chile con elizabeth

Four Basic Questions

2008-11-20T06:51:00.000-08:00

If all of my students can answer these questions by now, my work at G-4 will be done!

Connecting through disconnecting

2008-11-20T04:50:00.000-08:00

The best moments in Chile often happen when I'm busy trying to do something else, like check my email in the office at school. I was clicking away through the Internet when I heard the strum of an out-of-tune guitar in the anteroom outside the door. Then calls of "ven!" from the director, Ricardo, and the music teacher, Patricio, who were busy taking out brand new instruments out of cardboard boxes, tuning them up, and trying them out.

"Here, try this!" they said, handing me one of those keyboards that you blow through to make a sound. (Sorry, I can't remember what this is called in English or Spanish!) I played a few notes as they got their guitars in key, and then traded it for a tambourine.

Ricardo took up a recorder and started playing melodies, Patricio strummed along on guitar quite beautifully, and I did my best to tap along to it all. They knew so many songs...Chilote folksongs, Christmas music, Andean songs, marches, Valparaiso, Violetta Parra, "Gracias a la vida." I had to wonder if people at home in the states could pull out as many songs as these two did in the middle of the day.

"Thanks to the life!" Ricardo said, practicing his English. When he'd play a sad song, sometimes he'd pretend to cry dramatically, putting down his flute to wipe tears from his eyes and then burst into laughter. When he played the theme from Titanic, he paused to stand up, arms out, alá king-of-the-world Leonardo DiCaprio.

We played for a long time, and Ricardo traded the flute for a guitar. He has always known both, but when he was a broke student in the university, he said he had to choose between a $20 flute and a $100 guitar. "Obviously I picked the flute!" he said.

In the office next door, the phone started to ring.

"Should I get that?" I asked, seeing a possible escape from the rhythm section.

"No, leave it!" Ricardo replied, still strumming.

The phone rang again. And again. We ignored it every time. Ricardo closed the door to the office so we woulnd't hear it ring anymore--but it still chirped over our little band. That's when Ricardo went in the office and ripped the phone cord out of the jack, disconnecting the school for good. Back to the music.

All the teachers had gone to the center to strike, so there wasn't really anyone in the school besides us, the auxiliar, and a handful of other staff. A few students were there too. Luckily they can still get lunch at school even if the paro continues. They drifted to the music with juice boxes, and I handed off my tambourine. We took all the instruments out of the boxes, even the xylophone, until everyone was playing something. There was dischord, sure, but it was a beautiful sound. It was an entirely Chilean moment. I imagine at home, school directors would jump to answer the phone and be very organized about how new musical instruments are distributed and shared and played. I'm starting to think the Chilean way is better though. Tomorrow is my last day at school, and I am really going to miss this place and this wonderful if chaotic way Chileans have of doing things.

I went back to my email, my Facebook, this little blog, documenting and retelling. But it was so great to be in that moment, just enjoying it and hearing what we were playing, and connecting as we disconnected the phone.

11-07-08

2008-11-07T06:17:00.000-08:00

My fourth graders were not ready for yesterday's acto. We had been practicing a forensics-style presentation of One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish, complete with their hand drawn-placards of various creatures and scenes, and were close--the pronunciation getting better, the flipping of pages almost in sync, the animo just about there--but just not totally ready.

An acto is a drawn-out citywide ceremony featuring students from all of the colegios, the red-headed governora of Ultima Esperanza, the mayor Mario Margoni, ministery officials, and other dignitaries. Yesterday's acto was the culmination of a rather disorganized "English Week" (which entailed playing games in class instead of doing lessons). We were last to go on the docket, in slot number 12. Two hours after other students performed "Tears in Heaven," a duet with Rihanna, and a short play, we were up, and suddenly one of the microphones had disappeared. Javiera and Valentina took turns holding the mike so one or the other could flip a page or hold up one of the drawings. It was a rocky start, but they did it in spite of the hitch. I was proud of them.

Claudio, the director, and I got to go on stage and put gold medals around their necks. It wasn't the smoothest presentation, but Javiera, Valentina, Claudia, and Sara were beaming with pride. They had all put their hair in pigtails for the event. Afterwards, all the students and teachers were invited to the comedor for sodas and snacks.

"Hay que pagar?" they asked me as they looked at the trays of empanadas and dollops of pate on bread. Do we have to pay? We had to explain that this celebration was in their honor. I think this type of event was a first for them. It was just Fanta and Coke and greasy pastries, but what a big difference that canmake to a fourth-grader.

The important thing, my director explained, is that different students have the opportunity to participate in events like this--not just our best speakers, like the bright but feisty Coni, from eigth grade. ("I'm intelligent," she told me in perfect English the other day. "She's a bitch," she added, pointing to another student.)

The director is right. I realized how much today. When I came to school, the girls were wearing their medals over their sweatsuits and smiling with pride.

Barack Obama, by Claudio (4º básico)

2008-11-04T12:31:00.000-08:00

Today is the day! Fingers crossed. We're gathering around Jeff's cable TV--and woodstove--tonight to watch the results come in.

What’s This Gonna Cost Us?

2008-11-02T11:28:00.000-08:00

I noticed it on my first cab ride in Santiago. Four of us were packed in the back seat, hurling through the city center at night, with James in front talking to our driver, the older man at the wheel who was missing every turn, coming across every one-way street, and taking every detour imaginable it seems, keeping us far from our hostel in the Barrio Brasil.

