A Hodgepodge Update

I've been a little MIA the past few weeks. Really no excuse for that, but here are a few things I've been up to...

- Trying to keep myself straight about what month/season we are in. The changeable Santiago weather doesn't help, though it seems like summer has officially arrived here, with sunny days (is the sun actually brighter here, or is it just me?) and temps in the mid to high 80s (that means mid to high 90s in the metro, yuck). Despite the weather, knowing that it is November has me all screwed up. Everything I read from the U.S. (read: friend's facebook pictures, cooking blogs, Washington Post's Going Out Guide) screams of fall. And as it's my favorite season, I feel like I'm experiencing some sort of strange "phantom limb" syndrome about it. With Thanksgiving and the beginning of the Christmas season looming I feel it's just going to get worse.

- Halloween in Chile. Chileans are caught in a sort of limbo over Halloween. I couldn't get a straight answer from the Chileans I talked to about whether it's even celebrated. Some would say "Oh yes! Se celebra harto!* Everyone dresses up!" Others would tell me it's just for kids. How long it's been celebrated also seemed to be in dispute. Twenty somethings and sixty somethings alike claimed that the beginnings of Halloween's popularity in Chile lay during their colegio* days. There were certainly a number of costume parties advertised, and I saw a bunch of little kids running around in their costumes in the park near my house, but on the whole, the enthusiasm for Halloween is underwhelming. Besides that, as it's in its nascent stage as a holiday here, Chileans are stuck in that concept of Halloween as "scary." Every costume I saw was a dead something or a zombie something or an ax-murderer something.

Needless to say, they didn't quite get my costume: a Chilean nana.* A piece of background: in Chile, everyone has a nana, regardless of social status, and everyone makes their nanas wear uniforms. So, when the nana is out, doing what the nanas do here, which is everything (taking the kids to the park,  getting groceries, walking the dog, cleaning the windows, mowing the lawn (no, Santiaguinos don't really have lawns, but it was a funny mental image)), the uniform marks the nana for all the world as a domestic servant. They actually have entire stores devoted to nana uniforms. Unfortunately, but not surprisingly, one of these stores, where I wanted to buy my costume, was closed on the Saturday before Halloween. Luckily though, for the bargain price of 6 mil pesos ($12) you can buy your nana a spankin' new uniform at your neighborhood....grocery strore! Just one aisle over from the yogurts and the unrefrigerated boxed milk!

My friend took some pictures, and I will be sure to post one once she gets them up, but basically I wore a baby pink checkered smock-like dress, tucked a rag and some clothes pins in my pocket, and carried a plastic grocery bag as my purse. Of course, in true gringo-Halloween fashion, which "sexy-fies" even the most unlikely suspects, I wore heels and cinched my smock with a skinny belt.

- Celebrated my first out-of-town birthday with lunch at one of my favorite restaurants in Santiago. Below is a picture of only round one of my desserts that day :)

- Studying for the GRE. For anyone who, like me, hasn't taken a math class since high school (Mathematics in Society Freshman year just doesn't count), trust me, it's a painful, painful experience trying to relearn the FOIL method, or how to find the volume of a cylinder, or what the sides are on a 45-45-90 triangle. I don't recommend it.

-Starting to make plans for post-December 10, my last day of classes at Duoc. A beach vacation to Brazil or Colombia might be in the cards before heading back stateside. Click away on those links anyone who might be able to get away to the southern hemisphere between Christmas and New Years. You have the will of steel if they don't convince you.

Besos!

*It's celebrated a ton/so much!
* grade/high school
*housekeeper

Overexposure?

Though we still have thirty degree termperature swings from day to night, the weather is getting gorgeous here in Santiago. The past two weekends have been absolutely spectacular, and, after a long, grey winter (well, actually, two winters in a row, with a brief Santiago fall), my sun-starved friends and I were anxious to soak up some rays. There's a huge park pretty close to where I live and four of us donned our bathing suits and planted ourselves on the grass for a few hours. We received a couple strange looks from passing joggers, but nothing out of the ordinary for Chile. As I'm sure I've noted before, Chileans will stare unabashedly at anything that is even the slightest bit out of the ordinary.  Four girls in bikinis in a park fell into this category. Or so we thought.

Like good addicts, we got a taste and wanted more. We returned Sunday for a few more hours worth of Vitamin B. Unfortunately, we were not so lucky round two and were approached almost immediately  by some jotes (Spanish for vultures, but used for creepy, pestering men). We tried our best to ignore them, pretending to not speak Spanish, and trying to continue our conversations. When that failed we told them curtly to leave us alone, but it became clear that we would have no choice but to leave. Luckily as we were leaving a friend who has a rooftop pool called, we told her about our predicament, she laughed and said to come right over. We spent the rest of a beautiful afternoon with a much better view.

It wasn't until this weekend at a friend of a friend's birthday lunch in the country that I realized just how out of the ordinary our tomando el sol en bikini en el parque* really was. Chelsey and I recounted our story, which proved to be a real crowd-pleaser. The Chileans we were with just couldn't believe that we were using a park as our personal sun deck. They asked if police had approached us (they hadn't), and laughingly accused us of trying to cause a desorden público.* They were full of suggestions: go to the public pool on San Cristobal (it doesn't open until mid November), come to my apartment building any time you want, try Parque O'Higgins (this last suggestion reflecting Chileans' ingrained classism--apparently, our behavior was more suited to the lower class recreational area downtown than to chi-chi Las Condes).

Wait a minute. Help a gringa get this straight. You go to a pool or the beach in Chile, or any other Latin American country, and the bathing suit cut of choice is a thong, and no one looks twice. Women are laying around with their entire booties exposed and no one bats an eye. But.....we sit outside--in a large, sunny, open area, where men are playing soccer shirtless, people are lounging reading in shorts and tanktops, young couples are making out in the grass (this is a park in Chile, after all)--and we decide to wear our extremely-modest-by-Chilean-standards bathing suits, and it causes a public disturbance? As they say here in Chile, INJUSTICIA!!!

*Sunbathing in bikinis in the park 
* public disturbance

September 18th: Feliz 200th Cumpleaños Chile!

My students gave me fair warning. I should have known from their reaction--outrage tinged with despair--the first time I wrote on the board "Quiz Units 1 & 2- Wednesday, September 22."  "Miss," they told me candidly, "this will not be good. We will be con caña* and we will not be able to study." Gringa that I am, I just didn't get it. Yes, I knew that we had two and a half days off, plus the weekend in between, for Chile's bicentennial independence day celebration, and yes, I had heard all about the parties, dancing and drinking. But, in my denial, I thought, they can't possibly party the entire five days. Word to the wise: don't underestimate Chileans' stamina when it comes to celebrating dieciocho. 

It really all started a couple of weeks ago with the flags. Chileans put the U.S. to shame when it comes to putting their national pride on display. My guesstimate: 95% of houses, apartment buildings, and offices flew a flag, three in every five cabbies sported the blue, red, and white, whether in mini flags or streamers, and countless vendors sold flags of all sizes to passersby.

