El Tur Gastronomico

I've had the good luck of meeting and becoming friends with a Chilean foodie. Through a Chilean friend I know from D.C., I met Mauricio, and after a few delicious and fun dinners, we decided that we should embark on an official gastronomical tour of Santiago. The rules are simple: every two weeks we meet for a meal, each time alternating who chooses the place, and it should be somewhere that at least one of us has not tried.

We had our inaugural dinner a month ago, and it was my pick. I chose Barandiaran, a Peruvian restaurant that I had been to during our orientation week back in February. It was delicious the first time and Mauricio had never been, so I thought it would be a good place to start. Peruvian restaurants are extremely popular in Santiago, which is somewhat strange given the competitive, borderline contemptuous relationship between the two countries. But I guess even Chileans have to admit that Peruvian food is outstanding.

We started with a ceviche to share and Peruvian pisco sours, which are different from the Chilean version. I personally like them better (oh the shame!). Great minds think alike and we both settled on the Corvina a lo Macho, Chilean sea bass with assorted mariscos (think octopus, shrimp, and various other sea creatures). It was delicious, with a light cream sauce and served with rice. Unfortunately, right about the time I was scraping the last bit off my plate, my stomach started to grumble. Within a few minutes I was hit hard with terrible stomach pains, and though I tried to fight it off I eventually had to break it to Mauricio that we needed to ask for the cuenta (check) pronto. Not a very auspicious start to our tour, but at least we knew that odds are, things could only go up from here.

Last night we had the second meeting of our two-man gastronomical club and Mauricio opted for a venue somewhat off the beaten path. We drove a little outside the city, to the tony neighborhood of Vitacura, specifically to a strip of restaurants known as BordeRio (on the side of the river). Mauricio hadn't decided on a specific spot, but thought we'd instead check out the menus and ambiance of a couple places. We settled on Zanzibar a lavishly decorated spot advertising itself as serving comidas del mundo (foods of the world). And it wasn't lying. The menu featured dishes from Italy to Thailand to Congo. Once again we started with a ceviche, but this one was a sampler, with three different varieties, one with sea bass, one with tuna, and one with octopus. They were all light, refreshing and excellently seasoned. Pleasing to both the palate and the eye (in truth, every dish I saw was exquisitely presented) it was a perfect way to start our meal. And...once again...we ordered the same main course: Japanese Kobe beef with vegetables. It arrived to the table searing hot on the griddle that it was cooked on. With a delicious glass of Merlot to accompany our meat, we both dug in. Super saboroso (flavorful) and cooked perfectly al punto (medium rare), it's in the running for my best meal so far in Santiago. We finished off with creme brulee for him and macerated fruits with passion fruit sorbet for me. It was a perfectly portioned and perfectly balanced meal in an entertaining and pleasant atmosphere.

Next stop is my choice, and I better get on the Chilean restaurant review sites because I have a lot to live up to.

Not Your Typical Tourist Trap

I've been a little behind on posting this week. To be honest, it's been a rough week for me here, as I know it has been for everyone from my area in the midst of the surreal tragedy of the death at UVA. Although on the one hand I'm grateful I'm here, somewhat removed from the news, the talk, and the heavy sadness, at the same time I'm wishing I could be home to support the people I care about who have been even more deeply affected than I. But, of course, I can't, and there really is nothing that any of us can do to better the situation except pray for the families of both involved.

But, before all of this, I was fully intending on writing about a couple of things that I did this past weekend. On Saturday I took the somewhat unusual excursion to the Cementerio General (General Cemetery) of Santiago. It was a quick ride on the metro out to the north of the city.

I have never visited a cemetery as a tourist activity; I haven't even been to Arlington cemetery. In fact, it's kind of a strange concept to me, but it's listed, right there in our guidebook, as a sight to see. And, as it turns out, it was just that.

It was different than any cemetery I've ever seen in the U.S. in that there were large cement structures, with graves built into them, stacked up, one on top of each other, almost like blocks. (Sounds strange right?). The person's name is then carved into the side. There were some graves that were more similar to what we have in the U.S., but it seems the Chileans have a different way of paying their respects to the dead. They go way beyond flowers, leaving all sorts of things--from sports jerseys, to soda bottles, to plastic windmills--on the graves of their loved ones. Although to my eye it was a little cluttered, at the same time it was refreshing to see the personal touches. To me it seemed decidedly more genuine than our custom of putting any old flowers on someone's grave.

