Presenting the "Crazy Gringa" card

Sometimes I just love being a foreigner in Chile. I feel like I can get away with a lot of things just because I'm a "gringa loca", as in, we'll ignore her less than normal behavior because she's a gringa and maybe that's normal where she comes from.

For example, a lot of times when I go to the grocery store I bring my backpack and ask the baggers to pack my groceries there. The first time I did this I forgot to specify that I didn't need them to be packed in a plastic bag first. Oops, my bad. So now, I specifically ask, "Please put my groceries in my backpack, without plastic bags," and they look at me as if I had two heads. "Are you sure!?" they always ask, and I say, "Yes, I'm sure, here's my crazy gringa card. Please accept my less than normal behavior." The same thing happens when I don't put all of my vegetables in separate plastic bags or insist on putting my lone agua mineral (bottled water) in my purse instead of a small plastic bag.

This morning I was really excited because it was sunny out, and the last few Mondays have been gray and cold. The only thing I dislike more than Mondays are dreary Mondays, so I was pleasantly surprised to see the sun. Also, I happened to send my spring jacket to the cleaners (haha, that's so misleading...I actually just put it in my dirty laundry bag so I can wash it later) so I left my apartment with just a light cardigan on. I was met with more than one strange glance, as it was actually quite chilly out this morning and all the Santiaguinos had at least a warm jacket on, if not a scarf and even gloves. I indeed was a bit cold, but as I entered my first class and the secretary commented on how I wasn't bundled up enough (andas tan desabrigada niña por dios!) I just smiled and said, "I'm used to the cold. I'm from the North. Here's my crazy gringa card please accept my less than normal behavior."

I said the same thing to the passers by who were staring at me as I took a picture of the large Sebastian Piñera cut-out on Apoquindo this morning. Who wants to come back later with me and steal it for my apartment? How cool would that be to have a cut-out of Piñera?? We could all pose with him and take funny pictures. And if anyone catches us stealing it, we can just present the crazy gringa card. "What? Are we doing something wrong? You see in our country it's tradition to steal large cut-outs of presidential candidates. Here are our crazy gringa cards, please accept our less than normal behavior."

Why hello, Mr. Piñera. If I could vote in this election I'd never in a million years vote for you, but I would like to have your cut-out in my apartment!

I have a confession to make...

So I've been a bad blogger recently, because I've been busy. But also, there's something else.



...I've started to watch Lost.

When Lost first came out in 2004, I refused to watch it. You see, J.J. Abrams created another show before lost, called Alias, and that was my FAVORITE SHOW EVER. And then, when Lost came out, Alias went down the drain. In fact, they canceled it in the middle of the last season. So I was a little bitter about Lost and refused to watch it. Plus, since I hadn't watched it from the beginning, I knew nothing. I remember watching an episode once and being so confused as to why they were showing scenes in the "real world" when they were supposedly stranded on a tropical island.

So anyway, since the second season of True Blood recently ended, I needed a new show to watch. Most people recommended either Heroes or Lost, and I decided on Lost.

And now I can't stop. Since about two weeks ago I've finished the entire first season and I'm on the second episode of the second season. It's so good. Or rather, it leaves you with so much suspense that you can't wait until the next episode. I'm glad I'm watching it online, because waiting a week between episodes would be torture. I'm really bad at delayed gratification.

So anyway, forgive me blogging world. I will try to control my obsession and get a few good posts out this week. Although Jack and Kate and Locke are inside the hatch so you may have to wait until they're out again...

Lost in Santa Tecla

Eileen (and others, list at the end) shared a really crazy story about what she has coined, "megaultrabad" travel. I have no story that even approaches the megaultrabadness that is Eileen's tale, although I do have a bus-ride from hell story that I shared once before. I also shared this story of snowy roads and bald tires when we did a similar group blog a few months ago. The following tale will not awe you like Eileen's did, but I hope it will at least entertain you.

But, now I take you to another part of the world, to the small Central American nation of El Salvador, where I spent three months doing a volunteer program in 2006. This story is adapted from an entry I wrote in this blog, but with some embellishments and additional details.