On Thursday the 16th everything closed half day, and many Santiaguinos packed the freeways and headed out of the city. I stuck around for the light show at la Moneda, the presidential palace downtown. Packed onto the lawn in front of the building we waited...true to form, the show started (almost a full hour) behind schedule. It was spectacular (though, shorty that I am I think I saw much more of the back of people's heads than the show) and an energetic kick-off to the bicentennial. However, it was, without a doubt, the most poorly planned public event I have ever attended. My mild claustrophobia (and anxiety thinking about a mass exit of 60,000 people ) kicked in and Stoddie and I made our way to the fringe of the crowd about fifteen minutes before the show ended. Even so, it was tough going. Roads were blocked for no apparent reason, creating even more congestion in the ones that were open. And the kicker: those 60,000 people I mentioned, the only option for them to get home were the buses. The metro operates only until 11. You'd think that the city, after luring that many people to one spot with an awesome light show, would make an exception and keep it running. By the grace of god, Stoddie and I caught a taxi. My other friends were not as lucky and had to push and shove their way onto packed buses, and that's after waiting almost an hour for one to stop.

Friday we headed to Valparaiso with the intention of checking out the scene on the coast and catching the city's talked about fireworks that night. My friend Chelsey had heard about a fonda in the neighboring city, Viña del Mar, so we caught a taxi over there to check it out.

In the weeks leading up to the fiestas patrias various Chileans had tried to explain to me exactly what a fonda is. Unfortunately, none of them had the English word that sums it up perfectly: county fair. Each city puts on at least one of these mini county fairs. Fondas are, depending on your perspective, either retro or ghetto versions of county fairs in the U.S. I prefer to view them as retro; a throwback to how they might have been fifty years ago. At the fondas you'll find all the typical fair games, but with a homemade spin; nothing is commercial or mass manufactured. For example, the classic game of throwing a ball to knock down a pyramid--at the fondas that pyramid is made of cans with the labels peeled off. And forget stuffed animals or water guns as prizes. In keeping with the overriding theme of dieciocho, most of the prizes are alcohol. First prize gets a fifth of Flor de Caña (Chilean equivalent of Captain Morgan's) second prize a flask of pisco, and third a six pack of Cristal (think Natural Light). But what about the kiddies?? We asked our Chilean friend and it seems young Chilenos are more generous than their North American counterparts: in the miraculous case (all the games are rigged) they win one such coveted prize, mommy or daddy gets some previa* material.

Family fun was happening all over the place at the fonda. Not sure if it was clean, as there was also lots of alcohol consumption happening all over the place, but kids and parents were definitely enjoying themselves, playing games, eating empanadas, buying knockoff Oakleys and beaded jewelry, and parading around in the traditional cueca* outfits.

The star attraction of the fondas would have to be the food and drink. A Chilean friend of mine told me about a month ago, when trying to explain what exactly goes down for dieciocho, that you can gain 4 kilos over the five day holiday. "No you must mean 4 pounds," I replied. She assured me--4 kilos. Now, I am a believer. The fonda is filled with little makeshift restaurants where the prominent menu item is carne. Whether skewered or slapped between a bun, meat, and the aroma of it charring, overpower the fonda. And to wash all that meat down obvio you need a nice, cold beverage (though, to be honest, it will probably be closer to room temp. No ice around here). To choose from you have Cristal by the litro, or chicha, a sweet young wine, by the jug, or terremotos, which I'd call the Chilean version of a Long Island Iced Tea. And if you opt for terremotos, you better stick to by the cup, preferably size small. They aren't called "earthquakes" for nothing.

After the fonda and the fireworks in Valpo (which were some of the best I've ever seen, by the way) we headed back to Santiago Saturday afternoon for Stoddie's last night in Chile. Going for a late afternoon walk, it was eery in the city--literally everything was closed. In Chile, as opposed to in the States, a holiday really is a holiday. With nowhere to go but Starbucks, Dunkin' Donuts, and gas station mini-marts there would be no boosting of the economy done by Chileans on these days off. My mind jumped to my empty pantry and refrigerator...I'd have to survive on the supply of Luna Bars Stoddie had brought me until Tuesday.

*hungover
*pregame
* national dance of Chile

From Snow to Surf

Less than three weeks after heading up into the Andes for the snow, I headed down to the beach town of Pichilemu for the surf. My friends Mike and Caren, Stoddie, who was visiting me for the week, and I, rented a cabaña right on the beach where some of the best surfing in Chile goes down. The town of Pichilemu was all but dead, it being mid-week and the off-season, but the surf school down the road was ready and waiting for us. We slipped (or rather, struggled) into our necessary but unflattering wetsuits and headed first to the sand, where we learned the technique, and then the icy cold and rough water. The 10 mil peso ($20) surf lesson was well worth it; if it weren't for our instructor Pablo pushing my board when a wave came up I doubt I would have been able to get up. But, as long as I didn't have to do the hard part--the paddling--I was able to ride a few. I think my experience with yoga helped a lot with the movement and stance, though doing a spin-off of warrior pose is a lot tougher while balancing on a moving piece of fiber glass. It was a lot of fun, though by the end of our hour in the water I was completely beat from struggling with the waves.

We unwound with an asado (cookout) of choripan, Chile's (more delicious) version of a hotdog, and some vino and watched the sunset from our deck.

 

In Pichilemu, I became more aware than ever of what Pablo, our surf teacher summed up as "Santiago no es Chile" (Santiago isn't Chile). It's amazing how different the lifestyle and feel is in this little beach town than in the capital city. The people are more friendly, there's less U.S. influence, and the pace of life seems slowed by about three times (and that means about 5 times slower than what we're used to in the States). Granted, it's a tourist town, and we were visiting in the equivalent of March, but even so, there just wasn't that much to the city. It made me think of the beaches at home, like Bethany and Rehoboth, but what I imagine they were like fifty years ago. It's an awesome place to spend a weekend, and its chill atmosphere kind of draws you in--after two days I wasn't to stoked to head back to bustling Santiago.

 

My Chilean TV Debut--Finally Found it

A couple months ago I posted about being interviewed for a Chilean news documentary about the earthquake. I had looked for the clip and was unable to find it...until now. Here's the link. My part is right around minute seven, but, if you know Spanish, the entire segment is really worth watching. But uff, it's tough to listen to my gringa accent in the midst of all these Chilenos. This clip might be just the incentive I need going into the second half of my time here to intensify my Spanish-improvement efforts.

Semester 2--So Far So Great

I don't want to jinx it (they could just be on their beginning-of-the-semester best behavior) but I'm in love with my students this semester. I have a fair amount of students from my last semester classes, which is great, but on the whole, all five of my classes have a pleasantly surprising percentage of respectful, interested students. It may sound pessimistic, but after some of what I dealt with last semester, and, worse, from the horror stories of some of my colleagues, this really is something to be grateful for.

I have the same intensive schedule--all five classes on two days--but instead of 5 sections of the same course (Basic 1) like I had last semester, I now have three Basics, and two Intermediates in the evenings. And the Intermediates...it's a fresh of breath air not to have to repeat myself twice more after already doing so three times. It's fun to be able to incorporate more conversation practice (they can actually hold them) and it's great because they can give more creative (and amusing) responses in oral drills. For example, we were working on the conditional, and one of the provided statements was "If you don't get married..." and they had to complete the sentence. When one student responded, "If you don't get married, you might have to get a pet." I couldn't help but smile, and even more so when he added, "It's cheaper." We also have been working on time contrasts: "In the past people...In the present people...In the future people will..." We did a drill where each student gives three statements about a person (the idea was it would be a famous person) and the rest of the class had to guess who it was. My two favorites: "In the past she was a he. Now she sells many records (but I don't like them). In the future she will probably die of a drug overdose." Lady Gaga anyone? And this one, bet you can't guess who it is: "In the past she lived in another country. Now she teaches English in Chile. In the future she will speak Spanish very well." :)

And it's not just a case of teacher's bias. After subbing for me last week, a colleague expressed similar amazement at how great my classes are, asking if we could please switch. There's no way, especially when my other sub told me how distraught my students were when "Miss Megan" wasn't there and how concerned they had been over whether I would be coming back. Ah, my heart. It's that kind of thing that makes all the lame excuses for missing class, all the times they won't stop talking in Spanish, and all the times that they won't open their mouths to participate no matter how I threaten, totally worth it.

