Recently I've had to do very adult things, like sign up for a Retirement Fund. Now you're probably thinking to yourself, "How responsible to start saving at such a young age!" Well, not so much. You see, here in Chile there's a wonderful thing called the AFP, or Administradoras de Fondos de Pensiones, or Administrators of Pension Funds. Social Security is privatized, so if you are a contracted employee, by law you must choose an AFP (such as CUPRUM or ProVida or Habitat) which are all privately administered pension funds. There is no automatically deducted Social Security contributions like in the U.S.
Then, every month, 10% of your paycheck is taken out and put into one of these funds with varying interest rates. Within each AFP, there are five funds (lettered A-E) which vary in riskiness. A is the most risky and young professionals put their money in those funds, while E is the least risky and is meant for people about to retire. In addition to the 10% of your monthly pay that they put in the fund, they also take 1.4-2.3% (depending on the AFP) as a fee to administer your account. So on average, you're giving the AFP around 12% of your monthly pay.
That is no small amount, so I wanted to make absolutely sure that as a foreigner I had to pay. So I went to the Superintendencia de Pensiones (on Morandé between Huerfanos and Augustinas), the body that regulates all AFPs, and asked. They were very pleasant there, and answered all of my questions.
The bad news? Yes, I have to join an AFP. Every contracted worker in Chile has to, regardless of nationality. The okay news? As a foreign professional, I'm allowed to take out my money when I leave the country. The drawback is that I'll have to pay taxes on it, which can be quite steep depending on how much money you have in the funds.
Also, did you notice how I said foriegn professional? Yes, that's right. You have to have graduated from college to get your money back. How do I prove that? I have to get my diploma recognized by the Chilean government. I know some of my readers have gone through this process (which if I remember correctly, is kind of a headache), so if anyone has links to previous blog posts, please leave a comment and I'll link to you.
In addition to the 12% taken out by the AFP, what else is taken out of your paycheck?
1.87% goes to Disability and Survival Insurance if you work for a company with more than 100 employees (not quite sure what this one is...ideas?)
~1% goes to Unemployment Insurance
7% goes to Public Health Insurance (FONASA) OR 7+% goes to Private Health Insurance (ISAPRE) (More on this in Part Two)
10% goes to SII for taxes (Some percentage of this gets returned to you in May)
All in all, you'll get around 30% of your paycheck taken out. Bummer.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Country mouse moves to the city
I've been contemplating culture shock recently, but not the culture shock experienced by people who move from one country to another, but rather the shock produced when someone moves from the country to the city.
For anyone who hasn't been following this blog that long, I grew up on a farm in a Vermont town of 2000 people. I'm a country girl who moved to the city, but not just any city, I happened to chose a city in another country, an 11 hour plane ride plus 3 hour car ride away from my hometown. I'm all about subtle changes, can't you tell?
Adjusting to city life surprisingly wasn't that hard for me. I like it a lot. I like that I don't have to have a car, I like that there are tons of places to go and things to do, I like the rhythm of life in Santiago. This isn't to say I don't miss open spaces and the color green, but I've adjusted.
But the fact that I came from the country explains a lot of things about me, like the fact that I didn't know the word for andén in English. Of course, I see "Cambio de andén" every day when I'm in the Metro, and I know what it means. But last night in class, when my students asked me how to say it in English, I had to look it up in the dictionary. Why? Because before coming to Chile I had been in a subway a grand total of about 10 times. It's a word I learned entirely in Spanish. Andén is platform, by the way.
It also explains why I'm so numb to fashion. Growing up on a farm, you go for comortable and functional clothes that you don't really care that much about. Because afterall, even if you try to keep them "good", you'll probably end up getting cow manure on them somehow. I mean you can't exactly run and change clothes when the cows get out. You stop what you're doing and go traipsing through the fields to round them up, sometimes getting covered with poop in the process. Thus is life.
When I got to high school I suppose I started caring a bit more about clothes. I remember in 7th grade my new friend M. introduced me to brands like Calvin Klein, Steve Madden and others (can't think of any off the top of my head! see: fashion numb). At first I thought she was talking about friends of hers. But despite M.'s best efforts, my school was in the middle of Hippy-ville, where it was entirely acceptable to come to school in pajamas, ripped jeans, overalls, sweatsuits, etc. It was also okay to wear the same clothes two days in a row. I remember my big fashion "accomplishment" was starting to wear hooded sweatshirts instead of crew-neck.
Then I went to college in the bustling metropolis of Waterville, ME, where things weren't much better, but at least I got introduced to popped collars, pearls, Uggs, Lacoste and seersucker (none of which I adopted into my wardrobe!). I'm slowly changing my wardrobe now that I live in a city, even though people tell me the fashion isn't all that great (I honestly wouldn't know). I bought boots with heels (heels!) and have some pants that aren't jeans.
Although this is slowly changing, it explains why my first instinct is to trust people. It's all I can do not to give money to every person I see begging on the street, even though for all I know they might use that money to buy drugs or alcohol. The other day I was in Subway and my first instict was to save a table for myself by putting my bag and coat on it. HELLO? I know that you can't do that here, but it's hard for me to reverse my institcts. In my town, people leave their cars unlocked with their purse in it and usually nothing happens. We never locked our house at night until a few years ago when we moved to a different house that is on a main road that has a bit more traffic.