I, a very white, young, naiive 20 year old gringa, lived in a miniscule village called La Florida, which was perched on the side of a jungly mountain about two hours southwest of the capital city of San Salvador. Every few weeks I had to go to San Salvador for volunteer meetings, which required me to take a bus. People complain about Transantiago and Pullman and TurBus. I would like to direct them to El Salvador, where there is no website you can see the routes on, to place to purchase tickets except for the busses themselves and the only way you can know the route is to ask someone who lives there. Also, bus stops? Non-existant. Just wait at the corner or wherever and hope the bus stops. Sometimes it's even hard to see the bus number because each driver likes to decorate his bus as much as possible. For a gringa with limited Spanish, this system is, well, TERRIFYING.

The first time taking the bus from San Salvador to La Florida by myself I was a little worried, but excited at the same time to be striking out on my own. My program director Tedde brought me to the first bus stop, I hopped on the bus and was off. I successfully got off the bus at the Metrocentro (a huge disgusting shopping mall in the middle of San Salvador) and got onto the 101D, which brought me to San Martin Park in Santa Tecla, a smaller city known as Nueva San Salvador on the map, but all Salvadorans call it by it's previous name. El Salvador has a big problem with maras (gangs) and it is not uncommon for gang members to get on busses and ask everyone to give them 25 cents. Less commonly (especially at night), gang members will attack the bus drivers, take the money they've earned for the day, then burn the bus down. Usually this happens when the bus driver has refused to pay his safe passage fee to the gangs. Unluckily for me, the 101D was well-known for being a target for the maras. Luckily, nothing bad ever happened to me, but I would hold my breath everytime someone selling something would get on the bus.

But I digress. I made it to Santa Tecla just fine and Javier, another program director, had given me directions from there. To tell the truth I wasn't 100% sure about them, but I figured once I got to Santa Tecla it would be clear. There are two parks in Santa Tecla, and I wasn't really sure which one I was supposed to get off at, but I thought it was San Martin, so I went for it.

It was clear as mud.

Instead of just wandering of aimlessly, I asked some ladies at a newspaper stand where I could find the bus to Las Granadillas (the name of my cantón, a larger "town" near La Florida). I told them it was bus number 99. A man who was buying a newspaper told me that bus 99 did not exist in this area and that he thought bus 99 was in the Department of Sonsonate (in the far eastern part of the country). I politely informed him that the 99 did exist because I had taken it before (to Mass with my family) and left to ask someone else. I walked across the park to where the Police Academy was, because I remembered Javier had mentioned something about it. It seemed like people were waiting for a bus, so I asked them if the 99 passed by here. Once again, no one knew about the 99. Frustrated, I walked a little farther down and asked a micro-bus assistant if the 99 passed by this road. (Note: In El Salvador there are two types of busses. Regular busses which are usually old school busses from the US and micro-busses, which are smaller and range from the size of large mini-vans to the smaller local buses her in Santiago) He said he thought so but didn't help me any more than that.

Frustrated, I found pay phone that took coins and called Javier. I had to call his cell phone, which is ridiculously expensive from a payphone, so he had approximately thirty seconds to tell me the directions, which were to walk to Park Daniel Hernandez (the other park). So I walked to that park, which is near the Market, and hence really hectic (think: La Vega). After asking a man selling hammocks if the 99 passed through the park and getting met with a blank stare, I sat down on a park bench and tried not to cry. I weighed my options: go back to San Salvador. Call Javier again (I was running out of coins, so I would have to go buy something to get change) and get another 30 seconds of directions. Ask someone else. All of the options made me nervous. I stuck out like a sore thumb in Santa Tecla and I just wanted to get back home to my Salvadoran family in the mountains, where I also stuck out but everyone knew me.

Then I noticed a line of taxis. I figured that taxi drivers must know the city, so I asked the least-scary looking taxi driver if he knew where the bus to Las Granadillas was. He told me he grew up in Comasaguas (a town past La Florida) and so yes, it was 2 blocks this way and 4 blocks this way and 2 blocks this way or something like that. Needless to say, I started walking and totally forgot his directions. (Note to self: write things down!) So, I walked back to the Hernandez park and was about to call Javier again when the taxi driver tapped me on the shoulder and asked me if I was lost once again. I said yes, and then asked him to drive me in his taxi to where the bus was.