Argentina on My Mind

The first five months I was in Chile I had this feeling. The feeling that if I visited Buenos Aires, Argentina's capital city, I would love it so much that it would make me regret that I hadn't chosen it as my South American home for the year. Part of it had to do with the rave reviews of the city that I got from every person who had ever visited or lived there. But the other part was just this premonition. I had the same feeling about London when I was studying in Sevilla. I just knew that I was going to love it. And, sure enough, when I visited my friend studying abroad in London I felt this unexplainable attraction to and at home-ness in the city--it was without a doubt my favorite place I had ever visited and I didn't want to leave.

But after this weekend in B.A., London has been replaced.

Immediately, from our first cab ride from the airport to the apartment we had rented, I was enchanted. I had forgotten how much beautiful architecture can affect the atmosphere or feel of a city. On every corner, beautiful European style buildings lent a classy, sophisticated, almost regal air to the city streets. I had been told by some that Buenos Aires is more "concrete jungle" than Santiago, but I didn't have that sense at all. There were parks all over the place, and the wide boulevards (their principal street, Avenida 9 de Julio, is claimed to be the widest in the world) prevented the suffocating feeling of say, New York.


Whereas I sometimes struggle to describe Chilean cuisine (as do Chileans whom I ask about this), in Buenos Aires it's all about the parilla--grilled meats. And they are insane. I'm not really a big red meat eater, but these steaks are out of this world. And the cherry on top of the culinary sundae for me is their outstanding pizza--grilled on hot stones and with a crispy thin crust, just how I like it.

Arguably my favorite part about the city, and what I think is most representative of the gulf between Santiago and B.A. is the fashion. As I have lamented in previous posts, for me, Santiago has nothing to offer as far as clothing and style goes. Not only are there very few options to buy fashionable, interesting pieces, but you don't see people walking around in covetable outfits...ever. The opposite in Buenos Aires. My friend Caren and I spent an entire day shopping around the boutiques of Palermo, and we had only just scratched the surface. And all of them filled with unique, incredibly well made, just gorgeous clothes. And I can't even start on the fashionistas that we saw on every corner, of every section of town, at every hour of the day. Add their great sense of style (both men and women) to their natural gorgeousness, and porteños are absolutely lethal in the looks department. And that's before they open their mouths and start laying on the charm with their irrestible breed of Spanish.

Obviously, language-obsessed as I have become since my arrival in Chile, I would have a strong opinion one way or another about Argentinian Spanish. I can't get enough of it. I love the way that they use vos instead of "tu." I secretly hoped that they'd have to use llegar or silla or any other ll word, the sound of which they prounounce like the s in "pleasure." And their intonation, which to me was reminiscent of the sing-songiness of Italian, made anyone and everyone's speech literally, music to my ears.

Perhaps it's been said before, but Buenos Aires, for me, combined the beauty and style of Paris, with the palpable energy of New York (just find yourself at one of their boliches, or dance clubs, at 6 AM and you'll know what I'm talking about), with a fiery Latin American flair. By the time I had been there for 4 hours, I was already telling everyone we met that I'd live in Buenos Aires one day. Unashamedly proud of their city, and in love with it as I was, they readily agreed that I should. But for now it's back in Santiago, which, as great as it is, unfortunately has suffered a great blow in my mind from it's cross-Andean neighbor.

A la Nieve

One of the things I knew I had to do while here in Chile is go skiing.  It's actually surprising that it took me until the end of the season to do it, given the fact that the Andes are staring me in the face every day, their snow-capped peaks taunting me and giving me the itch for fresh powder. Unfortunately, last Tuesday when I ventured up to Valle Nevado, there was no fresh powder to be had, but the experience of skiing in the Andes was nonetheless an unforgetable one.

Quite honestly, the snow was kind of crappy--they hadn't had a good snow fall in a couple weeks, and the spring-like sunshine was melting what they did have quickly. A good portion of the slopes were closed and there were more than a couple brown patches, where the muddy earth was starting to peak through the thin snow cover. But I could see how the skiing would be awesome with a foot or so of fresh snow. The set-up was unlike anything I had ever seen before. There weren't really trails per-se; it was more like a free for all, with skiers and snowboarders taking their pick of a path down the face of the mountain.

We had quite a laugh with the handle lifts that they used in place of chair lifts for some slopes, with my snowboarder friend getting jolted and dragged up by his arms the first couple of tries...I don't think they are made with snowboarders in mind. And just like their lower-maintenance lifts, Valle Nevado, though apparently one of the most developed ski resorts, was pretty bare-bones as far as infrastructure goes. I found this a pleasant break from the commercialized atmospheres in places like Colorado, with their mountain-top villages and ski-in-ski-out chalets dotting the slopes. We had packed a sandwich lunch and a couple cervezas and enjoyed it under the warm early spring sun on the deck of the lodge (and, no one bothered us about "picnicking" like they undoubtedly would have in the states). And I guess it's been a while since I've done a full day of skiing, because after our ride back to Santiago, down the hair-raising switchback road, I was absolutely exhausted...and fell asleep earlier than I have in I can't remember how long...8:45!

Is it just me...

Or has Chile had it's share of media attention this year, and not for happy things? First the earthquake, and now this mining tragedy/miracle. It's incredible that all thirty three of the miners are still alive, but I can't help but think of how terrible and difficult the next four months will be for them, as teams work to get them out. What was really surprising to me was that it took me until I got back to Chile, ten full days after the accident occurred, to learn of it. I didn't hear or read anything about it in U.S. media sources until the news broke that the men were alive. I couldn't be happier that the story took the miraculous and positive turn that it did, but I wish that the U.S. had showed some interest even when the story wasn't so sensational.

Just twelve little hours by plane...

After three relaxing weeks in the states, I am back in Santiago and about to start my second semester of teaching. While at home I was, not surprisingly, constantly reminded of the differences between the U.S. and Chile. Of course, there are tons of ways that living in Chile is different than living in the U.S., but here are a couple of the things that, perhaps oddly, stood out most to me:

Points on the board for the U.S:

• It was nice to be reintroduced to the customer service culture. To approach a salesperson or cashier and have them drop immediately whatever he was doing (since, after all, there was a live, paying customer standing right in front of him, duh) and attend to my needs, was a wonderful feeling. Chilean management should take a page out of the U.S.'s book and train their employees in this...business would benefit from it. 
• Nordstrom. Urban Chic. J.Crew. South Moon Under. Old Navy. Forever 21. And the list goes on. I have a new goal: find some way around whatever astronomical duties there must be to get decent clothes into Chile, and go into the import business. After 5 months of being either a) less than impressed with the fashions or b) dismayed by the prices of what was actually cute, I was like a kid in a candy store.

And a couple things that made me say "maldita oosah!" (Damn you, USA!)