We saw the graves of some famous Chileans, like Salvador Allende, and also visited the monument built to honor those who died or disappeared during the military dictatorship. Perhaps what I liked most about the cemetary was how quiet and tranquil it was. It was like a mini escape from the city. And you can't say that about many tourist destinations.

Mallrats

This weekend I solved a mystery that's been puzzling me since I arrived in Chile: Where do all the Santiaguinos disappear to on Saturdays and Sundays? During the week, the area around my apartment is absolutely bustling, borderline hectic, from 10 in the morning until 9 at night. Shoppers, business people, casual strollers--we have all types making their way up and down Avenida Providencia. Come the weekend though, this busy thoroughfare becomes pleasantly calm. Coming from the States, where people do most of their eating out, shopping, and strolling on the weekends, this caused me some confusion. Were the herds of people I bobbed around in on weekdays simply spending their days off inside? The answer is no.

They're at the mall.

OK, so in the States, the malls are certainly popular weekend destinations, especially among the teenage set. But Santiaguinos take it to a whole different level.

Saturday afternoon two friends and I took the bus to Parque Arrauco Mall in a neighborhood of the city called Las Condes, well known for being one of the most affluent and North Americanized. This was my second time at this mall--or I should say, shopping town--and it is, for me,  the clearest testament I've seen yet of the side of Chile that is downright obsessed with all things U.S. First of all, it's HUGE, rivaling any mall I've been to in the States. You get off the bus and walk into an open air plaza lined with nothing but American chain restaurants--Ruby Tuesday, T.G.I. Friday's, Benihana, Tony Roma's, Starbucks, and the list goes on. When we got there, a band was setting up in the center of the plaza, preparing for the live concerts that are put on there six days a week. When we entered the mall itself I was shocked by the crowds. It was like the malls in the States during the week before Christmas. From families to teens to old people, all had flocked to this mecca of materialism to spend their Saturday browsing the racks, perusing the home goods, and just generally being surrounded by items of conspicuous consumption.

As the afternoon wore on it only got more crowded. The lines for fitting rooms and registers got longer; it seemed we couldn't walk anywhere without getting stuck behind a gaggle of teenage Chilean girls who, it goes without saying, were more preoccupied with chatting than getting anywhere in particular; and the din in the cavernous building became deafening. Like the Santiaguinos, we had gotten sucked into the lure of excess--we had spent five hours browsing, mostly among things we didn't really need. But then again, who ever really needs the stuff they shop for in malls on Saturday afternoon? No one. But someone out there has done a hell of a job convincing Santiago's residents that the mall is not only the place they want to be, but the place they need to be on weekend afternoons. The town square has certainly been replaced.

Getting Started a Little Early

My students came to class drunk on Friday. Well, I should say a couple of my students, in my last class of the night--you know, the one at the ridiculous hour of 9:15-10:45--showed up buzzed, with one among them blurry-eyed, head in his hands, asking to go to the bathroom every fifteen minutes, drunk.

It started as I was waiting for the students trickle in. A group of five or so guys, who always sit together in front of the class were chatting and making jokes as they usually do when I noticed one guy pass another a 2 liter bottle of lemon Fanta. "Que rico esto!" (Mmm, that's tasty!) he exclaimed after he took a swig. I light went off in my head. Are they doing what I think they're doing? I shot them a look and instantly they knew I knew. Laughing and chattering in Spanish ensued, and I barked at them to cut it out and went to the board to begin the day's lesson.

A few minutes into the lesson is when I noticed the drunkard of the group. They kept making comments and laughing at him, with him waving them off and putting his head down on the desk. "What is going on here???" I asked them, though of course, it was already clear that we all knew the answer to that question. "Are you kidding me?" I asked, in English, but my exasperated tone was, I'm sure, understandable in any language. "Do you need to leave?" I asked him. "No, Miss," he muttered, and hiccuped. "Oh Jesus," I muttered. "Missss, it's just because he's so flaco (skinny)" one of his friends offered. I had to fight my smile back. "Alright, enough! Who can tell me what's wrong with this sentence?"