This is it, I thought, we’re being ripped off. Just like it said in the guidebook. Katie and I whispered suspiciously to each other. Heads together, we watched our fate play out before our eyes, unable to stop it. Where on earth was he taking us?

La Moneda, the Plaza de Armas, Cerro Santa Lucia. Suddenly our driver was playing tour guide. And that’s when it first arose, an ugly sense of mistrust buried deep in my American consciousness—What’s this gonna cost us? As we began to seethe with worry, cruising every so slowly through the orange-glow of mercury streetlights, our driver pointed out more sites, accompanied by stories and anecdotes.

Turning a corner, another feeling cropped up. Could it be, we wondered, that this man might just be a genuinely nice person? A Santaguino who loves his city and wanted to show it to us? Free of charge?

We wrestled with this notion in the back seat, unsure whether or not this was a possibility we could accept. Acceptance to us would come down to the bottom line, the final fare.

But after that long ride, when it was finally time to pay, that price was fair, even low. And to top things off, our dear driver got out of the cab to give each one of us gringos, in Chile for our first time ever, a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

As walked through the hostel lobby, we exchanged bewildered glances. “He was actually just a nice guy,” we mused to each other. How sad it was, I realized then, that this postulation has become so difficult for us to believe.

I realized in Chile just how little faith I had in sincerity and generosity. The question that always haunted me, popping up in the back of my mind—What’s this gonna cost us—made me feel uglier and uglier about my culture.

But it was a hard notion to shake, even as unquestioning kindness and hospitality has been shown to me time and time again. When Kate and I arrived at the Mirador Dorotea too late to hike up to the lookout over Natales, Frida, who owns the land where the trail runs up the hill, invited us in for “once.” As she laid out the table with an assortment of teabags, a jar of instant coffee, jam, crackers, bread, and cheese, Kate uttered the question that had been racing through my own mind—What’s this gonna cost us?

The answer, as it almost always is in Chile, was of course nothing. Frida was simply happy to have us at our table to chat. She talked about her animals—it was going to be a difficult year for the lambs, who had arrived so early in the season—and showed us pictures of countless other tourists, sitting at the table where we were then warming up.

In Punta Arenas, a colleague of Dan’s invited Kate, Casey, and I to stay at her and her husband’s home for the weekend. Their two sons had grown up and were off at university or doing other things, so they were very happy to have the group of us. Invite your friends over to the house, they told us, toma cerveza, listen to the stereo. They made us real coffee—a gift one of the sons had brought back from Columbia—drove us everywhere, posed in pictures with us, and played tour guide with the same zeal I had seen in the cabbie in Santiago.

As a traveler, you’re told again and again to be careful and watch your back. A good piece of advice, and certainly one to hold onto while abroad. But how can you balance watching your back with opening your heart and mind? I didn’t know it when I left Chicago, but I came to Chile with the idea that something is usually wanted in return for whenever something is given. But as I know now, that’s an assumption that can cost an awful lot.

Is it Harder to Travel Now?

2008-11-02T11:26:00.001-08:00

Puerto Natales is one hundred years old, according to my guidebook. With the tin siding on the simple frontier homes, a horse or two chained up to a fencepost on the most residential streets, or even an old wooden boat sitting in the middle of the sidewalk, it sometimes looks like little has changed since 1908, and that a great distance has been traveled to get to Patagonia.

However, it is so easy to stay in touch with American culture, even down here at the “end of the world,” as the Natalinos like to say. Though the only McDonald’s in Punta Arenas closed down years ago, the influence of the Northern Hemisphere is never far. English language music and movies are everywhere. I plopped down in front of “Cast Away” and “The Last King of Scotland” (with Spanish subtitles) recently, thanks to the myriad of TV channels we have at home—many more than we ever would have dreamed of at Editor’s Rook. I see the influence of English-language media in my students every day. When I told my students to “please stand up” so we could play a game, they all started repeating “please stand up, please stand up,” quoting the Real Slim Shady! When I asked Marcos the date on another occasion, he replied “Friday! Friday Night Smackdown!” I was delighted when Claudia told me how badly she wanted to learn English—even if one of her main motivations for was to watch E! News.

Thanks to CNN, absentee ballots, and the newspapers online, the other volunteers and I have managed to stay up on the election. We’ve watched every single one of the debates at a “debate watch party.” Live political coverage is a good excuse to gather together other pieces of the culture we left at home—like burritos and margaritas.
Mexican night.

True, there are no limes in Puerto Natales, and you’ll have to look hard for Triple Sec and pay dearly for tortillas, but the point is that overall, it is possible to create or find just about anything you miss from home.

A little of this recreation is good. A stiff margarita can ease homesickness, a night of CNN can keep a person informed. But on the extreme end, these luxuries make it possible, it seems, never to travel at all, even while in a foreign country.

With the package that John sent, I even have real coffee from the coffee shop that was just down the block from my office building. Taking a sip of Intelligensia, I’ve traveled no further than a little stroll down Randolph Street.

With globalization, email, the Internet, and other media, even in remote Patagonia, real travel is a whole lot harder than it was a hundred years ago. That’s why, even if it pains me to be without my Macbook, I can live without it for a couple months more.