• Besides rent, I feel like everyday items cost relatively the same in Chile as in the states. I realized on this trip home that I had forgotten one key category: transportation. Never again will I whine about paying for a cab or curse having to recharge my Bip card for the Santiago metro. Sitting in cabs in DC, watching the meter leap up, what seemed like every two seconds, it was all I could do not to ask the cabbie if he had rigged it. And, next to the DC metro's charge-by-distance system, Santiago's flat rate of 580 pesos (about $1.10) is a godsend. Plus, Santiago's metro is faster, more reliable, and cleaner. Sorry DC. 
• This is an obvious one, but, no Spanish! After months of serious mental effort, trying to force my brain to instinctively say "gracias" instead of thank you, and "disculpa" instead of pardon me or I'm sorry, now I was having to do the opposite. I definitely got a few weird looks from cashiers and people I accidentally bumped into when they heard a pale, red-head blurting out Spanish words. Besides the practical, there are words and phrases I've picked up in the past month that I just love using. Honestly, I don't think I'll ever be able to drop them. In general, living bilingually (is that a word?) is just a lot more interesting than operating in only one language. I missed it a lot.

And things that were, in the words of one very impartial and diplomatic professor of mine, "not better or worse, just different:"

• Unsolicited attention--in the form of staring, muttered com(pli)ments, and, only rarely, catcalls--from male strangers. On the one hand,  I'm inclined to think this is offensive. Though, in honesty, it's rarely actually offensive. More like sometimes annoying, and often a little off-putting. But, and independent women of the world don't scorn me, back in the states I found myself thinking, "Wow, I must not be looking too good today." Silly, I know,  but trust me, more than a couple girls I have talked to here agree.
• Better produce vs. better packaged food. In Chile, you have two choices: buy whole foods, like fresh (phenomenal) produce, meats, etc, and prepare it yourself, or buy packaged crap that's terrible for you. Grocery shopping back home, I was reminded of how much variety we have in the states when it comes to prepared foods. And, how good the quality of some of them are. I think that the food industry in the U.S. is doing a really good job of creating healthy, tasty options in packaged food, although, of course, these items are going to hurt your wallet a little more than Lays and Oreos. I don't know what I'd rather have really, Chile's amazing fruits and vegetables, or the United States endless supply of increasingly wholesome and healthful ready-to-eat options.  

Why You Should Go to San Pedro de Atacama

The Guidebook Atacama Top 5:
1. Tatio Geysers
2. Sunset in Valle de la Luna
3. Tour of Valle de la Muerte
4. Flamingo Watching at the Altiplano Lakes
5. Traditional Andean Villages

My Atacama Top 5:

1. The confidence boost to my Spanish--Since it's a tiny little town that survives entirely on tourism, San Pedro is absolutely filled with extranjeros. For this reason, I think the people of San Pedro, much more so than Santiaguinos, are used to, and even expect, the majority of people they encounter during the day to a) not know Spanish, or b) butcher it. It might sounds bad, but just walking around San Pedro and hearing travelers speak Spanish put me on cloud nine about my own language abilities. Add that to the compliments--yes, I actually received compliments on my Spanish instead of the blank, uncomprehending stares I get in Santiago--and the one case of mistaken identity (someone asked me what part of Spain I was from), and I was feeling pretty big-headed by the end of the trip. But, after five months of language insecurity I think I've earned a little pat on the back. Thanks for that, San Pedro.

2. Solar powered water heating systems--It sounds crazy, but this worked better than any other system I've encountered in Chile. At our hostel, as long as you did so during daylight hours, you could enjoy a long, consistently hot, high pressure shower. This is priceless in the desert, where you get dust and dirt everywhere, especially when you're there during an extremely rare weather system of insane wind storms.

3. Pizza--Once again, sounds crazy, but, when you're on a budget (and San Pedro is anything but budget-friendly) and traveling with a non-adventurous eater (shout-out Sarah), it's great that just about every place offers cheap deals on this staple. You can't go wrong with some crispy dough, tomato sauce, and cheese. Even better, most places threw in a free glass of wine with it. "What about taking advantage of the local cuisine?" you might say. San Pedro isn't the place for that. With any entree, even at the diviest place, costing upwards of 7,000 pesos ($14), you're better off checking out Chilean gastronomical offerings in Santiago where prices of food haven't been inflated for the tourist set.

4. Feeling like you're starring in a) Aladdin, or b) a John Wayne movie--If it's a middle eastern, Arabian nights vibe you want, head to the giant sand dunes of Valle de la Luna. We saw them by horseback, in the middle of a sandstorm (cool, but not so cool), and when we came around the corner and saw the huge drifts, it seriously took my breath away. If you'd prefer rugged, rocky plains to giant mountains of sand, they have that too. The Valley de la Muerte, the Cordillera de la Sal, and the entire drive to the Tatio Geysers are some of the harshest, unfriendliest looking landscapes I've ever seen. But it's incredible how their rocky, dusty, brown lifelessness, which sounds so ugly, is actually amazingly beautiful. Pictures don't do it justice, but if you've never seen a desert, it's definitely a sight I'd recommend at least once.

5. The uber-relaxed dress code--In the states, it's really no big deal if you head out to the grocery store or to do errands in a fleece and yoga pants. No one is going to look at you sideways. In Santiago, it's expected that you put a little more effort into your appearance if you're heading out in public. That's fine, but sometimes it's nice to just not have to care about what you look like. And that was definitely the case in San Pedro. I'd venture to say that, in our black yoga pants, sneakers, layers of fleece, and ponytails, Sarah and I looked downright cute by San Pedro standards (clearly, the locals who whistled at us were also impressed by our desert-chic look). Palm Springs it ain't, when the predominant fashion code consists of an alpaca poncho, various scarves, and a woolen hat, and jeans feel dressy. For a couple days though, it felt good to leave the makeup and all fashion sense at home.

Forbidden Fruit: Thoughts on Chile from a Visitor

Lucky for me, my visitor doesn't have writers' block....maybe I'll get something posted one of these days...in the meantime enjoy Sarah's account of her "Chilean experience"

There are many things you're not supposed to bring on an airplane. Some are obvious- the usual suspects: knives, guns, chemicals, etc. These days, a few more, seemingly less harmful items have been added to the list: most sporting goods, nail scissors, and, according to the TSA website, cattle prods are specifically prohibited in carry on baggage. So one can imagine, upon my arrival in Chile, my absolute shock when I was pulled from the line in customs and sequestered to a small office where I was questioned. The offending article: una manzana. AKA, an apple. A single apple, nestled in the bottom of my carry-on bag, that I had planned to eat en route and simply forgot about, was what almost landed me a $230 fine and my name on a Chilean blacklist.
    Apparently, it is a crime to bring food of any kind into Chile.  So I was pulled aside, and the crime was written up. They weighed my manzana, (2 onzas) and recorded the weight, as well as the location of the forbidden fruit when they came across it… (in el bolso…) After, I was questioned to make sure that I didn't have “mala intenta” in trying to sneak this apple into the country. Since this was my first offense, I would not be fined; however, the manzana had to be destroyed…
    All of this went on as Megan patiently waited for me outside of customs, not knowing what had become of me and if I would ever appear. Having no way of contacting her, I worried she would leave and I would be stuck in the Santiago airport. Thankfully she's a better friend than that....
   
    I don’t know what I expected before coming to Chile, but I think Megan’s guide book sums it up well when it says, “Paris, it ain’t.” Though, what Santiago lacks in energy and culture, it makes up for in natural beauty. Sitting in a valley of the Andes, the majestic, snow-capped mountains are visible from most parts in the city. When the sun peeks through the smog and lights up their peaks, it is truly breathtaking. And there are plenty of places from which to take in the views, including the Cerro San Cristobal, a gigantic hill overlooking the city, and the Giratorio restaurant where we had coffee as the restaurant floor spun around, allowing us to take in a panoramic scene of Santiago.