Living in the city has taught me a lot, and I think unfortunately it has hardened me a bit. I'm no longer naiive and I trust people less. However, I have grown up a lot in my short time in Santiago. I've learned to be independent, despite the millions of people that surround me. And just as I wouldn't change my upbringing for anything, I also wouldn't change where I am now.
For anyone who hasn't been following this blog that long, I grew up on a farm in a Vermont town of 2000 people. I'm a country girl who moved to the city, but not just any city, I happened to chose a city in another country, an 11 hour plane ride plus 3 hour car ride away from my hometown. I'm all about subtle changes, can't you tell?
Adjusting to city life surprisingly wasn't that hard for me. I like it a lot. I like that I don't have to have a car, I like that there are tons of places to go and things to do, I like the rhythm of life in Santiago. This isn't to say I don't miss open spaces and the color green, but I've adjusted.
But the fact that I came from the country explains a lot of things about me, like the fact that I didn't know the word for andén in English. Of course, I see "Cambio de andén" every day when I'm in the Metro, and I know what it means. But last night in class, when my students asked me how to say it in English, I had to look it up in the dictionary. Why? Because before coming to Chile I had been in a subway a grand total of about 10 times. It's a word I learned entirely in Spanish. Andén is platform, by the way.
It also explains why I'm so numb to fashion. Growing up on a farm, you go for comortable and functional clothes that you don't really care that much about. Because afterall, even if you try to keep them "good", you'll probably end up getting cow manure on them somehow. I mean you can't exactly run and change clothes when the cows get out. You stop what you're doing and go traipsing through the fields to round them up, sometimes getting covered with poop in the process. Thus is life.
When I got to high school I suppose I started caring a bit more about clothes. I remember in 7th grade my new friend M. introduced me to brands like Calvin Klein, Steve Madden and others (can't think of any off the top of my head! see: fashion numb). At first I thought she was talking about friends of hers. But despite M.'s best efforts, my school was in the middle of Hippy-ville, where it was entirely acceptable to come to school in pajamas, ripped jeans, overalls, sweatsuits, etc. It was also okay to wear the same clothes two days in a row. I remember my big fashion "accomplishment" was starting to wear hooded sweatshirts instead of crew-neck.
Then I went to college in the bustling metropolis of Waterville, ME, where things weren't much better, but at least I got introduced to popped collars, pearls, Uggs, Lacoste and seersucker (none of which I adopted into my wardrobe!). I'm slowly changing my wardrobe now that I live in a city, even though people tell me the fashion isn't all that great (I honestly wouldn't know). I bought boots with heels (heels!) and have some pants that aren't jeans.
Although this is slowly changing, it explains why my first instinct is to trust people. It's all I can do not to give money to every person I see begging on the street, even though for all I know they might use that money to buy drugs or alcohol. The other day I was in Subway and my first instict was to save a table for myself by putting my bag and coat on it. HELLO? I know that you can't do that here, but it's hard for me to reverse my institcts. In my town, people leave their cars unlocked with their purse in it and usually nothing happens. We never locked our house at night until a few years ago when we moved to a different house that is on a main road that has a bit more traffic.
Living in the city has taught me a lot, and I think unfortunately it has hardened me a bit. I'm no longer naiive and I trust people less. However, I have grown up a lot in my short time in Santiago. I've learned to be independent, despite the millions of people that surround me. And just as I wouldn't change my upbringing for anything, I also wouldn't change where I am now.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
RIP
I was six or seven years old and my babysitter had taken my sister, brother and I to her house. I loved going there because she had this neat little collections of animal figurines. There was a family of raccoons, a family of badgers, a family of rabbits, etc, and I LOOOVED playing with them. This time though, she suggested we play some music and dance.
We spent the longest time dancing around to this song. She tried to make us listen to other songs on the album, but we were obsessed with Beat It. We chased each other around the room, trying to "beat" each other on the butt. We thought it was hilarious, of course.
Despite some shady parts in his past, you have to admit that this guy was a genius. He will be sorely missed.
We spent the longest time dancing around to this song. She tried to make us listen to other songs on the album, but we were obsessed with Beat It. We chased each other around the room, trying to "beat" each other on the butt. We thought it was hilarious, of course.
Despite some shady parts in his past, you have to admit that this guy was a genius. He will be sorely missed.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Improvisation
In 10th-12th grade, I was in my High School's Jazz Band. This was a pretty big deal at my school because it required an audition. We had to memorize a bunch of scales, play a piece we had been practicing, sight read a piece we'd never seen before and do an improvised solo. That's right, we had to play music without the notes written out in front of us!
While it was fun to improvise solos on my gigantic baritone saxophone, it wasn't random. There were various chords that we had to follow to make sure that the notes we played sounded good in the context of the song. It was by no means easy, but it was doable.
I recognize that perhaps because of this experience, I have better than average improvisation skills when it comes to life in general. I know how to use the tools I have to create something that is not planned out note by note.
However, one of the biggest frustrations I have with Chile is that people seem to lack improvisation skills. If it's not written down in some sort of law, code, rule or lesson plan, there is no way that it can be done.
This lack of willingness or ability to improvise combined with the disorganization and inefficiency of some Chilean organizations results in...UTTER DISASTER!
I wish I could post the details of my very pertinent example here, but it is VERY work related and could get me into trouble.
Does anyone know how to translate "Think outside the box" into Spanish?
While it was fun to improvise solos on my gigantic baritone saxophone, it wasn't random. There were various chords that we had to follow to make sure that the notes we played sounded good in the context of the song. It was by no means easy, but it was doable.