So he did. It was like, four blocks from where I was but I was so relieved that instead of feeling stupid for not being able to find it, I gave him extra money. And there was the bus, waiting for me. The bus ride to La Florida was always a bit "interesting" was we had to wind our way on dirt roads through the mountains, and there was this one "bridge" that the bus just barely fit on. Also, if I didn't arrive at least an hour before the bus left (it only left about four times a day, and if I missed the last bus I'd also be screwed) I wouldn't get a seat, which meant standing in the aisle for an hour.

When I arrived home, my host grandmother was in hysterics, because I was about five hours late and she was sure I had gotten kidnapped by the maras and would never see me again. I assured her I was fine, that I had just gotten a bit lost, but that a nice taxi driver had helped me. She was appalled, because taxi drivers are infamous for being crooked in El Salvador (the Santiago taxi drivers are una taza de leche compared to the Salvadoran ones!).

The next time I had to travel to San Salvador, my grandmother made Y., my future boyfriend then ex-boyfriend come with me, which I didn't mind so much because at the time I had a huge crush on him, I mean... I knew it would be so much safer.

Check out other participants!

Angry redhead tells her story of shame and woe here.

Sara shares her horror in Mérida with us here

Clare had written one way back in April here!

Emily had a bit of a close call that she talks about here!

Busy

It's not that I don't want to blog or don't have anything interesting to say, it's just that I don't have time! This week has been Crazy with a capital C in terms of work, meetings, etc. I have two half-written posts that are almost ready to go, one is a travel horror story to go with the group blogging over at Bearshapedsphere, and the other one, well you'll just have to wait and see!

That's literally all I have time to write folks. Hopefully tomorrow or this weekend I'll finish up those posts.

Enjoy the sunshine (while it lasts!)

My first 18 in Chile

I've been a bad blogger! I wish I could say it's because I've been oh-so-busy with 18 festivities, but that's not really it.

I did have a good 18. My friends and I went to two different fondas (the same ones Emily wrote about) and it was a great cultural experience. I had no idea really what a fonda was before I stepped foot in Parque Ines de Suarez, but I guess I could describe it as a mini-fair of all things Chilean. On Friday we went to Parque Padre Hurtado in La Reina, which was much bigger (and more expenisve!) and included a medialuna (rodeo arena) and a huge arena where we watched this awesome performance that included dancers and horsebackriders and chronicled the history of Chile from the indigenous groups until, well, I'm not sure because we left before it was over in search of candy apples. But, there were some awesome Mapuche trick riders (they sure knew how to ride a horse!) and the best part was when they did the cueca on horseback! Really cool. Unfortunately, my camera is from the stone age and we were sitting kind of far away so I'm embarrased to post the photos I have.

All in all, 18 was fun. I relaxed a lot and saw a side of Chile and Chileans that I've never seen before. In fact, I was commenting to my friend E. that even though there were a TON of people at Parque Padre Hurtado, I didn't feel annoyed like I usually do when there are masses of Chileans (like on the metro or at the grocery store). Everyone seemed happier and out to celebrate. No one cut us in line or acted impatient. It was a nice break from the normal grumpiness of Santiago. Also, it was a great excuse to eat foods that I love, like choripan (sausage in bread), anticuchos (kebabs), churros, and empanadas, and drink yummy chicha (young wine that tastes like juice) and terremotos (green wine with pineapple ice cream).

Also, another highlight was seeing all of the young children decked out in the traditional huaso (Chilean cowboy) costume. I think I would have died if my parents had made me dress like a person from colonial times for the 4th of July, but it seems to be pretty normal practice for young children to get decked out for the 18th. And it's pretty cute to see, I have to admit.

However, it wasn't exactly the week-long "party" that I envisioned. Besides the two fondas, I didn't really do anything else 18-ish. No asados, no all-night partying. I feel like in order to do those things you a) need a really big group of gringo friends that all stay in Santiago or b) a Chilean family to adopt you. Most of my friends went to the beach or the campo or were caught up with their own adopted families for the weekend. I could have tagged along with my Chilean host family, but that would have required planning and a willingness to do whatever they were doing.

That being said, it was way more exciting than the 4th of July (sorry, USA!) and I had a good time. Here's hoping that next year is even better.

I'm obsessed...

...with the Chilean National Anthem.

The words are just so poetic and descriptive.