 Walking through the city, I was surprised to see so many stray dogs. There are black labs, German shepherds and Australian shepherds, to name a few, wandering the city, without collars. These dogs are stray, as evidenced by their, ahem, droppings, all over the sidewalks, but many of them appear to be well-fed, and well-groomed. Most of them I would take home. So if anyone wants a pet, ask Megan to sneak one on the plane when she comes home. They are really nice too, they follow you around and just like being near people.

Another thing I  noticed about Chileans-- they all look like they got dressed in the dark. “Moda” or fashion, is virtually nonexistent here. Everyone was super bundled up because they are all “con frio” or freezing, when the mercury drops below 70 degrees, and the unbearable temperatures were the topic of many conversations I heard in coffee shops, convenience stores and when friends greeted each other on the street. But even when the temperature drops in New York, people find ways to still look their best. Here, anything goes. Most of us probably think acid washed jeans disappeared after the 80s, but actually, somebody just boxed them up and sent them down to Chile.

Not that I was there to shop, but I didn't see one clothing store that even moderately resembled a store in the U.S. Each store that we visited had maybe 10 total articles, and never more than one of each thing. And no store sold only clothing, they all sold a mish mash of trinkets, candles, incense, and home wares with a kitschy flare that are interesting to look at, but not to buy. I  passed several shops that claimed to sell “ropa Americana,” aka consignment shops that sell old college T-shirts and army fatigues. I’m really glad that this is what the rest of the world thinks of our “fashion.” But seriously, one day on the metro I saw women (and men) in tight, white, skinny jeans (remember, its winter here) with pleather, Velcro sneakers and layered sweatshirts with prints reminiscent of M.C. Hammer’s pants. For the most part, the men stick to the relatively inoffensive sweater over a button down with a tie look, to combat the frio temperatures, though I saw my fair share of these sweaters in a healthy shade of rust… For the women, anything goes… from layered, fringed, ill-fitting sweaters to floral printed mini skirts with striped tights. I saw it all, even on people who appear to be dressed for some sort of professional atmosphere… I think maybe when the temperature drops, anything goes down here.

Our day trip to Valparaiso showed me a far more quaint side of Chile. (Though I’m not sure “quaint” is the appropriate word for a city with over 800,000 occupants.) There were few high-rise buildings in this city, but built into hills along the sea were endless colorful abodes, each one fighting the others for an oceanfront view. On the streets, artists have scrambled steep hills and climbed walls for prime real estate to display the local craft of choice: graffiti. On most walls and paths, graffiti covers every inch of free space, but this is not the vandalism or autographs you see in the subways. These are real creations, pictures of people and places, colorful swirls and scenery that decorate the walks along this city’s windy streets. Megan and I had a leisurely stroll through the hills, wondering where all the people were. Then we had a long, Chilean- style lunch outdoors on a private patio. Our lunch, in true Chilean form, included two glasses of wine each and it really felt like an escape. I could get used to this. We finished our adventure with a walk along the port and a restful bus ride back to the bustling streets of Santiago.

Sarah's visit and San Pedro Photos

I can't believe it's been over three weeks since I last posted! July has absolutely flown by. I'm hoping to make up for neglecting this blog in the next couple of days, but to start out here are my photos from my friend Sarah's recent visit to Santiago and our trip to San Pedro de Atacama in the north of Chile. Disclaimer: If looking at landscape pictures of other people's vacations makes you curse digital cameras, beware. There are LOTS of scenery shots and a couple dorky self-shots (Sarah left a day early and I had to make do!). And really,  pictures just don't do the desert justice. It was by far the most awe-inspiring landscape I've ever seen. Unlike anything else and completely other-worldly. I'll have a more thorough account of the trip up shortly...

On the Air

Apparently I was on the Chilean nightly news on Thursday.

Friday morning I was in the teachers' lounge at Duoc picking up my attendance book and signing in for the day when one of my Chilean colleagues said, "Megan, I saw you on TV last night. You were talking about the earthquake. Did it scare you a lot?" It took me a second to put two and two together and realize what she was talking about.

About a month and a half ago I was walking home from the gym, through a small park near my apartment. In the middle of the sidewalk there was some professional camera equipment set up. A young woman approached me and asked if I had time to answer a few questions about my experience of the earthquake. I told her that I wasn't Chilean and that my Spanish was far from perfect, but she assured me that they were interested in getting any and all perspectives, encouraged me to try my best with the Spanish, and ushered me to the chair in front of the camera. She interviewed me for about 15 minutes, asking questions about where I was when the earthquake happened, how I felt, what I remember most, and how it affected my life. She seemed pleased with my responses and my interview in general, and when we finished she told me that it would be airing on a program called La Liga at the end of June/beginning of July.

I had pretty much forgotten about the whole thing until Friday morning. The first chance I got I went on the internet to try to find the clip. No luck! And I only got more curious to see my Chilean television debut ;) as, throughout the day, about a dozen of my students also told me that they had seen it. If I manage to find it, I'll be sure to post it on here, as I'm sure it's pretty entretenido.

Views from San Cristobal After a Rain

Although it was still a little cloudy (that's cloudy, not smoggy--the rain clears all the smog out) the view was pretty impressive when my friend Laura and I went up to the top of San Cristobal last Saturday after a rain. We both agreed, however, that the view from the street level, in certain areas where you can see the mountains, is really more breathtaking because they are so huge that it feels like you are right under them. Can't wait to head out there to the pistes and take advantage of some of that snow!!

A Tower of Babel Dinner and some Loco Frenchmen

Last week my roommate Kenna decided she wanted to have a dinner party at the apartment and invite a hodgepodge of her international friends. I told her I'd love to help her, we decided on an easy meal of fajitas, and I offered to make the guacamole (one of the only things I know how to make).

As the guests started arriving it quickly became apparent that this dinner party was going to present a unique linguistic challenge. Here's how the guest list stacked up:
2 Spanish only speakers
2 French only speakers
4 Spanish/English speakers
1 French/little bit of English speaker
2 French/Spanish speakers
1 English/Spanish/Italian speaker

At one point, I was in a conversation in which the English/Spanish/Italian speaker was going back and forth between English and Spanish, while the French/Spanish speaker translated for the French only speaker, and I occasionally translated for the Spanish only speaker. Needless to say by the end of the night my head was spinning back and forth between English and Spanish, with a little newly learned French thrown in.

The two French guys (one of which spoke English), it turns out, are traveling around the world in a Citroen C2V, going from Saigon, hitting 5 continents and eventually making their way back to Paris. They are currently in Chile awaiting the arrival of the car by boat so that they can continue their drive up South America, through Central, and all the way North to Canada, before putting the little car back on a boat to Africa. Their story, told to us in VERY broken English, as well as French (which was then translated to Spanish by Kenna), was almost impossible to believe. But, the next morning I gave them a quick Google and, sure enough, their story is true.You can even track their adventure, here, though the Google translation is pretty terrible.

Anyone in DC, NY, or pretty much anywhere along the Eastern seaboard who is interested in giving these guys food, lodging, or work, I can vouch that they are cool, fun guys, and nothing if not interesting and entertaining.

Futbol Mania

The long awaited Mundial has begun and, as predicted, futbol is all my students can think or talk about. Friday was opening day and, as luck would have it, I had a class--my youngest and most rambunctious--at 10, coinciding exactly with the Mexico-South Africa game. My adolescent male students got increasingly fidgetty and distracted as their fellow students, with the luck to be between classes, cheered from the huge viewing tent that Duoc set up in the courtyard. Needless to say, the boys couldn't be less interested in direction prepositions or "there is/there are" sentence construction.