What Changed?

2008-11-02T11:26:00.000-08:00

Going through the bags of American-made Halloween candy my mom sent, I realized something fundamental has changed between this journey and my year in England, now an incredible five years ago. Where I was savoring every cold Cadbury Fruit and Nut out of the vending machine at Oxford, I now find myself delighted with good old Hershey’s Kisses and Tollhouse Morsels imported from the USA. (I admit, I even bought a can of Coke for three bucks at Torres. And I never even drink soda at home. And while I admired English waiters for their slowness in bringing the check, I often bemoan Chilean disorganization and disinterest in “the customer.” Even my attitude towards Nescafe—which I religiously downed without flinching in the UK—is markedly different here. What changed, I have to wonder. Was it simple homesickness? Was it the difference between 21 and 26 (nearly)? The cultural disparities between the two countries? Was it that the economic crisis and heart-pounding election had inspired me a new and stronger passion for my country? Or was it, perhaps, that the Windy City suddenly felt like home to me—a place just too good to give up for another. Change is good—at 21, 26, or 62. But on this trip, I’m realizing that consistency—knowing better who you are and where you’re from—can be pretty good too.

Some Things I Don’t Like About Puerto Natales

2008-11-02T11:25:00.000-08:00

Given the 100+ kilometer an hour winds this spring, I’ve traded my bike for running shoes on recent afternoons. Doing my little “Perimeter Run” of town—which doesn’t take that long—I’ve caught a closer glimpse of two things that make Natales an uglier place than it deserves to be: dogs and garbage.

On the edge of town farthest from me, where all of the new houses look exactly the same, with their brightly colored red, yellow, or green, aluminum siding, an open, scrubby field marks the end of the city. It looks like a garbage dump—plastic bags cling to every bush and piece of brush, bottles and cans cover all ground in between. Blame it on the wind or a lack of consciousness or education, it is a disturbing site—all the more because Natales is such a beautifully situated city in one of the most spectacular parts of the world.

The Costanera, the edge of the sound where cormorants nest with the mountains in the background, is just as bad. Go to the shore, and you’ll find more soda and beer bottles, broken glass, and whole shopping bags full of trash apparently just dropped out of someoene’s car. Needless to say, there is no recycling in Natales.

Many families in Natales keep garbage in a metal cage on a post in front of their home. This is to prevent the other problem—the dogs—from getting into the trash. The fact that people have had to construct these elaborate garbage cans as a preventative strike against hungry dogs, I think, speaks to the enormity of the animal issue here. People just don’t control their animals at all…dogs and cats run free everywhere, none of them spayed or neutered. Needless to say, springtime can be pretty disgusting, as there are usually about five dogs on top of another one right at the door of my school in the morning. Walking, running, driving, or biking—dogs dominate the streets and sidewalks. At this point, it’s difficult to feel a whole lot of sympathy for these poor animals, having been chased on an almost daily basis. I was running near a saw mill by the Club de Rodeo when I saw two dogs jump on top of a pair of older ladies hauling their groceries home—paws on the chest, noses in the bags.

As I looked on in shock, one of the women turned my way, straining her neck from the dog’s face. “They’re just playing,” she said, not particularly fussed.

Kate just paid out of her own pocket for a stray kitten to get an infected leg amputated. She’s an adorable and friendly grey cat, but it saddens me that a volunteer English teacher had to deal with this problem in the first place. People need to take care of their animals and be accountable for them. The same with the garbage we generate. It’s a first-world luxury, perhaps, to be able to address these issues properly. But what a difference it does make in how a city looks and feels.

Are You Athletic?

2008-11-02T11:24:00.000-08:00

“Do you like to play sports?” was one of the first questions I was asked when making small talk in Natales. I’m so used to answering “no” to the question, I hadn’t really stepped back and thought about it in a while. Maybe biking, jogging, hiking, and yoga don’t count as sports in the team-oriented sense of the word. But I’ve realized here in Magallanes, supposedly the most sedentary region in Chile, how much I value physical activity, and what a huge difference it makes in how I feel each day. The spring weather here—freezing rain in the face and winds topping 100 kilometers an hour—make getting out of the house challenging, but I always feel better when I do.

2008-11-02T11:23:00.000-08:00

Today is the first day in three months where I have been truly alone—and it feels stupendous. My family is in Punta Arenas today, and I have been told I am “duenña de casa.” This means a big pot of coffee just for me, free reign over CNN and HBO, a loaf of pumpkin bread in the oven, and enjoying some precious time on the computer: Chicago Tribune, NYT, and just plain old “surfing”…a luxury I’ve not really had in some time. I’ve had a lot on my mind in the past few months, so in these precious hours of “alone time” I’ve hammered out a few of my thoughts. The posts above are a bit of a first draft of what I’ve been thinking.