Here are they are in Spanish:

Puro, Chile, es tu cielo azulado,
puras brisas te cruzan también,
y tu campo de flores bordado
es la copia feliz del Edén.
Majestuosa es la blanca montaña
que te dio por baluarte el Señor,
que te dio por baluarte el Señor.
Y ese mar que tranquilo te baña,
te promete futuro esplendor,
Y ese mar que tranquilo te baña
te promete futuro esplendor...

Dulce patria, recibe los votos,
con que Chile en tus aras juró.
Que o la tumba serás de los libres,
o el asilo contra la opresión!

And here is my favorite YouTube video of the himno:



Viva Chile!


And an English translation (not mine!):

Chile, your sky is a pure blue,
Pure breezes blow across you,
And your field, embroidered with flowers,
Is a happy copy of Eden.
Majestic is the snow-covered mountain
That was given to you by the Lord as a bastion,
That was given to you by the Lord as a bastion,
And the sea that tranquilly washes your shore
Promises future splendor for you,
And the sea that tranquilly washes your shore
Promises future splendor for you.

Gentle homeland, accept the vows
Given, Chile, on your altars,
That you be either the tomb of the free
Or a refuge from oppression.

Trying to get into the patriotic mood

So the Fiestas Patrias are almost upon us. Contrary to popular belief, September 18th does not celebrate Chile's Independence. It celebrates the first gathering of the National Government on September 18, 1810, but Independence wasn't declared until some seven years later on February 12, 1818. So why celebrate in September and not February? The answer is not clear, but this article (in Spanish) speculates that it's because Carnaval was celebrated in February and Bernardo O'Higgins didn't want the celebration to be low-class and carnival like, so they moved it to September. (Not sure if he was so successful on that front, but the day is still celebrated in September!)

So after that bit of history, I now bring you to the point of this post. I've never been here for the 18th before, so I'm trying to get into a Patriotic mood. This involves a few things. First of all, I've been asking all my classes how they celebrate the 18th. Most travel to their hometowns (if that is indeed outside of Santiago) and attend huge parties, or fondas, drink lots of chicha (sweet wine), and eat lots of empanadas and meat. Various sources have told me that the average weight gain from the Fiestas Patrias varies between 2 and 5 kilos! Wow!

Secondly, I've been trying to learn the lyrics to the Chilean national anthem. Back in the day when I volunteered at a Chilean colegio I knew the words because every Tuesday we had to sing it as a school. But I had since forgotten. Now, thanks to Youtube and this website, I've almost got all the words down.

Another integral part of the Chilean festivities is dancing the cueca, which I have no idea how to do, but if someone put a pañuelo (handkerchief) in my hand, I could probably attempt something similar. I do want to learn, but it scares me that the woman is so independent. I do better dancing when there is a man to guide me who knows what he's doing (only in dancing though, this is by no means a bigger metaphor for my life!).

Anyway, I'm hoping the huge party is as great as everyone says it will be. Look for a re-cap this weekend!

Congrats, cuz!

My cousin got married yesterday! I'm so happy for him and his new wife. It sounds so weird to say "married" and "wife" when talking about my cousin, considering I'm the oldest cousin and can't even fathom getting married yet! But I know everyone is different and I wish them the best. My brother and I were the only cousins not in attendance, because he had a football game and I was, well, a bit far away to travel to Vermont for the weekend.

When are they going to invent teleportation?

My sister and her boyfriend and my cousin's wife are the only people with brown hair in the above picture. I'm not sure how, but everyone else turned out blond, despite it being the recessive gene. And all my cousins have at least one parent with brown hair, well, except for my aunt who has red hair. Until I was three I had blond hair:

I was cute, right?

Anyway, I have a week of semi-vacation so I'm looking forward to relaxing, getting some stuff done around the apartment and having fun with friends. Look for some posts on the Chilean Fiestas Patrias this week!

This one's mostly about hate, with a little love thrown in

I've written before about my love-hate relationship with public transportation in Santiago. And again about my hate relationship with Transantiago. Unfortunately, this is another hate post.

Before recently, I could pretty much avoid the metros and micros at rush hour, and if I did have to take them I took them home, so I wasn't worried about getting there on time, just midly irritated when it would take me 45 minutes to get home intead of the 20 minutes it took me to get to work. Unfair, but liveable.