I guess I can't really blame them. My class is their last class of the week, it's at 9 PM on Friday night, and it's English--a class that the majority of them view as kind of a joke. It probably doesn't help that their teacher is obviously (no matter how I try to hide it) around their same age, and doesn't totally speak their language. Maybe I shouldn't admit it, but I found it at least a little amusing. Not the blatantly drunk boy--that was just too much. It was distracting for the rest of the class and he couldn't function at all. But his friends...yes, it was disrespectful of them to come to class drunk, but if it weren't for the skinny boy, I probably wouldn't have realized. In all honesty, I actually probably would have thought that the class had gone particularly well--they were extra chatty, and not just in their side conversations. I guess the Fanta and whatever it was loosened their inhibitions with speaking English.

They better not make a habit of "haciendo la previa" (pregaming) before my class, but if a drink or two it makes it so that I don't have to drag every English word out of their mouth, well, call me a bad teacher, but I don't think I'd mind it every once in a while.

Going to the Dogs

A week or so ago I posted about Santiago's stray problem and my desire to find some way to help out. So I couldn't believe it when a friend and fellow teacher sent me this article yesterday. It's an interview with the director of Asociacion de Ayuda al Animal Abandonado (Association for the Help of Abandoned Animals). In it, he talks about Santiago's grave problem with stray dogs and what people can do to help, including volunteering with his organization. Needless to say, I contacted him right away and am planning to attend one of their meetings on Sunday. I can't wait! Thanks fate and Tara for sending this article my way!

Mission Memory Verb Game: Not Quite Accomplished

So I've been neglecting to share much about my experience teaching. Ironic since, after all, it is the principal reason behind my being here. Also strange because it really has been quite entertaining and interesting. I'm learning a lot about Chilean culture, especially the younger generation; the Chilean education system with all its idiosyncracies and frustrations; teaching and pedagogy, specifically teaching English as a foreign language; and a lot about myself: strengths, limitations, things that drive me insane, etc.

First of all, I feel very lucky to be in the teaching position that I am--a lead teacher in my own classroom in a university level institution--given my lack of an education background. DUOC, my school, has placed a lot of trust in me and my fellow North American teachers; after all our students' ability to graduate rests on whether they pass English. I am grateful for this challenge, and especially for the leeway that I have in how I teach my classes. On the other hand, there are times when I feel totally clueless about how to get through to my students, how to get them to participate more in class, how to explain something differently if they aren't getting it, how to evaluate them, and "un monton" (as they say in Chile, "a mountain") of other things.

Our goal, ultimately, is "practical fluency." That's all well and good in theory, but in practice it's infinitely difficult, especially when, along the way to the illusive "practical fluency," our students are expected to master, again, "un monton" of grammatical items. Of course, grammar--subjects, verbs, prepositions, articles, and the list goes on--are the building blocks of language. However, learning how to form a question by discussing the various parts of speech that you need to make up that interrogative sentence is not the way that all of us learned our native language. Things get even more complicated when the students you teach aren't all that familiar, if at all, with grammatical terms and structures, even in their own language.

So yesterday I set out for my day of teaching armed with what I thought was a great, (clever, fun, interractive, hands-on, etc) way to reinforce the conjugation of simple present verbs, which I had introduced in the last class. I had made a 9x6 matrix of subjects (He, I, She, John, We, etc) and verbs (plays guitar, goes to work, etc), and covered each with a post-it for my own spin on the classic "Memory" game. A lot of work for one lesson, but I figured the students would have fun with it and it would be more interesting than just conjugating and repeating.

What I thought would be straightforward confused my students immensely. Not only did they struggle to understand how to play the game (they would pick "I" and "a student" and not understand why that couldn't be a match. I understand what they were thinking, but I had to explain maybe 10 times that those were two subjects, that they needed a verb).  Even the ones that did understand were still making mistakes ("They goes to work. Siii." "No Juan, that is NOT a match. THEY: NO S"). I had even drawn two circles on the board, one for "NEEDS S" (He, She, It, ANY NAME) and one for "NO S" (I, You, We, They). Still, no dice.  To top it off, they almost always refused to read the words, and instead simply looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to read them and tell them whether it was a match or not. That pretty much defeated the purpose of the exercise to get them to read and speak, two fundamental goals of language instruction, duh.