So, in true pushover fashion, I did exactly what our site coordinator told us not to do, and let them out 40 minutes early. I'm a sucker for boys who love their sports. Hearing their pleas of "Missss, it's the inauguraciónnnn" and watching how they craned their necks toward the window to try to hear the announcer, I couldn't help thinking of my brothers, or guys I know back home. And it was a simple thing they wanted really, to be able to be there and take part in what they had been looking forward to for months. "Ok, go, go." And the look on their faces made it totally worth it.

As I crossed the courtyard on my way to the teachers lounge to get some work done, I ran into three of them heading about to head into the tent. Amidst their excitement, they took a moment to give their soccer novice profe a primer on the rounds system and offer their personal predictions and analysis. "Will you watch the game, miss?""How about when Los estados unidos plays tomorrow, miss??" To be sure, they had the entire bracket and schedule memorized.

When Chile plays Honduras next Wednesday at 7 am, I will most definitely be watching the game. And my morning students most definitely will be too...I cancelled class. With Chile in the Mundial for the first time in twelve years, English (and I'm going to bet every other class, job, meeting, etc) takes a way back seat.

You Say Tomayto I Say Tomaughto

Has it ever occurred to you that you speak anything other than English? Me neither. Until, that is, I started giving clases particulares (private tutoring) here in Chile. It seems that, unbeknownst to us Americans, what we speak is actually "Norteamericano" while our friends across the pond in Britain speak "English." And the delineation doesn't stop there. Apparently, the abundance of modismos (slang, or expressions) we have and the way that we modulan (pronounce) amounts to, in the opinion of Chileans that I have spoken with about this, a shameful pollution of "English."

My tutees, for example, consider these two "languages" to be so different (and, although they've never flat out told me so, the latter so preferable to the former) that it actually raises concerns for them in their learning of the language. About three times a class, they ask me anxiously, when I introduce a word or phrase, "Now is that Norteamericano or English?" And comments about my "modulation," or that of my compatriots--from the casual English speaker on the street to famous actors my tutees have seen in movies--are a constant part of our lessons.

I take offense to this. And none too little. Perhaps it's because I've always thought of myself (call it a vanity of mine) as an extremely clear speaker, with excellent enunciation and pronunciation. I like words and language and I make a conscientious effort to know as much as I can about their correct usage. So, when someone tells me that I don't actually speak the language that I think I do, it irks me. I've found myself, more than once, snapping back at my poor tutees, "This difference that you think there is, between "Norteamericano" and "English," it's NOT THERE."

That's probably wrong of me. Not only because they are just observing what they hear, but also because, on some level, they are right, there are differences. Not on the level of different languages, but dialects, certainly. It's true, there are plenty of words that Americans use that British don't, and vice-versa, and, of course, there is the difference in accent, not only between British and American speakers but amongst speakers of each group, depending on geographic area, socio-economic status, age, and un monton of other factors. I have no problem with my tutees observing and commenting on that. But it's the idea of superiority that they seem to attach to English, that is, the English of Great Britain, that bothers me.

What is most interesting to me about this is that my tutees, as Chileans, are sure to have been the victims of this kind of linguistic snobbery. One of the first things I was told when I came to Chile, and one of the first things people--Chileans--say to me when I tell them I came here to improve my Spanish, is that Chilean Spanish is "terrible." Chileans are the first ones to deprecate their speech, but I have to believe that this is undoubtedly the result of criticism by other Latin American countries and Spain. Chileans will bring up their tendency to cut off the ends of words, speak extremely fast, and use modismos that only Chileans would understand. They call this speaking "badly" or "incorrectly." And perhaps, because they have become comfortable with being categorized as "bad" speakers, they don't see any problem with criticizing the speech of others.

But, I happen to like Chilean Spanish. Having lived here for a few months now I've gotten used to the way that they speak, have become familiar with some (only a handful relatively speaking) of their modismos, and even have gotten comfortable enough to use a few of them in my own speech. Chilean Spanish is unique, and endearing, and interesting to listen to and try to understand. And so what if it's not what they speak in Spain, or Argentina, or Mexico. Language is nothing if not dynamic, it's constantly changing and evolving to serve its only real purpose: communication. And that's why when Chileans make comments to me about their speech, saying "We speak badly" or advising me not to pick up their habits, I disagree with them, insisting that their speech is not wrong but merely different.

I'm not afraid to learn and practice Spanish with Chileans. Yes, perhaps if, someday in the future, I travel to Mexico and ask a Mexican woman if she has a pololo (Chilenismo for "boyfriend"), she'll look at me like I have two heads. Or if I go back to Spain to visit my host mother and when she calls me to lunch I say I'll be there al tiro (Chilean for "right away"), she will think I'm talking about a gunshot, which is the original meaning of tiro. But is speaking Spanish with Chileans going to pollute my knowledge of the language? Absolutely not. Just like learning English from a North American (because English is what they are learning, not this "Norteamericano" business) is not going to be detrimental to my tutees. They are not learning an incorrect version of English. I like to think that I'm teaching them practical, real life, and, to the extent that it's necessary, grammatically correct use of the English language. Hopefully they can get over their fear of Norteamericano so that they can move towards fluency in English.

A few changes

It’s been busier than usual the past week and a half or so. First, I moved last Tuesday, into my new apartment in a neighborhood of Santiago called, amusingly, El Golf. I have a great new room (HUGE closet, HUGE bed) and two lovely new roommates, Kenna and Juliette. Kenna is Chilean and works at the French embassy, and Juliette is German and teaches it here. I’m happy that I decided to take the plunge and switch locations, though I definitely miss certain things about my old spot—the closeness to my school, how close everything was (El Golf is more residential, so certain conveniences are a little farther away), and all the little hang outs that I had gotten used to in the past 3 months. But I’m sure that in a few weeks I’ll have a whole new set of spots that I’m hitting up daily.

I also am in the process of securing a potential second job. I’ll hold off on details until it’s a sure bet (there are still a few issues to work out with my visa status), but it would be a great opportunity for me (and a nice little source of extra income). However, needless to say, if I start up with it, my schedule is going to get a lot more filled, very quickly. Though I’m thrilled about the job itself I go back and forth between feeling a) it’s about time I get into a routine that more closely resembles the hectic one I had back in D.C. and b) like I’ll really miss having a pretty good chunk of free time (to do things like write this blog). But it's definitely an opportunity that I don't want to pass up and I think I'll enjoy having a little more on my plate. 

And...it's official...I'm going to have my first visitor in July! My college roommate Sarah is coming for 8 days and I couldn't be more excited. I can't wait to show her around Santiago and we are taking a long weekend trip to San Pedro de Atacama--the driest desert in the world and supposedly one of the most breathtaking places in Chile. I'm counting the days!!!

Valparaíso: An hour away, a world apart

Although the guidebook that we received from CIEE upon acceptance into our program lists Valparaíso as it's number one place to visit in Chile, I had gotten mixed reviews on the city--some people couldn't say enough good things about it, while others described it as smelly, disorganized, and dangerous. This weekend I finally made it out to the coast to see for myself.

Only a quick hour and a half trip by bus, Valparaíso nonetheless seems worlds apart from Santiago. Where the capital city is consumed with looking forward and outward, to the point of lacking a true identity of its own, its coastal sister seems completely content to with her own truly distinct, and somewhat wacky and nonsensical self.