Now my class schedule means that on Tuesdays and Thursdays I have to get off Line 4 at Baquedano, make the combination to Line 1 and ride Line 1 all the way to Los Heroes. At 7:00pm. Peak rush hour. And I actually have somewhere to be at a certain time. Not fun.

It usually takes at least two trains going by to get on at Baquedano, and then I end up super squished, trying to clutch my wallet in my pocket so that no oportunistic delinquints with sticky fingers steal what little money I have on me (actually, I worry more about my carnet and the hours of tramites it takes to get one after it's stolen). Every time I get on, I think "Thisis the most squashed I've ever been on the metro," but somehow it just keeps getting worse!

Yesterday I ended up squashed between two friends, one very tall with super long dreadlocks. I'm not the biggest fan of dreadlocks because I think they're dirty, and it grossed me out big time every time his locks whipped me in the face. Ew. But, these gents were nice enough and when I overheard that they were getting off at Los Heroes as well, I asked them to help me off.

For anyone who hasn't traveled in the Santiago metro at rush hour, you're probably thinking, why on earth would you have trouble getting off? Well, Santiaguinos are stubborn and they don't like giving up thier spot by the door of the train, even to let people off. And at Los Heroes there is always a sea of people at least four deep waiting on the platform to get on the train. So us poor folks who want to get off first have to shove through at least one row of door-hoggers (sometimes more if you're a weakling like me and get pushed to the back of the car) and then through a sea of people four deep on the platform. I also have to accomplish this without my backpack full of class materials getting left behind and hopefully with my wallet and cell phone securly in my pants pocket.

It's stressful. So yesterday I was very thankful to the dreadlocked young man and his goofy friend for pushing me off the train. I'm not sure if it helped, but they also insisted on yelling to everyone, "Move it! There's a lady that wants to get off!" with a few colorful Chilean swears thrown in. Charming.

I really really feel for people who have to take the metro during the morning and afternoon rush hours. Especially at Metro Station Los Heroes. I'm convinced if there is a little bit of Hell in Santiago, it's there, tucked under the intersection of two streets named for Chilean Independence heros. However, there's always a bit of good, like my new friend with dreadlocks, squashed between the thousands of people just trying to get where they're going to.

Talking about coincidences (and Christopher Colombus and my appearance)

And continuing with the theme of coincidences, it seems like when some topic of conversation comes up in my life, it comes up EVERYWHERE, with different people who don't know each other, in different contexts and settings, but somehow happens to appear in conversation.

I realize that maybe this has to do with me; perhaps I inadvertently pay more attention to a topic just because I've talked about it recently. However, sometimes it just can't be explained.

For example, the other day I was talking to a friend about Christopher Columbus and how his name is so different in Spanish: Cristóbal Colón. Then in class, I asked my students to think of a famous event in world history, and they thought of when Columbus discovered America, which lead us to discuss his different names in different languages (Crisoforo Colombo in Italian, Christoph Kolumbus in German, etc.). Then, lo and behold, the lesson for the next class was on Christopher Columbus! And I swear I hadn't opened the book that far yet. Crazy, huh?

But anyway, this post is not about Christopher Colombus at all, in fact it's about how lately the trendy topic of conversation is how "gringa" I look. I was talking to a friend about how another friend, R., speaks very Chilean and how he got confused once when she called him because he thought she was Chilean. Then he said that people can notice that I'm gringa "altiro" (right away), not only by the way I talk (duh) but also by the way I look. Then, last night as my student was driving me home we were talking about piropos and she also commented that people could tell right away that I am a gringa. Finally, my friends and I were talking the other day about how we can always spot exchange students right away, but how people who live here permanently and older ex-pats are harder to place, this lead to an analysis of which of our friends looked the most gringa, the most Chilean, etc.

There is no denying that, as my friend said, I talk like a gringa. I also admit that I look gringa, I have light skin and light hair compared to most Chileans, but I don't think I scream "LOOK A GRINGA FOREIGNER!!" as I walk down the street like some people do. I feel that most Chileans who think I look SOOOOOO gringa already know that I'm a gringa, and that clouds their judgement a bit.

