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.
Wednesday, November 03, 2004
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!
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!