Calabaza Craziness

2008-10-30T08:58:00.000-07:00

Well, I must say, I've really been getting into the Halloween spirit down here. I went to El Virgel fruteria yesterday to get some pumpkin (calabaza or zapallo) for lunch. It's usually sold in pre-cut pieces, but on a whim I asked if they had a whole one that I could use for a halloween decoration. "Go to the grocery store!" another customer told me. "They have plastic ones!" When I explained the pumpkin was for carving, which they do not really do here, they took me to the back room, where there was a big crate of grayish-orange pumkins for me to choose from. (BTW, this is the best fruit market in Natales, I think, with fresh produce--even watermelon!--direct from Santiago. They also have a huge jar of amazing homemade pickles, pronounced "PEEK-lays".) I just did the classic "pumpkin face" on the front, but it looks really cute sitting on our front porch, and Ale and Benja seem to like it. I also toasted the pumpkin seeds and then made pumpkin pie last night with the other trozo de calabaza that I got from the market. I always liked to cook and bake at home in Chicago, but it was something I rarely had time to do. Here in Natales, however, I have plenty of spare hours to don the "Yo (corazón) Chile" apron my host mom gave me, ignite the oven with a match, and bake away. Gosh, in the past week, I've done chocolate sugar cookies, oatmeal cookies, and pancakes! (And I've got some keffir on the way in another day...my yoga teacher gave me the cultures!)

Hiking the "W"

2008-10-29T09:10:00.000-07:00

We did the "W" this past weekend! The "W" is the most popular backpacking trip at Torres del Paine, and in about four days, it goes pack some of the most stunning features of the park. Kate calculated our milage to come in at 95 km, which seems awfully high, but my feet would believe it. With a full backpack, the trip was without a doubt one of the most physically challenging things I've done. We had a great little group though, Kate, Charlie, Jeff, and Evan from here, and also Dan W. from Punta Arenas. We all got along swimmingly and had a blast. I was the shortest in the pack, and the slowest walker, but I'm just happy to have made it! Here is a little bit about how we did the "W." (There's a longer 8-day hike too, el circuito completo...but the path is currently closed due to an avalanche!)

Day 1: Camping at Los Torres, hiking up and back to el base de los torres - Thursday was the rainest day of our trip. Not a great way to start, and certainly the worst day to do our hike up to what many say is the park's most stellar site--el base de los torres. The hike up from camp is steeper than it looks, and it was tough in the rain. About an hour into the hike, Charlie, Jeff, and Dan decided to turn back--I couldn't blame them since they were without rain paints. Kate and Evan and I, in our impermiable gear, pressed on to the first refugio, El Chileno, in our impermiable gear. In the shelter, I gladly dropped an exorbatant mil pesos ($2) for a Nescafe--but in the rain, it may have been teh best coffee I've had here. We decided to keep going from El Chileno up to the base, even though we couln't see los torres or any of the other mountains around us because of the clouds. My rain pants were doing a bang-up job though, so I felt good to keep walking. We met a British couple at the campsite near el base (a great free site to camp at, espeically if you want to get up and see sunrise over the torres!). They looked really, really beaten by the weather--and had just done a monster day all the way from a campsite in the middle of the park. Evan gave them a coconut cookie--"You just about saved my life," our fellow trekker muttered. We decided to keep going in the rain, and began the steep hour-long walk up to the mirador, scrambling up large boulders and creeks, with only an orange marker here or there to guide us. We were pretty sure we were near the top, but couldn't see a thing in the weather, so we headed back since it was getting dark. It still turned out to be about 7 hours of hiking just to get up there and back. "What will the guys be doing?" we mused as we walked back to our campsite. Drunk? Napping? To our pleasant surprise, they had a great fire going by the time we got home--pefect for cooking baked potatos in the first of many delcious camp meals planned by Kate. (Also, the only site in the park, I think, where campfires are allowed, so worked out perfect!)

Day 2: Los Torres to Campamiento Italiano - We had fabulous, favorable weather--enough to get down to rolled up pants and a t-shirt! Woke up to our first glimpse of the torres right from our campsite--they were there all along! The hike to Italiano was pleasant but long, with beautiful acqua-colored Lago Nordenskjold alongside us most of the way and the bi-colored cuernos fiinally coming into view. By evening, we were making our way into the Valle Frances, to a wooded (and free!) campsite at Italiano.

Day 3: Hiking up and back el Valle Frances, Campamiento Italiano to Refugio Grey - At 9.5 hours on the trail, today was our longest day. We got up at 5:30 so we could do an early morning walk into the Valle Frances. The walk is a difficult one, we soon realized, with a lot of scrambling up boulders again on the way into the valley. I took a wrong turn (the path is marked pretty poorly at first) and found myself nearly walking into a gushing waterfall. Luckily my compañneros got me back on course--although I definitely slid down a huge rock to join up with them again. Once you are deep enough, and high enough in the valley, you get an amazing 360-degree view of los cuernos, the opposite side of los torres, and el glaciar frances. We heard and saw a lot of avalanches on the mountain as we were walking. That all felt like a dream however, by the time we returned to camp at about 11 with a full day of walking still ahead of us. We had a power vegetarian chili lunch at the quincho at Paine Grande and then pressed on up to Refugio Grey. I guess it was only 3.5 hours between Paine Grande and Grey, but it seemed much longer. However, this walk was one of my favorites--a lot of high cliffs with beautiful views of el glaciar grey and the enormous campo de hielo it connects to. When we reached the refugio at long last (all of us acting pretty goofy with fatigue at that point), I enjoyed my first shower in days, which was stupendous. Probably should have delayed on the shower, however, since it was raining by the time we had dinner. Jeff, and Charlie, and Evan stayed in the tents--but heavy rain did not stop Kate, and Dan, and I from enjoying homemade pasta sauce (there was a problem cooking the actual pasta) outside!