Case in point. The other day I was minding my business when a woman comes up to me on the street and asked me for directions. I'm totally used to this because it happens all the time, and I happen to know my way around very well so I tried to help her. As soon as she heard me speak, her face changed and she said, "Oh, you're a foreigner! I didn't know. Sorry for asking!"and before I could explain where she needed to go, she walked off and asked a Chilean the same exact thing. This same type of thing happened yesterday when I was waiting for the train to come in the metro. A woman asked me if the train went to Tobalaba, and I said "Sí" and she somehow, with that little word, knew I was foreign and started asking me how I knew my way around so well. I felt like saying something snarky like, "Well, if you just look at the subway map it tells you this train goes to Tobalaba", but instead simply replied, "I've been here awhile."

So, en fin, I know I'm a gringa and in no way am I trying to become super Chilean (annoying!) but I find comfort in the fact that I don't automatically get pegged as a foreigner while I'm walking down the street.

From Christopher Colombus to my gringa (or not apperance). Those have been the recent topics of conversation in my life. How about you?

Cooking in Chile: essential kitchen utensils

The other day as I was commenting to my friend E. the deliciousness of freshly fried sopaipillas, mostly the fact that I love them so much simply because they are fried, she said to me, "Chile has completely changed my concept of cooking."

I couldn't agree more. I realized this when I was shopping for kitchen utensils recently. My host mom set me up with some plates and glasses and silverware, so I was more worried about cooking items. In the states the first thing I would have bought would probably have been pots and pans.

In Chile of the two items that topped my list, one doesn't even exist in the US (or I've never seen it at least) and the other is not very common.

What are they, you are asking yourself?

First, I present to you the tostador and no, this is not a toaster (although that is also called a tostador) but a piece of metal you put over a gas burner to toast bread. It looks something like this:

The second is an hervidor de agua, what we would call a hot pot in the U.S. They are not that common in the US, maybe because we drink less tea and drink real coffee versus nescafe which requires a coffee pot. But I am in love with my hervidor because it boils water in like 30 seconds, and considering I'm not a morning person, I am usually running late and absolutely need a jolt of caffeine (even if it's nescafe) before I rush out the door.

And here is the hervidor (who I like to cal Val, because the brand is Valory): I of course also bought pots and pans, but I am missing another essential Chilean kitchen item: a microwave. I made lentils last night (recipe here in Spanish) but now have no way of quickly heating them up.

Chile has also changed the things I cook and eat, but I'll save that for another post. Now I'm hungry and have to think of a creative way to heat my lentils.

Rainy days and Mondays always get me down

Today it's Monday. AND it's raining and cold.

In theory on Mondays I have back to back classes from 10:30am to 10:00pm, but luckily (or unluckily if you're thinking in terms of money and not my sanity) one class usually gets cancelled.

But then with a cancelled class comes downtime in Providencia. This is every English teacher's dilemma. An hour here, a half an hour there in between classes.

When it's sunny out I'm perfectly content to sit on a bench outside and people watch. But today the weather is crap (see above) and instead of spending money on a coffee that I don't need and sitting in Starbucks I decided to be semi-productive and come to an Internet café and blog.

Except of course when I sit down especially to blog I run out of all great ideas and instead post about the weather. Fome!

However, I promise that I have some great blogging ideas coming up very soon, but they require pictures (ooh!) and so I don't have time to blog about them right now.

So for now, stay warm and dry and try to have a great Monday!

Coincidences Galore

My life has been chock-full of strange coincidences recently, so much so that it deserves a blog post.

The first major coincidence has to do with El Salvador. I have two main connections with El Salvador. The first is through my church who has a sister relationship with a community there. The church awards scholarships to students from the community to study in high school and college. I went on two delegations to the community in 2003 and 2005. Then, largely because of my experience on those two delegations, I decided to do an internship in El Salvador during the summer of 2006 through a program called CRISPAZ. You can read about my experiences on this blog. But the major point is that I left that experience with a Salvadoran boyfriend, but things didn't work out and we broke up.

A family from the first community have been having some difficulties lately so I've recently been translating a lot of e-mails between them and my church, as well as researching land reform in El Salvador. In the midst of this, my Salvadoran ex-boyfriend wrote me an e-mail! I honestly haven't heard from him in over a YEAR. It has been frustrating because I always e-mail him and he never e-mails back, so I kind of stopped trying. But just when I was thinking a lot about El Salvador for the first time in a while, he e-mailed me. Coincidence #1.