I recognize that perhaps because of this experience, I have better than average improvisation skills when it comes to life in general. I know how to use the tools I have to create something that is not planned out note by note.
However, one of the biggest frustrations I have with Chile is that people seem to lack improvisation skills. If it's not written down in some sort of law, code, rule or lesson plan, there is no way that it can be done.
This lack of willingness or ability to improvise combined with the disorganization and inefficiency of some Chilean organizations results in...UTTER DISASTER!
I wish I could post the details of my very pertinent example here, but it is VERY work related and could get me into trouble.
Does anyone know how to translate "Think outside the box" into Spanish?
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Happy Father's Day!!
To my Buppa Carlton
To my Grampa John
And to my one and only Daddy
I love you all!
Friday, June 19, 2009
Yummy yummy peanut butter deliciousness
I often do an exercise with my students where I tell them they're going to a deserted island and have to bring only X number of things. Then they discuss and tell me what they would (or are going to, depending on their level) bring and hilarity ensues.
Because of this, I've often thought about what I would bring to a deserted island. Even though in my classes I usually tell them they have an ample supply of food and fresh water so they don't have to worry about things like that. Despite this, there is one thing that I would bring, hands down.
PEANUT BUTTER.
I love it so much. Thank god it's available in Chile, even if it's a bit more expensive than home. I honestly don't think I could live here without it.
There is a saying in English, "the nectar of the gods" (in Chilean it's "manjar de los dioses") but I honestly feel like starting a petition to officially change it to "peanut butter of the gods".
I need to get out. All these days of licencia médica are getting to me, which is why, despite the fact that it's raining cats and dogs (or lloviendo a cántaros) I am going out tonight for a bit, because I think I might start getting sicker if I stay in my room any longer.
That, and I might start writing more posts about strawberry jelly or marshmallow fluff. Mmmmmmm....how good is marshmallow fluff???
Because of this, I've often thought about what I would bring to a deserted island. Even though in my classes I usually tell them they have an ample supply of food and fresh water so they don't have to worry about things like that. Despite this, there is one thing that I would bring, hands down.
PEANUT BUTTER.
I love it so much. Thank god it's available in Chile, even if it's a bit more expensive than home. I honestly don't think I could live here without it.
There is a saying in English, "the nectar of the gods" (in Chilean it's "manjar de los dioses") but I honestly feel like starting a petition to officially change it to "peanut butter of the gods".
I need to get out. All these days of licencia médica are getting to me, which is why, despite the fact that it's raining cats and dogs (or lloviendo a cántaros) I am going out tonight for a bit, because I think I might start getting sicker if I stay in my room any longer.
That, and I might start writing more posts about strawberry jelly or marshmallow fluff. Mmmmmmm....how good is marshmallow fluff???
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
More pronunciation problems
I admit it, I can't say Salvador. But some pronunciation problems honestly aren't my fault. For example, the fact that at Starbucks they pronounce "muffin" practically like they do in English (with a short "u") where as in Castaño it's pronounced with a long "u" a la español. Also, who knew that here they say "CD" tal cual (see-dee), not "say-day". I'm sorry you don't understand me when I try to espanicize my own language so that you will understand me. Sheesh. How is a girl supposed to keep up?
The same thing happened today. I had to talk on the phone to strangers (shudder), in Spanish, (shudder shudder) to ask for something called a "holter de arritmia." In Spanish, the "h" is silent, so I called asking for a "OHL-ted" and the woman on the other line thought I was crazy until she was like, "Oh, you crazy gringa, you want a HOL-ter de arritimia! Can't you pronounce your own language? That's a gringa term!" Okay, so she didn't say all that, but I'm sure that's what she was thinking.
And then I had to give my RUT. Why did the gods of the Registro Civil curse me with a number so full of 3's and 6's??? Didn't they know that even for a person who speaks Spanish natively, these two numbers sound the similar, and for poor gringas who are talking on the phone they sound EXACTLY THE SAME. No wonder my RUT didn't want to register, she was putting a 6 where the 3 should be and a 3 where the 6 should be. After a little while saying "No, it's 306. 3 as in thirty. 3 as in 1,2,3. 3 as in 3 little pigs. 3 as in the triolgy, Father Son and Holy Ghost," I finally got her to put in the right RUT. Because did you all know that the first eight digits of your RUT are put into some sort of formula which gives you the ninth digit? That's why I couldn't just make up a RUT when I wanted to sign up for Club Movistar awhile back. And that's why this woman couldn't give me my appointment for the houlter de arritimia when she switched the 3 for a 6.
If you're wondering why I'm writing about my pronunciation problems instead of the problems that have lead me to need a Holter Test, that makes two of us. But I'll be fine, promise.
The same thing happened today. I had to talk on the phone to strangers (shudder), in Spanish, (shudder shudder) to ask for something called a "holter de arritmia." In Spanish, the "h" is silent, so I called asking for a "OHL-ted" and the woman on the other line thought I was crazy until she was like, "Oh, you crazy gringa, you want a HOL-ter de arritimia! Can't you pronounce your own language? That's a gringa term!" Okay, so she didn't say all that, but I'm sure that's what she was thinking.