Day 4: Refugio Grey to Administración - Morning's task was the 3.5 hour hike down from Refugio Gray back and back to Paine Grande for lunch. We were still hurting pretty badly from our 9.5 hour day previous, but somehow managed to press on back at our own pace. Had to be careful of the time, however, as our bus was leaving at 6:30. From Paine Grande, it was still going to be another 5 hours back to Adminstracion. You can also pick up a catamaran at Paine Grande for a cool $11,000 ($22), which will take you back to a bus, but we were being typically tough and cheap, and decided to hike it. It was a mostly a flat hike on a dirt track through pampa, with the best scenery (a great overview of the park, as a friend pointed out) at our backs. The worst thing about this final leg was that it was just very monotnous and desolate. Not another hiker in site. I was walking alone most of it, trailing Kate and Evan (Dan and Charlie, at 6 feet plus, were unbelieveably fast). My feet and brain were both struggling to function--I tried resorting to that "name game" (i.e. Ella Fitzgerald. Francis Ford Coppola. Celine Dion. Etc.) but was too brain-dead to play, and btw, it does not work with one person. I caught up with Evan and Kate and found them as destroyed as I was, and still a gruelling 2 flat hours to go. We made it though, back to adminstracion, and a wating bus. The CONAF ranger gave us this survey to fill out at the end of our journey. It's funny in it's own right, I suppose, but at the time we were filling it out, it was the most hilarous thing ever, with all of us cracking up in our seats and exchanging glances.

That, in short, is the "W"--we had a terrific time walking it and pushing ourselves to the limit!

10-20-08

2008-10-21T06:00:00.000-07:00

Update from Puerto Natales

Kalaripayattu and Capoeira - Last Thursday, Kate and Casey and I went to a workshop (taller) featuring Kalaripayattu, a martial art from India with many poses from yoga, and Capoeira, the incredible Afro-Brazilian combination of martial art and dance. A group of about 30 gathered in the high school for a lesson with two artists from India and Brazil--about half the group was Chilean and the other half from abroad. Though the workshop was just the briefest introduction, it was still quite a workout for the legs--I lack ginga pretty badly, it's the basic back and forth rhythm that Capoeira depends on. In addition to practicing kicks, walks, and stretches, we also did quite a bit of clapping, with little groups chanting and clapping their own rhythm. The two instructors, Manu from India and Jair from Brazil, were also incredible musicians, and there was a great concert afterward, combining Indian drums and cymbols, the berimbau, and Manu's strong and clear voice. He sang in a dialect from southern India, sometimes to an Indian beat, sometimes to samba. It was a really cool event--and just fabulous to have a little bit of culture at night. In Chicago, it's accurate to say that every night you could choose to experience any number of cultures--just thinking of the Summerdance schedule makes my mouth water...Slavic soul party one night, stepping the next, square dancing another. In Puerto Natales, such opportunities are unfortuantely few and far between. So it was just great that these two interesting people were able to come to town.
Cave paintings - Ricardo, the director of my school invited me and a few other volunteers to the campo early Saturday morning to judge an "adventure triathalon" near Laguna Sofia and then look at cave paintings afterward. Students from local high schools had a pretty serious task--run up the very steep Cerro Benitez, rapel down the cliff, then mountain bike to a checkpoint and back--we were impressed! Afterward, we had a cup of coffee with the help of Ricardo's little gas stove, and also delicious fresh-baked bread from his señora (as well as incredible cheese which came out of a tube). The hike up to the cave was only about an hour or so, but it was very very steep. The entrance to most caves in side of the cerro used to be at the water level of an ancient lake, which has long since disappeared, so everything is a little hard to get to. We scrabbled up some cliff, ambling around enormous bolt-shaped erratic rocks, until we reached this underhang of conglomerate. A pile of wood had been gathered to mark the spot of the paintings--and there they were on the ceiling. We tried to decipher the messages that were left in red vegetable dye--Were those dots the scales of a fish? Were those long lines a pair of legs?--but it's going to take some study. Ricardo took lots of photos and measurements, so hopefully I'll have an update soon.
"You're a model." At our debate watch party last Wednesday, Cristian from Malabar asked me to say yes as soon as I walked in the door. I never imagined my response would result in my modeling a white pleather jacket with white cowboy boots in a fashion show Saturday night. He had handpicked all of us gringos to participate in what he was calling an "international fashion show" for charity. Kate and I had to laugh when we saw the flyer--which featured two very sleazy looking female figures (a blonde and a brunette) looking over their shoulder on the back of a motorcycle. So Friday we went to pick out our clothes at a little "boutique" called Alem. We had free reign to pick out anything for the show--but between the pleather jackets, stretchy nylon tops, and billowing babydoll dresses, we had to get creative. (Our lucky guy voluteers simply got to wear their own clothes!) Anyway, Saturday turned out to be a pretty fun night. The show started at 1 a.m. and the bar was packed. Kate and I and two Chilean women downed piscolas and tossed around clothes and hangars as we changed in the bar's tiny bathroom. But in the end--after going from a fucsia coat, to my white jacket, to a black and yellow moo-moo--everything turned out fine! At the end of the night, Casey and I stopped by a cousin's baptismal reception, which was just winding down at 5 a.m.--just in time for torta!
Fish tacos & Sunday brunch - Casey bumped into Laura, who was a volunteer here last year, but now live in Natales with her Chilean novio (and teaches English to Chinese students over the Internet!). We had amazing fish tacos at her house Friday and then on Sunday, the best brunch ever! It was great to get out of bed, hop on my bike, grab some fruit at the fruiteria, and then gather with a truly international group at Laura's to make pancakes, eggs, fruit salad, and chai. If I ever were to stay in Natales, I would hope I'd be able to create a situation as cozy and comfortable as Laura's--with great friends, and without having to sacrifice the pleasures of North America, like Sunday brunch! The chai brought back many fond memories of brunch at Lula and Victory's Banner.
Head, shoulders, knees, and toes - I can't believe it, but I only have about five weeks of school left here in Natales. And the thing is, I am finally starting to feel like I'm getting the hang of things! Yesterday, I thought my fourth graders would think "Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes" was way too juvenile...but as it turns out, they loved it. Not to mention "If You're Happy and You Know It" as well as "The Hokey Pokey." (I thought the same thing when I brought a stuffed animal in to help with conversation, but they liked that too!) My classroom (which somedays is mine, and sometimes is bogarted) is finally starting to look like one--on the wall, verbs are conjugated, key questions are in speech bubbles, student postcards are on the wall, as are lifesize, labeled drawings of several bodies.