For example, upon arriving, we quickly became aware that we would not be entering the city by the normal route--roads were blocked off for the city's celebration of the naval holiday. So, instead of dropping us off at the bus station, our bus simply stopped at the most convenient intersection and unloaded us. Now, in Santiago, we would have been able to quickly spot and hail a taxi, and have it take us to wherever we wanted in the city. Not so in Valpo. Apparently, there aren't too many actual taxis in the city; rather, you have to settle for collectivos, a kind of shared taxi, and these only go on set routes and you can only find the correct ones at certain waiting stations in the city. Unfortunately, we were nowhere near the station for the route that we needed to get to our hostel. We were trapped down in el Plan--the flat part of the city by the port--and we needed to get up to Cerro Alegre--one of the hills that spring up from el Plan where most of the city's residents live. Luckily though, since it was a holiday and the city was having a celebration, there were tons of carabineros (police) in the streets. We flagged one down and asked him how to get to Cerro Alegre. In Santiago, a policeman would undoubtedly know how to get you to whatever point in the city you needed to go. In Valpo, our policeman had to send a text to a friend, wait ten minutes for him to respond, and only then could he give us the relatively vague instructions of "Go to Francia and Colon and take La O bus." Thank goodness we could rely on the help of strangers to get the rest of the way, and we arrived--after a nausea inducing, praying-for-your-life ride in a bus packed 20 over capacity--to Allegretto Bed and Breakfast.

I

In Santiago, the proprietor of the bed and breakfast would certainly have been there to welcome us when we arrived. Here, however, we found a sign on the door instructing us to call a number if no one answered. We did, and as it turns out, Ed, our host, was in Santiago, thus, he would be unable to let us in. It would seem this is a common occurence, since he had a plan just for this sort of occasion. Hidden under the plant on the doorstep we would find two keys on a blue key ring, one would open the front door and one would open the door to Number 3, our room. The rest of our stay at Allegretto, and our encounters with Ed were equally laid back and pleasant--our room was cozy and clean, the breakfast plentiful and delicious, and our host accomodating, flexible, and ready with suggestions (even if one did include a visit to his pizza restaurant, which turned out to be the best pizza I've had in Chile).

We spent the rest of the afternoon wandering Cerros Alegre and Concepcion, peeking into shops and art galleries, admiring the crafts of local artisans, and taking in the gorgeous views and street murals. I loved all the colorful houses (Santiago is, at its best, much more shiny glass and steel, and, at its worst, dull grey concrete) and little side streets, and was reminded of cities that I visited in Europe, particularly the Cinque Terre towns in Italy.

Saturday we headed down to the port and, through a little bargaining, scored a private boat ride around the harbor for only a tad more than the impersonal group tour would have been. Our captains were super friendly young guys, and by the end of our thirty minute tour they were trying to convince us to stay in Valparaíso by calling Santiago fome (boring) and enticing us with an invitation to their house for a seafood lunch. We politely declined and headed back up the hillside, this time to Cerro Bellavista and Pablo Neruda's Valpo home, La Sebastiana.

With views like the ones he had from every room in his house, it's not hard to see how he could have been inspired to write such beautiful poetry. You can't escape the city or the sea from inside La Sebastiana, and you feel on top of the world from every point inside the quirky home. Once again, I was enchanted by Neruda, his home, and his life.

We hopped in a cab (I guess there are a few to be found in the city) just in time to escape the drizzle that had started to steadily fall, and we headed back down to the port for a late lunch at one of the famed seafood joints. Our taxista's recommendation Los Porteños, turned out to be the hot spot for weekend lunching, and we had to wait twenty minutes for a table to open up in the bustling restaurant where each diner seemed to have a more delicious looking seafood concoction than the next. It was worth the wait though. My cocido de mariscos (seafood soup) was chock full of every sea creature you could imagine (and many I didn't recognize), all incredibly fresh. Laura and Anna got machas a la parmesana, a Chilean seafood standout, and a couple sampled the deliciously flaky and fried seafood empanadas.

After lunch it was back up to the hostel (via a ride in one of the ascensores, elevators that goes up the side of the hill, that felt strikingly similar to the terremoto) and off to the bus station to head back to Santiago. I, for one, am in love with Valparaíso, and could totally see how someone could move there, and then turn around and ten years would have passed. It has that special something that seems like it would hold you there. It's completely different than my home city here. I'll borrow the words of a self-consciously politically correct professor of mine in college who used to say ten times a class, "I'm not going to say better or worse, it's just different." I think I'll be making many more trips to cooky Valpo in the coming months, and I couldn't be happier that it's just a short bus trip away.

Photos

Here's the updated link to my photos. The latest are from my weekend in Valparaiso. We had a great time, and as evidenced from the monton de pictures I took, it's a very photogenic city. More on our trip there coming soon...

An Apple a Day Keeps the Smog...From Getting Me Too Down

It's official--the smog has arrived. I was starting to think it was a myth, just another exaggeration by Chileans about aspects related to the weather. But no. When I walked out of my morning classes and saw the greyish haze obscuring my beloved San Cristobal  (and the traffic light only 4 blocks up), my plans for an afternoon run went up in, well, smoke.  Feeling defeated by and especially lethargic and sniffly (psychosomatic? maybe.) from the smog, I decided to pop into the farmers' market on my walk home for a little color and freshness.

Hidden behind the tourism information office is this amazing daily market, where vendors sell fresh produce and flowers, fish, and meats, all for much cheaper than you can find in the supermarkets. It makes me happy every time I walk in, and I enjoy chatting with the vendors about what's best for the day. This morning I picked up a couple Fuji apples (manzanas), a package of raspberries (frambuesas) and a tomato. If it weren't for the fact that I only had 2,000 pesos (about $4) in cash on me, I probably would have gone home with a refrigerator full. 

I didn't have my camera on me--only my cell phone--so bear with me on the photos. You can at least get the idea of how the sight of all the yummy fruits and vegetables could brighten up even this smoggiest of days.

Worst Volunteer Ever?

I've been trying to coordinate with the organization that I wrote about that helps stray dogs, 4A, for a few weeks now and finally was able to connect with them on Saturday. My grueling Friday evening of classes, combined with the rain that plagued Santiago all day made for an early night so I was up and raring to go Saturday morning. It's a good thing too because the commute was kind of killer--two line changes on the metro, about 15 stops, and then we had to drive from the metro station to the shelter! Add in the thirty minutes that I waited for the organization's coordinator at the metro station (I've really got to get adjusted to the "chilean time" phenomenon), and I was glad that I was feeling well rested.

4A is an organization run by Universidad de Chile's veterinary school, so their shelter is on that campus, out in a comuna called La Pintana. We pulled up to the little shed-like building and were greeted by a caucaphony of barking and howling, as well as a few little pooches who roam free around the campus. 4A's shelter houses about 10 dogs and its members take on one shift per week to come clean out the kennels, give the dogs food and fresh water, and take them for walks.

The pups were excited to see us to say the least. From the tiniest little terrier mix, Globita, to the overweight but extra affectionate El Oso (the bear), all the dogs were friendly, if a little over hyper. The first part of the shift--poop duty--was  unpleasant, and I'll definitely be needing to invest, or scrounge up, some junkier clothing. But I was excited to take them for a walk around the campus.

But that's when things started to go south. First, the other new volunteer's dog wriggled out of its collar and took off. Luckily, John, the coordinator was on his game and caught him. And then, just as I was thinking, "hmm maybe I should tighten my dog's collar, it's looking a little loose," he sees another dogs and with a little tug and a twist is off the leash and off like a rocket.

