viña del Mar today. The weather has been positively chilling at night, but during the day, the sun comes out and it feels like mid-Spring. The last couple of days have been quite busy, and I thought I would write about them quickly before I take off on a bus for Santiago.
In Chile, there seems to be a peluqueria, or hair salon, on every block. So it did not make the most of sense when Jenn and I decided to cut our hair together, but any excuse for a party that costs absolutely no money is hard to turn down. Besides, I was just aiming to get rid of the femullet (translation: female mullet) that I seemed to be quickly acquiring and was wary of trying to explain that to a hair cutter in Spanish. So cut we did, in Jenn’s bathroom. Jenn’s was a dramatic change – she had been growing her hair long in anticipation of her wedding, but decided she liked her hair better short and could still do fun things with it and a veil. I approved :). Then the two of us together worked on my mullet situation, and I have to say I’m confident that we did a good job. Sure, the next hairdresser I go to will probably be appalled at how uneven everything is, but I have wavy hair, these things aren’t important to me. Bottom line is, in case you were wondering, hair cutting parties are where it’s at for a good time in Chile. For your own party, try to make sure your host mother comes home right in the middle of the process so she can try to explain to you in Spanish why she thinks you’re crazy.
A few hours after the hair-cutting extravaganza, Jenn and I were partying again, but this time at a real carrete. Explanation: in Chile, people don’t say salir (to leave or go out) as much as they do carretear. It’s one word to say go-out-drinking-and-dancing-until-at-least-five-in-the-morning. Basically, party Chilean-style. Not exactly my every-night cup of tea, but dancing is fun, staying up late can be too, and I definitely feel I need to embrace some Chilean youth culture while I’m here. So Friday night, 16 gringos and Sara’s host sister Daniela headed to what is fast becoming our regular place, Olé. Sure, it sounds very Cheers-meets-resort-town-alcoholism to have a “regular place” so quickly, but it has really cheap happy hour prices (which for weak foreigners like us, is fine since we always go out super early anyway), a fun atmosphere, and karaoke! What could be better? So after a few drinks and some karaoke, we headed from there to Scratch (pronounced, like all things beginning with “s” here, with an “e” at the beginning, sounding more like “escrech”). It wasn’t amazing, especially since the dancing, the only part I was really interested in, was hindered by the tons of people there. One guy started dancing with me and then announced proudly that he had some joints for later if I was interested. It’s funny the things “blonde” hair will attract here. Still, it was an experience, and I made some new friends in the bathroom: two drunk girls who thought it was great that I was from Pennsylvania and quickly told me they had a friend in Texas, what a coincidence. I woke up the next morning (yesterday) glad I did it, but not anxious to do it again.
Which was why I was not totally pleased to learn that a bunch of marines wanted to carretear the following evening. But perhaps that requires a bit more explanation. I, Caitlin, slightly skeptical of military schools after friends dated VFMA guys, am going to a military ball. I know, pretty crazy. The Chilean naval school is here in Viña del Mar, and since men have to come from all over Chile to attend, they often stay with neighborhood families on the weekends instead of going home. One such marine lives with another student on my exchange program, so his host mother began to search among the gringas for dates for a few of the boys. Sara, Katie, and I were the lucky ones. Last night was our getting-to-know-each-other night. All we knew was that we were going over to the apartment at 9:30 to meet them, and we were desperately hoping that after the previous evening we wouldn’t be out too late. We got into the elevator with our new boys, whose accents were painfully thick, and found out we were heading to a pub and then Valparaíso to dance. Reluctant, but eventually willing, we decided to go along with it and knew that we could all head out together if necessary. We were lucky we decided to go because the discotheque in Valpo ended up being much more fun. The music was good and there was plenty of room to dance.
Still, the night wasn’t without it’s own interesting side effects. It turned out that my marine was also a big fan of pot and had been missing it ever since joining the academy. Not my favorite topic of conversation, but we didn’t have to talk that much since we were all dancing at that point. That didn’t stop him from poking at my belly and calling me fat though. Now, it’s not uncommon for Chileans to affectionately call each other things like “little fat one”, but it was still a little uncomfortable since he was obviously not impressed by my constant need to eat. Soon after calling me fat, he also was sure to tuck in my bra strap that had slipped out from under my tank top a bit, making me think he thought I was both gluttonous and a slut. The American slut strikes again! Not that I really cared what he thought, but I certainly couldn’t imagine spending the rest of the night dancing with him after that. He obviously couldn’t have thought I was that unappealing though, because then we had a ten minute conversation about why I didn’t want to date him, finally ending with me saying, “let’s just go back and dance.” In the end, it really was a fun night, but certainly comical. When we left the club and Sara and I announced that we really needed to buy hot dogs at the same place the guys were buying their sandwiches, they seemed positively disturbed that I would want to eat again after making everyone wait while I bought cookies before the club. Some social things here I will just never get used to.