And then I had to give my RUT. Why did the gods of the Registro Civil curse me with a number so full of 3's and 6's??? Didn't they know that even for a person who speaks Spanish natively, these two numbers sound the similar, and for poor gringas who are talking on the phone they sound EXACTLY THE SAME. No wonder my RUT didn't want to register, she was putting a 6 where the 3 should be and a 3 where the 6 should be. After a little while saying "No, it's 306. 3 as in thirty. 3 as in 1,2,3. 3 as in 3 little pigs. 3 as in the triolgy, Father Son and Holy Ghost," I finally got her to put in the right RUT. Because did you all know that the first eight digits of your RUT are put into some sort of formula which gives you the ninth digit? That's why I couldn't just make up a RUT when I wanted to sign up for Club Movistar awhile back. And that's why this woman couldn't give me my appointment for the houlter de arritimia when she switched the 3 for a 6.
If you're wondering why I'm writing about my pronunciation problems instead of the problems that have lead me to need a Holter Test, that makes two of us. But I'll be fine, promise.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Can someone PLEASE go ahead and invent teleportation already?
In a perfect world, I would live in Chile. However, Chile wouldn't be located at the end of the world. It would have all of its same characteristics (plus perhaps better customer service) but be located right next to the United States, specifically near the East Coast.
That way, I would be able to go home for the weekend to see my cousins graduate from high school, to visit my uncle who just got home from the hospital, to go for a walk with my dogs, to watch American Idol/So You Think You Can Dance with my parents, to watch my brother's football games, to go for a kayak ride with my sister, to go to the July Birthday Party, to go to my cousins' wedding, etc, etc, etc, etc.
I know I'm happy here in Chile. I like my job, I love my friends, in general I'm content. Sometimes it just hits me how FAR AWAY I am from my family and friends, from my childhood home, from my people, from my past.
That way, I would be able to go home for the weekend to see my cousins graduate from high school, to visit my uncle who just got home from the hospital, to go for a walk with my dogs, to watch American Idol/So You Think You Can Dance with my parents, to watch my brother's football games, to go for a kayak ride with my sister, to go to the July Birthday Party, to go to my cousins' wedding, etc, etc, etc, etc.
I know I'm happy here in Chile. I like my job, I love my friends, in general I'm content. Sometimes it just hits me how FAR AWAY I am from my family and friends, from my childhood home, from my people, from my past.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
My mind is a mush of words
I've been translating ALL DAY LONG. I don't know what language to think in.
Recently, I was trying to translate the word soportar. My tired brain thought: "support" but then I knew immediately that wasn't right. Then my tired brain thought, "Ahh! Aguantar, yep that's definitely it." So I typed "aguantar" into my document. The silly red line would not go away. Word kept suggenting that the word I needed was "gaunter". Then I realized.
DUH. Aguantar is another word in Spanish for soportar.
So, obviously I know what soportar means. I know that no soporto el frio. But I couldn't for the life of me think of the word in English. So I had to look it up in the dictionary. Frustrating!
For any of you not-Spanish speakers who are dying of suspense, soportar means "to stand" like, I can't stand the cold.
And now I'm back to the brain-mush that is translating...
Recently, I was trying to translate the word soportar. My tired brain thought: "support" but then I knew immediately that wasn't right. Then my tired brain thought, "Ahh! Aguantar, yep that's definitely it." So I typed "aguantar" into my document. The silly red line would not go away. Word kept suggenting that the word I needed was "gaunter". Then I realized.
DUH. Aguantar is another word in Spanish for soportar.
So, obviously I know what soportar means. I know that no soporto el frio. But I couldn't for the life of me think of the word in English. So I had to look it up in the dictionary. Frustrating!
For any of you not-Spanish speakers who are dying of suspense, soportar means "to stand" like, I can't stand the cold.
And now I'm back to the brain-mush that is translating...
Thursday, June 11, 2009
A Theory
With Chile's amazing win over Bolivia last night, I started thinking a lot about soccer,aka football, aka fútbol. As I watched (on TV) Plaza Italia flood with people celebrating Chile's win, I wondered, "Why don't we do that in the U.S.?" F.'s dad asked me if anything like this ever happened allá, and I told him the closest we got was when the Red Sox won the World Series in 2004. But even then, they hadn't won in almost NINETY years, and the celebrating was pretty much limited to the Northeast, and mostly just to Boston.
The United States doesn't have this mass euphoria when the US Soccer team wins because, let's face it, no one cares about soccer in the US. But my question is why?
I have two theories, and probably the real reason is a combination of all of them.
Theory One:
Soccer is boring. Compared to basketball, where the players score a lot, soccer can be a let-down. I mean, when I went to the Chile-Urugay game, NOBODY scored. Fome. However, when someone does score, it's AMAZINGLY EXCITING, where as in basketball, the only real thrill you get is maybe when someone hits a three-pointer or it's the end of the game and it's tied. But, you say, how about baseball, America's pasttime? I love baseball, but I totally agree with the argument that it's boring. I mean they players stand for most of the game. There's hardly any running involved. And football (the American kind) one could also argue is boring. The play is interrupted every few seconds, although I agree it's pretty darn exciting when someone scores a touchdown, especially a running one. And they score more often than in soccer.
Okay, so maybe the "boring" factor has something to do with it, but it can't be everything because a lot of sports that are popular in the US can also be described as "boring".
Theory Two:
Money. Baseball, American Football, Basketball and even Hockey allow for plenty of commerical interruptions, whether is be for change of innings, time-outs, the break between periods/quarters or player injuries. I'm pretty sure that in American football, they take time-outs especially for commercials, or at least it seems so to me. Soccer, on the other hand, does not lend itself so well to commercial breaks. In fact, if you watch soccer here in Chile, there is one commercial break: half-time. You see, time doesn't stop in soccer. When someone gets injured, the clock keeps running and they add time on at the end. Same when they sub in players (which is done infrequenlty in the first place).