10-11-08 Canadian Thanksgiving

2008-10-14T06:17:00.000-07:00

Canadian volunteer Kate organized a fabulous (alternative) "Canadian Thanksgiving" dinner at her and Casey's host family's house this past Saturday. I admit, I was not aware Canada celebrated Thanksgiving. "Canadian Thanksgiving"...it sounded so cute...so quaint.

But our elegant meal was anything but quaint. Kate's family set a table for eleven with all of their best dishes...even antique crystal wine coasters! Kate and Casey got a huge bucket of clams and mussels and spent all afternoon de-barnacling them. The result was a beautiful linguini with white wine, cherry tomatoes, and mariscos in their black and white shells. The best part was the salad, which included leafy green lettuce, fresh strawberries, and brie. "Salad" in Chile is generally iceburg lettuce with lemon juice, and strawberries are better known as "frutilla," which comes in a can of sugary syrup, so you can imagine how these "forbidden tastes" struck us all--we all left them back in North America at the height of summer salad season.

My contribution included homemade macaroni and cheese and a cookie tray--I was able to use some of the Halloween candy my mom sent to make a festive variety.

It was so nice being able to get together and give thanks. To Canada!

10-09-08

2008-10-09T19:46:00.000-07:00

I met the man who makes the milodons today. The hulking figure of a giant prehistoric sloth, its arms outstretched towards the water, reaching for its cave 10 miles out, has been living at the roundabout for a few weeks now. It looks less like a prehistoric animal than it does a representation of death, because it is covered by a giant black tarp, billowing in the Patagonian wind. Only the milodn's clawed bronze feet are uncovered, as if the poor creature was an unfortunate patient in a hospital dressing gown.

I saw the man with the long yellowish white beard and sunglasses arranging rocks around the base of the milodon just as the evening was settling in, and I was coming back from a bike ride. I almost didn't stop--until curiosity took hold of me, an instinct I know is inherited from my mother (who sent me the most fabulous care package today--Halloween candy and books--yes!). So I stopped to say hello.

The man arranging the rocks is sculptor called Harold (last name--TK). He also crafted the giant milodon in the cueva--which I put my arms around to pose for a picture I'm quite fond of. The rocks, which were begining to tower up toward the milodon's feet in a graceful slant, were from what I think Harold said was a morraine deposited by the glaciers. He asked me what my language was and went on to speak in an elegant, quiet, and cadenced English. His father Për was Swedish, I think, and his family had owned land in the region. Although he had grown up around Natales and Punta Arenas, he was based in Santiago, where he worked as a sculptor. He told me some of his family had relocated to Chicago, and he had visited once--but it seemed for some reason that he was not able to find them.

He told me about a Chilean mummy--the Copper Man--which, through an auction, had wound up at the Museum of Natural History in New York. Chile has always wanted this mummy back, he said, and one of his projects as a sculptor was to go to New York to make a cast of this Copper Man to bring back to Chile.

"This is a special animal to the people here," Harold said of his milodon. "And Magallanes is a special region to me."

The tarp comes off next Tuesday.

10-07-08

2008-10-09T19:10:00.000-07:00

Watch Parties
The "Watch Parties" that CNN flashes to during the debates look terribly un-festive. Here in Puerto Natales, we've been having a lot more fun. Even if it's hard to hear our favorite catchphrases such as "you betcha," "maverick," "wall street versus main street," and most recently "that one," the debates have been a welcome reason for a weeknight get-together, exoitc foods such as burritos, guacamole, and pizza, as well as a drink or two. Oh, and I just heard from the city that my absentee ballot is on its way. Go Obama!