So, halfway through the game I finally accepted that it wasn't working. Time to regroup and revise. We switched over to a less complicated activity, well actually borderline dull in its straightforwardness, but it seemed to work better. I'm still not convinced that come the quiz next Wednesday they won't all write in "Juan go to school," and that makes me feel nervous, guilty, and frustrated. But, I planned my lesson for tomorrow this morning, and I guess I'm a glutton for punishment because I crafted a new activity, construction paper, scissors, markers, and all. We'll see if this one works better or if we'll have to resort, once again to boring book activities and repetition. Call me stupid, but I'm hopeful this one will make this new grammar item crystal clear...I'll let you know.

A Doorknob Disappointment

For the past couple of weeks I’ve been considering and casually looking for a new apartment. Although I love my location, I’m starting to feel seriously cramped in my 10x5 foot room. I constantly feel like I need to be picking up and organizing because there is just nowhere to put anything! And, I’ll admit, I’m not the most neat and organized person, so that just makes it worse. There are also just little things that, in my desperation to get out of the hostel, I didn’t notice when I decided on my apartment. My bed sucks, for one. And it’s not even anything I can fix. It’s super squishy, to the point of feeling like all the material of the mattress has disintegrated, and I can feel springs poking into my back. Our kitchen also leaves something to be desired, with minimal counter space and grungy floors and appliances. I’m not looking for a palace, but in general I’d like to live in a newer building and in an apartment that was decorated and is kept up with a little more attention.

So that brings me to the apartment search process. This second go around has proven much more difficult and frustrating for me. I think it’s because I now have fairly specific elements I am looking for, that I simply wasn’t aware of before. For starters, I really would like to stay within a ten-block radius of where I am now. It’s just too convenient being able to walk to work to move anywhere else. Plus, I cut out transportation costs of the metro or buses. I now know to give the bed a test drive; to ask about a dryer as well as a washing machine (otherwise I’m going to be dry-cleaning everything I own that I don’t want to look like it’s two sizes too big); to ask myself whether I can see myself spending time and cooking in the kitchen; and a number of other little particulars. Given all that, it’s proven impossible thus far to find a place with everything I want!

I thought I had hit the jackpot this past week with a huge apartment (more like a house) just one metro stop up from where I am now, and still within walkable distance from my school. The room was sizable, the bed a super comfy double, and I had a private bathroom to myself. It was in my price range and the common areas were pleasant enough, the only doubt I had concerned the roommates. The woman who showed me the apartment was a forty- or fifty-something mother, and she shared the apartment with her two grown daughters. She seemed nice enough and I had a great experience living with an empty nester in Spain, but it just hadn’t been the living arrangement I had pictured for myself for my time here in Chile. Nonetheless, after my initial visit I decided to return for a second look, feel her out once more, and make my decision.

I had pretty much decided I’d take it after chatting with her for about fifteen minutes and carefully inspecting the apartment for the second time, when my potential roommate asked me a question: “Ok Megan, there’s one more thing I’d like to ask you, are you a very quiet person?”

I thought about it for a second. “Well, yes, I think of myself as a pretty quiet person.”

“Oh good,” she replied, “because loud noises bother me quite a bit. And the last person was always slamming the doors.”

I guess my puzzled look tipped her off.

“Oh, let me show you what I mean,” she offered.

We walked over to my future bedroom.

“You see, he used to shut the door like this.”

She proceeded to close my bedroom door. Not slam. Not shut with force. Just close the door. Yes, it made a noise. Perhaps it’s the way the door is made or sits in the frame, or maybe it’s the particular kind of doorknob.

“But, really,” she went on, “I’d like the door to be closed like this.”

She demonstrated: “You turn the doorknob first, and then close the door softly.” “See?”

She looked at me expectantly, looking for my recognition that yes, of course, this was a much better way to close a door. Alarms were blaring in my head at that moment. PSYCHO. OBSESSIVE. YOU DON’T WANT TO HAVE TO WALK AROUND QUIET AS A MOUSE IN YOUR HOUSE. But, I simply nodded and smiled, “Claro, claro” (of course, of course), “that makes perfect sense. That’s a much better way.”

I was out of there thirty seconds later, having promised to call her later that day about when to bring my money by for the deposit.

Do you think that happened?