So I know this may sound all conspiracy theory-esque, but go with me for a second. Advertisers don't gain much from soccer games in the US. So therefore the teams (National or MLS) have less sponsors which means less money. Therefore they can't afford to "market" the sport like money-makers such as American Football or Basketball can.
I'm sure this theory is full of holes and things I haven't thought about. So that's why I put this out to you, dear readers. What do you think? Why is soccer so unimportant in the US, but in the rest of the world it's practically the only sport?
The United States doesn't have this mass euphoria when the US Soccer team wins because, let's face it, no one cares about soccer in the US. But my question is why?
I have two theories, and probably the real reason is a combination of all of them.
Theory One:
Soccer is boring. Compared to basketball, where the players score a lot, soccer can be a let-down. I mean, when I went to the Chile-Urugay game, NOBODY scored. Fome. However, when someone does score, it's AMAZINGLY EXCITING, where as in basketball, the only real thrill you get is maybe when someone hits a three-pointer or it's the end of the game and it's tied. But, you say, how about baseball, America's pasttime? I love baseball, but I totally agree with the argument that it's boring. I mean they players stand for most of the game. There's hardly any running involved. And football (the American kind) one could also argue is boring. The play is interrupted every few seconds, although I agree it's pretty darn exciting when someone scores a touchdown, especially a running one. And they score more often than in soccer.
Okay, so maybe the "boring" factor has something to do with it, but it can't be everything because a lot of sports that are popular in the US can also be described as "boring".
Theory Two:
Money. Baseball, American Football, Basketball and even Hockey allow for plenty of commerical interruptions, whether is be for change of innings, time-outs, the break between periods/quarters or player injuries. I'm pretty sure that in American football, they take time-outs especially for commercials, or at least it seems so to me. Soccer, on the other hand, does not lend itself so well to commercial breaks. In fact, if you watch soccer here in Chile, there is one commercial break: half-time. You see, time doesn't stop in soccer. When someone gets injured, the clock keeps running and they add time on at the end. Same when they sub in players (which is done infrequenlty in the first place).
So I know this may sound all conspiracy theory-esque, but go with me for a second. Advertisers don't gain much from soccer games in the US. So therefore the teams (National or MLS) have less sponsors which means less money. Therefore they can't afford to "market" the sport like money-makers such as American Football or Basketball can.
I'm sure this theory is full of holes and things I haven't thought about. So that's why I put this out to you, dear readers. What do you think? Why is soccer so unimportant in the US, but in the rest of the world it's practically the only sport?
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Life is Good
I have had this window open for 26 minutes trying to think of what exactly to write. I want to tell everyone exactly what the title says: that life is, indeed good. But somehow, the good things about my life just aren't as interesting as the day to day trivialities that sometimes drive me up the wall.
But not to worry, I won't digress into the bad. I'll just keep it short.
While I wouldn't say love, I would say that I like my job a lot. If the schedule were a bit different, I'd love it. I love my students, I feel challenged and I can mostly deal with the disorganized inefficiencies of my Institute (which despite everything, I think is a good place to work).
My personal life is also great, but it is personal, so we'll leave it at that :)
In conclusion, I'm happy. End of story.
But not to worry, I won't digress into the bad. I'll just keep it short.
While I wouldn't say love, I would say that I like my job a lot. If the schedule were a bit different, I'd love it. I love my students, I feel challenged and I can mostly deal with the disorganized inefficiencies of my Institute (which despite everything, I think is a good place to work).
My personal life is also great, but it is personal, so we'll leave it at that :)
In conclusion, I'm happy. End of story.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Thoughts on my first day in Santiago, Chile
This is part of a group blog post organized by Cachando Chile. Check out the other posts here.
Like Lydia, it's hard for me to remember my first impressions of Chile. I remember what I thought the very first day I arrived, but I don't remember much after that. I feel like I adjusted to the culture in one day, which is impossible, but it's how I remember it.
I first arrived in Chile in January 2007 to study abroad. My very first impression? Wow. Those mountains are breathtaking.
These are some memories I have from my first day in Santiago, Chile.
Why are so many people hugging me and kissing me on the cheek? First my study abroad director, then my host mom, then my entire host family! I don't even know these people?!?! Haven't they heard of a handshake? Plus, I'm tried and sweaty. No one should want to touch me. (My attitude about this has since changed 100%. I'm all about hugging and the cheek kiss.)
This city is CLEAN. And there are trees everywhere. Where are the old school buses leaking toxic fumes and the crazy drivers that don't stop for red lights or the grafitti on everything or trash in the streets? This is nothing like San Salvador.
The apartments that my fellow gringo students are living in are NICE and very formal. Everyone offers me juice! I don't really want juice. Oh, you insist? Okay, I'll have some water then. What? I can't drink the water? Oh, okay I'll have juice.
Do I want to eat altiro? What is altiro? I'm not a picky eater, but I'd like to know what altiro is, please. Oh! You're asking if I want to eat now? Like, ahorita? No, I've never been to Mexico, why?
Wow my host sister speaks fast. I can not understand a thing she says. I need a nap.
This food is not Latin. Where are the beans and rice and tortillas?