We spent about fifteen minutes trying to lure him back, but somehow a pack of other dogs had come out of the woodwork and now they were all running around the field like crazy, having a great time, and there was NO WAY he was going to stop. John tried to make me feel better by telling me that this particular dog was the "escapista profesional" (escape artist) and that he always comes back, but that didn't assuage my guilt at having lost my dog on my first walk. But, the rest of them had to get walked too, so we went back to the kennels and got new dogs, this time ensuring that their collars were snug.

When it was time to go my pup still hadn't returned. I have to hope that he came back later that day, or at the very least the next morning for his daily meal. The mishap didn't seem to ruin my chances of volunteering with the group again. John insisted I email him about my availability and when I would want to come back. Next time I'm going to stash dog treats in my pocket so that my dogs won't ever think of leaving my side.

Chico Trujillo

I had an all around blog-worthy weekend, but first on the list is my Saturday night out: a last minute concert of what turned out to be "Chile's most prominent Cumbia band."

After an afternoon of painting my friend Chelsey's room and a delicious pasta dinner, the two of us were up in the air on how we wanted to spend our Saturday night. We both agreed that we weren't really up for a club night so when a friend texted Chelsey with a live band option we were intrigued.When she asked what kind of band it was, her friend replied "cumbia/ska punk--a ton of fun, jumping around dancing all night." I had no idea what to expect from the description but I was in the mood for something different so we decided to go for it.

And this was nothing if not "something different." For some reason I was under the impression this was going to be some no name band, perhaps headed up by one of the guys friends or something. Turns out, these guys Chico Trujillo are one of the most popular bands in Chile. Luck was on our side because just as we roll up the bouncer calls out that only the next twelve people in line would get tickets. We literally snagged the last of them.

Adding to my confusion was the venue, Las Tejas. Never in my life would I have picked it for a place to host a world-touring group. The place looked like--no scratch that, was--a diner/deli. Literally, we got our drinks--terremotos, a cocktail that deserve its own posting--from a kitchen window. The guardia ropa (coat check) converted into the snack bar, selling fries, empanadas, an all other variety of greasy, alcohol absorbing food perfect for satisfying the munchies of the party-goers. (And those munchies were induced by more than just alcohol, anything went at this hole in the wall, if you know what I mean.) Once you walked a little farther back though, the space opened up into a huge room with a stage at the front. The chilean I was with said Las Tejas was what Chileans call a "picada," and told me that during the day the big club/dance floor area had tables. At any given lunch hour at Las Tejas, he said, "you'll see a university student having lunch a table over from an old drunk man. And before you know it they'll be buddied up, drinking together." Last night though, the space was transformed into a concert hall, and the energy was electric, the room packed with Chilenos waiting anxiously for Chico Trujillo.

There were a couple opening acts, reggae bands, to get everyone pumped up and in the mood, and around 1 am, Chico finally came on. The "jumping up and down" description of Chelsey's friend was certainly accurate; the crowd's enthusiasm was amusing and totally contagious. Every time the beat would pick up the chileans would go wild, throwing their hands in the air in their own version of the fist pump (palm open, and facing towards them). Definitely check out their Myspace page and give them a listen. I'm getting more and more excited for the September 18th Independence Day celebrations when it's cumbia all day and all night for a week straight!

Pedro de Valdivia--First Home and First Governor of Chile

This week I finally ended the long and drawn out process of apartment searching and settled on moving at the end of this month. I'm really excited about it and will definitely post more about my new neighborhood, apartment, and roommates in the coming weeks. But I'm also a little sad to be leaving the neighborhood that has become my home in the past two months.

Avenida Pedro de Valdivia attracted me in my first days in Santiago. In fact, while walking down it on our way to a restaurant for dinner, I literally said to myself, "I am going to live on this street." Although my living situation didn't end up being a good fit, I still think Pedro is a perfect mix of tranquil charm and easy access to shops, restaurants and cafes. If I could have found another apartment somewhere along it I would have stayed.

So, in thinking about my move and not having Pedro de Valdivia be part of my daily routine any more I started wondering about the actual Pedro de Valdivia. Pretty neglectful of me to never have even Wikipedia-ed the namesake of my street in the whole two and a half months I've been here!

Turns out old Pedro was, as you might imagine since he has such a sweet spot named after him, a pretty big deal. He actually founded the city of Santiago and was the first royal governor of Chile when it was still a Spanish colony. According to my quick little research project (thanks Wikipedia) he tried to improve relations with the native population, which had been pretty much brutalized by his predecessor. However, he still was on a mission--expand Spain's hold as much as possible--so no matter how peaceful he might have tried to be in the process, he still no doubt ended up stepping on a lot of indigenous toes. He did manage to expand as far south as Concepcion, and his namesake Valdivia.

There are several different stories surrounding his death, but what is for sure is that he died at the hands of the Araucania tribe. All of them equally horrifying, one involves his arms being severed off, roasted, and eaten in front of him while he was still alive!

Colonialism issues aside, I have to feel proud to have lived on the street named after the founder of Chile. He was pretty badass and the Santiago that he founded back in the 16th century at Santa Lucia hill has become a pretty nice place to live, so I can't complain.

Museums are Overrated

Or that's what I,  a Washingtonian living in Santiago, will tell myself.

Feeling a little ashamed of myself for not having stepped foot in one of the city's museums in the two months I've been here, I visited the Museo del Arte Precolombino (Museum of Precolumbian Art) this Sunday afternoon. My Lonely Planet guidebook said it's the best the city has to offer, and, to top it off, that it's free on Sundays. (Museum-going is a little too ambitious an activity for Santiaguinos on Sundays, so they have to incentivize it somehow).

It was a gorgeous day and it felt great to be outside, walking around the downtown, an area that, during the week I tend to avoid. I hopped off the metro at La Moneda and walked the few blocks to the museum.

Lonely Planet, you need to get your facts straight so that more people don't have not-so-friendly museum employees pointing to the information board saying, "No dice nada de free" (It doesn't say anything about free) when you express confusion at having to pay the entrance fee. That was setback number one. Now, I have no problem paying for museums. I get it. They have expenses, museums don't run themselves, those relics and paintings need taking care of, etc. But, you know how it is when you expect something to be free, and then it's not. Just a little irritating. Needless to say, I got off on the wrong foot in this place.

The building itself was very pretty, with airy courtyards separating the two parts--the permanent and temporary exhibits). There was even a little coffee bar in the courtyard where people were having muffins and cafe cortados, enjoying the afternoon sun.

However, that's pretty much where the museum's appeal ended for me. Aside from a couple impressive artifacts, like these chemamulls--wood statues that accompanied the deceased during their funerals in Mapuche culture--I found the collection dull and poorly organized.

Maybe it's just me, but when I'm in a museum I like to be given some direction. Hey, I'm not an expert on Precolumbian Art, that's what the museum designers are. So, I think it's nice when there's some sort of coherent layout, or plan that you can follow. I don't know, maybe organize the rooms chronologically, or by country, or indigenous tribe. Ok, yes, the artifacts were placed in cases according to some sort of theme--these are all made of jade, these are used for cooking, these were all found in one location--but I think the exhibit was really lacking an overarching structure that could give visitors a sense of the history of the indigenous peoples of South America and their various cultures.

So, Santiago, I don't know if I'll be spending any more Sundays in your museums. Since this one is apparently the best, and I was underwhelmed, I think I'd better stick to one of your many other charms.