Claudia
Claudia is the inspectora at my school. She is a large and severe-looking woman with a delantal that is often stained and rumpled, thick, tinted lenses that remain dark inside, and a hefty neck dotted with moles. I liked her as soon as I met her, because she is the only person in the school, it seems, to whom the students show unyielding resepct. All Chilean schools have an inspector or inspectora--an official disciplinarian. I merely have to mention the name Tía Claudia and I watch my students perk up and stiffen in their seats. She has rescued me on more than one occasion now when my class is out of order, barging into the room to shout, "Hey, la tiá didn't come from thousands of miles away to put up with this crap!" Outside of class, she's funny and kind, offering me a wad of cold bread pudding on a plate or giving me the lowdown on certain students and Natalinos--"Watch out for the ones with dreadlocks," she warned. "Lice!"

Claudia told me she liked my block-letter printing, and she asked if I could help her with a plaque she was going to leave in her mother's niche--the little box shrine visible in the wall of graves at many Chilean cemetaries. (Photographs are often also left in these displays--the country is much more inclined to show and remember what the deceased looked like in life, which makes the graveyard more personal than a name and a number.) Claudia had chosen a few words of poetry from a library book, beginning "Nunca jamás," never again, and with her guidance I wrote them on a posterboard cutout of a dove another teacher had drawn. Claudia was going to take the dove to the jail, where the inmates run a serigraph workshop for engraving wood.

10-05-08

2008-10-05T18:59:00.000-07:00

The wind and rain caught up with our camping trip this weekend. I joined my host mom, fellow volunteer Charlie, and the Cecelia, profe de educación física, as well as 13 alumnos from the Polytechnic school, for a three-day trip to Torres del Paine. I hate to say it, but it went pretty terribly. The laid back Chilean onda did not serve us well--our route changed at the last minute (so instead of doing a chunk of the famous "W" hike, we wound up sitting in a rainy quincho all day), and our tiny two-person tent was packed with three. The alumnos didn't seem to be picking up any outdoor skills--at least one was offering me créme de menthe for breakfast (go figure, things are more relaxed here)--and three managed to come into my tent at night to ask me stupid questions. ("Elisabet, What are you doing?") Charile and I did a fair bit of lamenting, considering how we would do things differently, but in the end we just made the best of it, met some interesting folks from Hong Kong and Israel, and did get in a few day hikes, in which we were almost knocked down by windgusts. The rope suspension bridge just before the Campamiento Italiano in the Valle Frances was a lot of fun.

10-01-08

2008-10-01T18:44:00.000-07:00

"Ahora empieza la temporada del viento," a Chilean friend mused, sinking into a cushy red chair and looking out from a large picture window. Logs crackled in a woodstove while wind lashed the air outside, which had turned frighteningly cold.

Now begins the season of the winds. How could it be? It was supposed to be spring. I thought I'd left the worst weather behind me in the Patagonian winter, but apparently awful winds arrive in the spring--and even worse ones in summer. It snowed today for the first time in weeks, and it may have been the first time I've seen hail down here at all. My now familiar mountains have been obscured in low, gray cloud whihc looks like a sinister dust storm or twister on the horizon, but it is just more cold, damn wind.

09-30-08

2008-09-30T12:35:00.000-07:00

Apuntes
September has flown by me, and I have come to the conclusion that, for better or worse, I will never get bored in my life. I thought I might find myself down here, in what my guidebook described as "a barren and inhospitable landscape" with tons of time on my hands to read and draw, but that has not been the case. Puerto Natales is a small town, and yes, there are only so may places to have a coffee or get a beer, but school, family, and other misadventures wind up making this lovely little city a fairly bustling place sometimes. Here are a few things I have been up to lately.

Fiestas Patrias - Chile celebrated its independence September 18th, so there was lots of cueca dancing in and outside of school. Casey and I celebrated with my host family at a party at Colegio Natales--mostly slightly older folks and not too many in attendence in the darkened school gym, but we had a great time dancing cueca and cumbia with just about everyone at our table. Earlier that day, I told Nino I would help out with some of the games that the Club de Leónes was hosting for the town. (Nino is presidente.) I didn't realize that my volunteering would result in a marathon six-hour shift at Leónes HQ. I was running a game called "payasos," which involved shooting three tennis balls into three distinct clown mouths on a painted plywood board. Nobody won all day! The closest I got was a guy who made two of the three clowns. The grand prize was only a bottle of coke or a tin can of strawberries, but still I felt the game was too hard. Halfway through the day, one of the leónes asked me if anyone had won a prize. When I told her no, she was delighted!
Sabores - The tastes I miss most from Chicago are those imported from abroad--curry, sushi, burritos, and yes, margaritas. This past week, in addition to enjoying some wonderful comida típica de Chile, I have been able to satisfy many of my cravings because I have finally had the chance to do some cooking. The Friday before last, Casey and I made a vegetable curry for ten people at our friend Ricardo's house, and the next week, another friend made some fabulous sushi, served in three boats--the Niña, the Pinta, and the Santa Maria. We got together at my house this past Friday to watch the presidential debates and feast on homemade burritos and margaritas. Sure, they weren't as good as El Cid, especially since there are never any limes in Puerto Natales (you would need to go to Punta Arenas for that), but greenish lemons sufficed. I also made a banana cake for Paola's birthday and a large batch of "salsa de garbanzos" aka hummous, which she really loved! Kate made some excellent lemon blueberry scones as well...so it has been a month of great eating in Puerto Natales! (Not to mention we discovered two of the more
Excursiones - Last Thursday, I had the chance to travel to Torres del Paine for the day with my alumnos. We had a great time, but it was a very long day of riding on the bus, having snacks, and using the bathroom facilities at the park--I think we only walked for about ten minutes all day. Luckily, we were able to listen to reggatone music for most of the bus ride (oh no!!!) since someone had the brilliant idea of holding up a cellphone/mp3 player up to the microphone on the bus, so it was especially tinny and horrible sounding! And right as we passed the Paine massif, most of the students were so fascinated playing with the curtains that unfortunately, we could not see anything! It was a pretty funny school trip in the end, and we did have a chance to talk to a very interesting couple who have lived in the park for ten years, researching huemules, which look quite a bit like deer. G4 has had the good fortune of being selected to participate in a speical envirionmental program with an organization called Explora--which gives the school funding to take trips like these and even sent a large group of our alumnos to Puerto Edén on the Navimag. This weekend, I am going back to the park with alumnos from the tourism program Polytechnic school to camp and hike part of the W. My host mom is going too, as well as Charlie, a very nice volunteer from Milwaukee. (I just noticed that on Ruta 9 toward the park, there is still quite a bit of countryside filled with mines from a war with Argentina in the 70s or 80s...will have to find out more about this soon.) All of us volunteers, except Kate who was working on grad school stuff, scaled Cerro Dorotea this past Sunday. Doretea his a large hill, with one very steep face, but the climb was well worth it and offered a beautiful view of Natales.