After the first day, I don't remember any more specific impressions, except maybe about the schedule, how everything is later. Also, the whole culture of sitting around the table and talking for hours (the sobremesa). I remember going down to eat dinner one night around 8:00 and telling my parents that I'd call them after. I went back upstairs to call them, and they were asleep because I hadn't finished with dinner until midnight!
It wasn't until living here for awhile that I began to notice cultural differences. But even so, it's amazing to remember when I arrived here, so naive, but ready for the adventure ahead.
Like Lydia, it's hard for me to remember my first impressions of Chile. I remember what I thought the very first day I arrived, but I don't remember much after that. I feel like I adjusted to the culture in one day, which is impossible, but it's how I remember it.
I first arrived in Chile in January 2007 to study abroad. My very first impression? Wow. Those mountains are breathtaking.
These are some memories I have from my first day in Santiago, Chile.
Why are so many people hugging me and kissing me on the cheek? First my study abroad director, then my host mom, then my entire host family! I don't even know these people?!?! Haven't they heard of a handshake? Plus, I'm tried and sweaty. No one should want to touch me. (My attitude about this has since changed 100%. I'm all about hugging and the cheek kiss.)
This city is CLEAN. And there are trees everywhere. Where are the old school buses leaking toxic fumes and the crazy drivers that don't stop for red lights or the grafitti on everything or trash in the streets? This is nothing like San Salvador.
The apartments that my fellow gringo students are living in are NICE and very formal. Everyone offers me juice! I don't really want juice. Oh, you insist? Okay, I'll have some water then. What? I can't drink the water? Oh, okay I'll have juice.
Do I want to eat altiro? What is altiro? I'm not a picky eater, but I'd like to know what altiro is, please. Oh! You're asking if I want to eat now? Like, ahorita? No, I've never been to Mexico, why?
Wow my host sister speaks fast. I can not understand a thing she says. I need a nap.
This food is not Latin. Where are the beans and rice and tortillas?
After the first day, I don't remember any more specific impressions, except maybe about the schedule, how everything is later. Also, the whole culture of sitting around the table and talking for hours (the sobremesa). I remember going down to eat dinner one night around 8:00 and telling my parents that I'd call them after. I went back upstairs to call them, and they were asleep because I hadn't finished with dinner until midnight!
It wasn't until living here for awhile that I began to notice cultural differences. But even so, it's amazing to remember when I arrived here, so naive, but ready for the adventure ahead.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Bad Micro Luck
Riding a micro (bus) in Santiago is always interesting. It's where the informal economy thrives; you can buy anything from the infamous parche-curitas (bandaids) to ice cream, peanuts, mysterious Peruvian creams to cure what ails you, nail files, ankle braces, coloring books, bottled water or candy bars.
You can also get entertained by the various musicians or sometimes comedians who will perform whether you like it or not for a few coins.
Usually, I like the musicians. They sing traditional Chilean folk songs, and sometimes entire bands get on. I especially like the ones with panpipes. I'm a sucker for panpipes. When I like the music and it doesn't seem too dangerous to take out my wallet, I'll give a coin to the performer.
However, my luck has been bad lately when it comes to micro performers. It all started the other day when I got on a micro in the middle of a full-fledged reggaeton performance. The guy had some sort of African drum on which he was beating out the rhythm and then rapping along about I don't know what. I tried to turn up my mp3 player to block out the drumming (it was REALLY desagradable) but my volume didn't go that high.
Then my bad luck REALLY started. I transferred to a different bus and there was a man clapping and singing. His voice...oh my god. I mean I realize that he is trying to make a living, and his life must be very difficult, but whoever told him that he should sing to get by was sadly mistaken. His voice makes me want to curl up in the fetal position with my hands on my ears screaming "LA LA LA LA LA LA LA." I actually considered giving him money to STOP singing.
That same day I got back on the bus and who was there? The same singing-clapping guy. Sheesh.
Then today coming home from the institute, who was waiting for the bus with me? The signing-clapping guy.
Just my luck.
Where are the panpipes? I like panpipes...
You can also get entertained by the various musicians or sometimes comedians who will perform whether you like it or not for a few coins.
Usually, I like the musicians. They sing traditional Chilean folk songs, and sometimes entire bands get on. I especially like the ones with panpipes. I'm a sucker for panpipes. When I like the music and it doesn't seem too dangerous to take out my wallet, I'll give a coin to the performer.
However, my luck has been bad lately when it comes to micro performers. It all started the other day when I got on a micro in the middle of a full-fledged reggaeton performance. The guy had some sort of African drum on which he was beating out the rhythm and then rapping along about I don't know what. I tried to turn up my mp3 player to block out the drumming (it was REALLY desagradable) but my volume didn't go that high.
Then my bad luck REALLY started. I transferred to a different bus and there was a man clapping and singing. His voice...oh my god. I mean I realize that he is trying to make a living, and his life must be very difficult, but whoever told him that he should sing to get by was sadly mistaken. His voice makes me want to curl up in the fetal position with my hands on my ears screaming "LA LA LA LA LA LA LA." I actually considered giving him money to STOP singing.
That same day I got back on the bus and who was there? The same singing-clapping guy. Sheesh.
Then today coming home from the institute, who was waiting for the bus with me? The signing-clapping guy.
Just my luck.
Where are the panpipes? I like panpipes...
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Don't get between me and my food today!
Thursdays I'm usually grumpy because I stay up until midnight finishing Gossip Girl and then have to wake up at 6:30 to go to class. Last night I got even less sleep because there was a fly buzzing around my room and I had to chase it out at around 2:00am.