A few weekends ago I went dancing with a group of people. I ended up dancing with a great salsa dancer (we'll call him Juan) who goes to La Catolica. The next night I went out salsa dancing again and was dancing with another guy with the same name (Juan #2) who also went to La Catolica. I guess this coincidence isn't that noteworthy if you condiser that these guys' real name is quite popular in Chile among their age group, and lots of people go to La Catolica, but still. Coincidence #2.

Yesterday I was on the metro and I looked down at a book that the man accross from me was reading. I recognized the font as being from a book I read for my thesis. Then I realized that the cover was also yellow, just like the book I read. Granted, this book was written by a Chilean and is about the Chilean educational system, but it's not a very well-known book (it's not like he was reading Pablo Neruda!). So then I started trying to read upside down and I realized that it indeed was the exact same book. I really wanted to talk to this guy and ask him why he was reading the book and tell him all about my thesis, but that would just not fly on the Santiago subway. Coincidence #3.

There are a few more, but they are all kind of personal and I think you get the idea. My life is full of little connections right now. I don't know why, but maybe I'll find out soon.

Why I'm glad I'm an ex-pat in Chile

Recently I've been discovering some ex-pat blogs from other countries besides Chile. Right now I'm focusing just on Latin America (this girl doesn't have that much free time!), but I hope to find some good ones from other parts of the world too. Reading these experiences has made me very thankful that I chose Chile for a variety of reasons.

1) The food. Okay, so maybe the cuisine isn't the greatest, but I'm no foodie, so I get along just fine. I LOVE bread, so the Chilean diet and I get along just fine. Plus, almost everything I normally eat in the U.S. can be found here. My friend E. was telling me how her sister, who recently started teaching in Korea, couldn't find anything remotely resembling food from the U.S. in Seoul. Granted she had just arrived, and probably hadn't exhausted all of her shopping options.

2) I don't stick out (that much). Luckily I'm not blonde so I don't attract any more attention than a light skinned Chilean woman. Depending on what I'm wearing or who I'm with, people don't automatically peg me as a foreigner, so I feel a little less likely to be taken advantage of. This could never happen in a place like Central America (experienced that in El Salvador!), Asia or parts of Africa where I would always be known as an outsider. Sometimes it's nice to blend in a little bit.

3) The quality of life. So my job isn't a dream job (mostly because of the schedule), but I make enough money to live in a fairly new apartment in one of the most ideal locations in the city. Santiago has a modern transportation system that, although a bit crowded, is reliable enough to get me to my destination mostly ontime. I am able to go out with friends at least once a week to cute bars and restaurants as well as just relax in my apartment if I want.

4) The language. Luckily, I speak Spanish so my day-to-day dealings with Chileans is painless. Plus, I love speaking Spanish and I adore the Chilean accent and the modismos (obviously!) and take every chance I get to learn more. I couldn't imagine living in another country where I didn't know the language as well as I did Spanish. It makes my life much less stressed and I feel that I can be more independent because of that.

5) I just plain love Chile. No explanation required.

Full Circle

In March 2007 I started classes at the Pontificia Universidad Católica de Chile (known simply as PUC or La Católica) here in Santiago. I took classes at the largest campus right off metro San Joaquin, and also at the former mostary, Campus Oriente, in Ñuñoa. Every Monday and Wednesday, my friends and I would eat our lunches (lovingly and amply prepared by our host mothers) in the Hall Universitario of Campus San Joaquín. In order to be able to sit at the little café tables, we would take turns buying a coke or a water. (There was absolutely no need to buy extra food! I alone brought enough food to feed all three of us.) We would chat, finish homework, and then head off to the Facultad de Construcción Civil (random) for our Southern Cone Literature class that we all hated, despite the fact it was taught by a "well-known" Chilean poet.

Last week I got a call from the Institute offering me a class at La Catolica in San Joaquin. So today, two and a half years later, I found myself sitting at the café tables in the Hall Universitario, sipping my recently bought coke and wishing I had a gigantic lunch prepared by my host mom. Then I trudged over to the Facultad de Teologia (also random) to teach English to current PUC students.

It's funny how life brings you in little circles sometimes, but I like it.