That ended up being quite a bit longer than I expected, so I hope it wasn’t too boring. Expect more pictures soon…the military ball is in a week!
Thursday, August 05, 2004
My little home, or mi casita, as we would say in Chile. You notice quickly here the phenomenon of making everything small by popping “ito” on the end of it. This is my living room area, complete with drying laundry. My family is one of the few in this area that has a dryer, but we don’t use it because it takes a lot of energy and is quite expensive.
The view from my balcony, which is directly behind the curtains in the previous picture. You can see much of Viña de Mar from our apartment, and a little bit of the ocean on the left.
I left my little house this weekend for an adventure in La Serena, another coastal town about 7 hours north. I knew it wouldn’t be that much warmer, but my friends and I figured anywhere north was better than south, and we had a long weekend, so we took off. Due to some technical errors (I got confused about what time the bus was supposed to leave and we missed it), we didn’t get on the road until Sunday morning at 8 am. It wasn’t a huge deal though and, as promised by other Chilean travelers, the bus was amazing. It was cleaner than any bus I’ve ever taken, the seats reclined quite comfortably, a movie was shown and food was served. Of course, I was asleep for the food, but at least I got to see a bit of Misión Imposible II.
We arrived at the La Serena bus stop at around 2 and hopped a cab to the hostel where I had booked a room. That’s right, this was a hostel where we got a triple to ourselves, along with cable and a private bathroom. All for 6,000 pesos a piece per night, or about $9 US. Not too shabby. Unfortunately, it was Sunday afternoon when we got there, which meant a lot of things were closed, especially in a smaller town like La Serena. We walked around the center of town a little and then headed to the market to get an early dinner – we’re lucky there were still places that catered to US tourists who get hungry much earlier and for much more food than the any Chilean when it comes to dinner.
So the view wasn’t great…our hostel was still cute and run by the sweetest family. Plus, breakfast was included, so I was sold.
A street corner in La Serena.
The next day, Monday, we took off on a tour of the Valle del Elqui. Ricardo, our driver, spoke virtually no English. Hector, our guide, had studied abroad in Michigan in high school, and remembered enough English to give the tour. We were fine with the Spanish, however our tour-mates, two girls from the Czech Republic, were not. They had met each other in Ireland taking English classes, and decided to take off on a daring vacation to Chile without speaking any Spanish. All this meant that we were seven people, with five languages between us (English, Spanish, German, Czech, and Swedish, the last three compliments of our new friends), and not a single commonlanguage. Hector did most of the translating, but the rest of us tried our hands at it as well, and had a good time of it actually.
We stopped by a dam built in the Elqui Valley to supply water to the people of the surrounding area.
We went on a tour of the Capel plant, the biggest producer of Pisco in Chile. Pisco is a sort of un-aged whiskey that has become the national drink of Chile. I’m not such a huge fan, but it was cool to see how it was made and do some sampling. The company also makes some tasty wines that they were nice enough to let us try.
Jenn, myself, and Michelle, where the clear and muddy rivers join into one in the Elqui Valley. It’s really cool because you can still see the waters separately for several yards into the joined river.
Our new Czech friends who, it should be mentioned, spoke English with the most adorable Irish accents!
My new friend, Nico. He was a six-year-old boy sitting on the side of the road by his mother’s little shop. We stopped to take pictures of the valley and I talked to him for a little while. The people of Chile won’t often open up to you right away, but if you initiate, almost anyone will have a conversation with an interested gringa.
We also did a little Gabriela Mistral touring and saw her gravesite, a replica of her house, and the museum dedicated to her. The restaurant at the museum was quite tasty! Overall, the tour was beautiful and fun, and a great break from endless orientation. Jenn and I decided we need to be doing a lot of touring since our bus ride was so cheap (about $15 US round trip) and comfortable.
Jenn and I on my bed in our little hostel room.
The return trip was unfortunately bad and made us seriously reconsider some of the bus trips we’d been planning. I don’t think the majority of busses are like this one, from what I’ve heard, but it was certainly not the comfortable, clean, and climate controlled bus we took to La Serena. “Sketch Express” would better describe the vehicle we rode on. The air conditioning was obviously not working, which was a disappointment due to the fact that the bus smelled stiflingly like a bus or plane bathroom. The whole time. There were several screaming children, not improved by the fact that the father of the crying baby was obviously a few parenting lessons short of necessary…the things he said to his baby were not things I wanted to hear, let alone hear said to a child. Our bus also seemed incapable of traveling over 50 miles per hour, which meant that we didn’t arrive in Viña del Mar for over 7 hours. The moment that took the cake, however, was when our bus driver missed our exit and began to drive in reverse on the shoulder of the highway. Three cheers for traveling in Chile. At least there were gorgeous views the whole time. The country’s natural beauty seems to make up for a lot, and I’m using it to stay positive and have a great time. Next stop: skiing in the Andes! August is supposed to be the best time for it!