But today I didn't feel particularly grumpy, until I went to the grocery store.
I should know not to go to the grocery store around lunch time, but it was literally the only time I'll have this week and I had two cans of tuna and one orange to my name. Not a balanced diet. So I went to pick up a few essentials to last me until Sunday. I got into a short-ish line. I wasn't in the shortest line, but the most convenient one. Up walks an old man and tries to cut me. I have none of it and firmly stand my ground. He taps me on the shoulder and says, "I'm going to cut in front of you." WHAT? I think, and say, "Ummmm...why?" Then he points to a sign above my head that has a picture of a pregnant woman on it. Okay, so I was in the line for future mothers (aka pregnant women). It was all I could do to bite my tongue and not say, "Oh, so you're expecting?" Then I did realize that it said something about "adultos mayores" (senior citizens) and "descapacitados" (handicapped). He goes, "I'm older than you so I'm going to cut in front of you." I just said, "Ya, bueno," and moved to the next line over which was actually way shorter and I was out of there before the lady had even scanned his first item. AND to top it all off, I even let a nice young man cut me because he had two items and I had about fifteen. That, and he was cute...hehe. So, take that, old man and your "preferential line"!!!!
Then I got home and started preparing myself a delicious turkey sandwich, on whole-wheat bread with avocado and lettuce. It looked divine and I was about to take a huge bite when my host mom came in and squaked, "Don't eat bread! I have food! I'll bring you food!" Usually when it comes to food and my host mom I acquiese, because it takes too much energy to argue with her. But today I not giving in. The conversation went something like this (translated, of course):
Do you see why I usually don't argue about food? But anyway, at least I got to eat my "unhealthy" sandwhich that was apparently lacking in "vitamins." Let me tell you, it was scrumptious!
But today I didn't feel particularly grumpy, until I went to the grocery store.
I should know not to go to the grocery store around lunch time, but it was literally the only time I'll have this week and I had two cans of tuna and one orange to my name. Not a balanced diet. So I went to pick up a few essentials to last me until Sunday. I got into a short-ish line. I wasn't in the shortest line, but the most convenient one. Up walks an old man and tries to cut me. I have none of it and firmly stand my ground. He taps me on the shoulder and says, "I'm going to cut in front of you." WHAT? I think, and say, "Ummmm...why?" Then he points to a sign above my head that has a picture of a pregnant woman on it. Okay, so I was in the line for future mothers (aka pregnant women). It was all I could do to bite my tongue and not say, "Oh, so you're expecting?" Then I did realize that it said something about "adultos mayores" (senior citizens) and "descapacitados" (handicapped). He goes, "I'm older than you so I'm going to cut in front of you." I just said, "Ya, bueno," and moved to the next line over which was actually way shorter and I was out of there before the lady had even scanned his first item. AND to top it all off, I even let a nice young man cut me because he had two items and I had about fifteen. That, and he was cute...hehe. So, take that, old man and your "preferential line"!!!!
Then I got home and started preparing myself a delicious turkey sandwich, on whole-wheat bread with avocado and lettuce. It looked divine and I was about to take a huge bite when my host mom came in and squaked, "Don't eat bread! I have food! I'll bring you food!" Usually when it comes to food and my host mom I acquiese, because it takes too much energy to argue with her. But today I not giving in. The conversation went something like this (translated, of course):
Me: But Ita, this isn't bread. It's a sandwich. It has turkey, lettuce, avocado and whole wheat bread. It's very healthy. No mayonaisse either.
Ita: But you're missing vitamins! I have meat and beans. I'll bring you meat and beans. I soaked the beans for a few days so they have lots of vitamins.
Me (in my head): What???? My meal is way healthier.
Me (outloud): No, Ita, thank you, but I already made this and I don't want to waste it.
Ita: But you can save it for dinner. If you don't eat vitamins, you're going to get sick. I don't want you to get sick.
Me: I won't be here for dinner, and don't worry, I take vitamins every day.
Ita: Then you can eat it tomorrow for breakfast.
Me: No, thank you Ita, but I really want to eat it now. It's my favorite kind of sandwhich and it's delicious.
Ita: Fine. I'll just leave. I won't bother you anymore.
Do you see why I usually don't argue about food? But anyway, at least I got to eat my "unhealthy" sandwhich that was apparently lacking in "vitamins." Let me tell you, it was scrumptious!
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
RIP Fat Kitty
Unfazed by the giant stuffed squirrel trying to interrupt naptime
Sleeping with Stella on 
His favorite spot under the Christmas Tree
And curled up to sleep in a box
And againOscar I'm sure that in kitty heaven they feed you whenever you want and the word "diet" doesn't even exist. There are rocks in the sun to nap on, endless Christmas trees to curl up under and boxes to sleep in. And best of all, no pesky dogs to bother you. Rest well, buddy. You were a good cat.
My adopted language
Sara has been reading my mind lately and blogging about things that I've been thinking about too...like the weather and Chilean Spanish. She pretty much said everything I had to say about Chilean winters (yes, I'm from Vermont, but the Chilean winter is more miserable, trust me!) but I do have a few new thoughts about Chilean Spanish.
When I arrived here in 2007, I had just spent 3 months in El Salvador. I said things like "aguacate" and "ahorita" and "guineo" and everyone told me I spoke like a Mexican. They thought it was cute.
Chilean Spanish was a bit different to understand, but I wouldn't say it was more difficult. I lived in the middle of the campo in El Salvador where everyone speaks incredibly fast and slurs their words together. El Salvador also has a lot of slang words too that I had to learn, but now I can only remember one. So for me, it was more a matter of adapting to the new slang, but it happened really quickly. I also think it helped that we took a Chilean Spanish class where they taught us how to conjugate the verbs into the Chilean vos form (like vos cachai? or vos tení?), where to correctly place the po and the many derrivations of weon (which is really huevon).
I don't use po or cachai very often, although sometimes it just slips out. The only time I ever conjugate verbs with an -ai or -i ending is with estar and tener and only very occasionally.
However, I use A TON of Chilean words on a daily basis. My favorite is altiro (right away), me da lata (I don't feel like it, or I have negative feelings towards), fome (boring, but in a very negative way), filo (whatever), pescar (pay attention to), te pasaste (I really appreciate it), and about a million others. In fact, when I went back to the US the first time, I didn't even realize some words were only Chilean, like regalonear (cuddle) and garabato (a swear word, not a sketch).
Chileans say they speak poorly, but I think it's just different. I admit that it's not as easy to understand as Peruvian or Bolivian Spanish, and it's full of weons, cachais, and pos but it's my adopted country and my adopted language so I fully embrace it, and maybe even love it.
To learn more chilenismos, check out this blog. It rocks.
When I arrived here in 2007, I had just spent 3 months in El Salvador. I said things like "aguacate" and "ahorita" and "guineo" and everyone told me I spoke like a Mexican. They thought it was cute.
Chilean Spanish was a bit different to understand, but I wouldn't say it was more difficult. I lived in the middle of the campo in El Salvador where everyone speaks incredibly fast and slurs their words together. El Salvador also has a lot of slang words too that I had to learn, but now I can only remember one. So for me, it was more a matter of adapting to the new slang, but it happened really quickly. I also think it helped that we took a Chilean Spanish class where they taught us how to conjugate the verbs into the Chilean vos form (like vos cachai? or vos tení?), where to correctly place the po and the many derrivations of weon (which is really huevon).
I don't use po or cachai very often, although sometimes it just slips out. The only time I ever conjugate verbs with an -ai or -i ending is with estar and tener and only very occasionally.
However, I use A TON of Chilean words on a daily basis. My favorite is altiro (right away), me da lata (I don't feel like it, or I have negative feelings towards), fome (boring, but in a very negative way), filo (whatever), pescar (pay attention to), te pasaste (I really appreciate it), and about a million others. In fact, when I went back to the US the first time, I didn't even realize some words were only Chilean, like regalonear (cuddle) and garabato (a swear word, not a sketch).
Chileans say they speak poorly, but I think it's just different. I admit that it's not as easy to understand as Peruvian or Bolivian Spanish, and it's full of weons, cachais, and pos but it's my adopted country and my adopted language so I fully embrace it, and maybe even love it.
To learn more chilenismos, check out this blog. It rocks.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Good thing I didn't wear my heels today...
Today I was going to wear my boots with high heels. I wore them once on a work day and I almost died by the end of the day because my feet were so sore. But, I decided to give them another chance on Saturday night and it wasn't so bad, granted I only walked a total of about 10 blocks and did not have to stand in front of a class for an extended period of time. So today, because it's supposed to be my "relaxed" day, I thought I might wear them. In fact I even had them laid out next to the clothes I was going to wear (because I'm nerdy like that) but at the last minute decided to wear my comfy, flat Mary Janes.
My instincts were dead on because after leaving my house at 7:00am, I didn't return until 7:45pm.
This was partially my fault because I wanted to do fun things with friends, like return sweaters and eat lunch. However, I did not plan on getting called to sub a class from 4:30 to 6:50 and have to walk all the way across El Centro (from Santa Lucia to Amunátegui) and then schlep up to Metro Cerro Blanco to a colegio that still uses chalk but has a beautiful view of Cerro San Cristobal, and then back home during rush hour accompanied by fans of La U who scare the crap out of me because of this incident. (I know, that's not fair. Not all fans of La U are delinquints. In fact my best friends are fans of La U, but I can't control the way my mind responds to groups of men wearing blue jersies. It's involuntary.)
But thus is the life of the travelling English teacher. And the colegio children were surprisingly quite endearing. While showing me where the bathroom was, the whole class entered with me before realizing half of them were boys. Hilarity ensued, rest assured.
I'm just really glad I didn't wear heels.
My instincts were dead on because after leaving my house at 7:00am, I didn't return until 7:45pm.
This was partially my fault because I wanted to do fun things with friends, like return sweaters and eat lunch. However, I did not plan on getting called to sub a class from 4:30 to 6:50 and have to walk all the way across El Centro (from Santa Lucia to Amunátegui) and then schlep up to Metro Cerro Blanco to a colegio that still uses chalk but has a beautiful view of Cerro San Cristobal, and then back home during rush hour accompanied by fans of La U who scare the crap out of me because of this incident. (I know, that's not fair. Not all fans of La U are delinquints. In fact my best friends are fans of La U, but I can't control the way my mind responds to groups of men wearing blue jersies. It's involuntary.)
But thus is the life of the travelling English teacher. And the colegio children were surprisingly quite endearing. While showing me where the bathroom was, the whole class entered with me before realizing half of them were boys. Hilarity ensued, rest assured.
I'm just really glad I didn't wear heels.
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