09-15-08 Weekend in Punta Arenas

2008-09-15T06:29:00.000-07:00

We left Puerto Natales Friday evening, feeling slightly claustraphobic, but the feeling disappeared as soon as we hopped on a bus to Punta Arenas, the big city, to meet with Casey, Dan, and the three other volunteers we hadn't seen since arriving. Kate and I were going to look for a hostel, but Dan's colleague, Ruth, invited us into her home, where we wound up staying all weekend and having a fabulous time. Ruth and her husband Lalo have two sons in their 20s, who now live in other parts of Chile--their attentiveness and hospitality toward us made it evident how much they must miss their boys. Kate and I slept in their beds upstairs, in the coziest little attic space--I only managed to hit my head twice on the rafters. Ruth and Lalo were great, "have a beer, invite your friends over, listen to music, sit in the living room..." everything we could have wanted. And they had 100% Columbian coffee and a real coffee maker--it was the best cup of coffee I've had in Chile, and possibly my life--I am still tingling from it.

Friday night, all of the volunteers met up in the house of Dan's host family. We wound up sitting in a little flourescent-lit shack, kept warm by a wood stove. We drank and chatted and listened to Victor Jara on cassette and eventually sang--Dan and his dad particularly, backed up by a little maraca and tambourine. I learned only one song--"A beber, a beber, a beber...esta noche no quiero llorar. A beber, a beber, a beber, esta noche yo quiero chupar." (Tonight, I don't want to cry, I want to suck down alcohol...poetic, no?) The sun was rising by the time we got home. We might have seen it rise, in fact, if the boys hadn't gotten into a pretty funny argument about the best place to see the sun come up!

Saturday we had breakfast at 3:30 p.m. We had gone to the supermarket the night before to get grocieries for a big "North American" style breakfast, although we wound up leaving the green onions in the shack at Dan's. It was a little difficult to make our omletts with all five of us in the kitchen. Ruth was so motherly--"Your coffee is going to get cold. That's going to stick to the pan. Your feet are going to get cold. You're going to freeze," and she actually put Casey's steak in a blender (we're not sure why)--but we managed to churn out three very excellent omlettes with goat cheese, whole-grain toast, apples, and another pot of great coffee. Later that night, we had dinner at a lively local restaurant called El Mercado, a charming brightly-lit room on the second floor of a building downtown. I had a shellfish stew (John would have been proud, I think), filled with many unidentifiable mariscos in a white-wine broth. It was excellent. We had a drink afterward, but weren't really in the mood to go out again, so we decided to go back to Ruth and Lalo's to drink some wine and watch a movie. In search of a corner store, we found a strip club, were offered drugs, and asked for money very politely--"Money, please." I am thankful to be in Natales! We took a collectivo home and took a bottle of wine to the Straight of Magellan, where Casey produced a small flute and a harmonica.

Sunday, I slept ridiculously late again, and woke up to a delicous lunch of hake that Ruth was making. We had mote con huasillos afterward and I heard Ruth utter "Pobrecita, va a engordar"--poor thing, she's going to get fat! We went to the cemetary in the afternoon, which is probably the most interesting place in Punta Arenas, filled with pine trees that are shaped like gumdrops, and meticulously manicured to sweep the floor. The cemetary is filled with many Yugoslavians, or Croatians, I should say, as well as Italians and English. There was also a memorial to "the unkown indian," who is buried beneath, and many people come to petition him for favors. There were men in blue jumpsuits and black berets digging graves with shovels--I know graves have to get dug somehow, but it was a sombering sight nonetheless. We had this brilliant idea for a photo, with each of us standing behind one of the trees and peeking out, and Lalo took it...but when I looked at it after I got home, I noticed that one of the gravediggers is walking in the background, his shovel slung over his shoulder. It's a really interesting moment, I think, and hopefully I can put it on Flickr soon.

09-11-08

2008-09-11T18:18:00.000-07:00

The past week and a half has been quite busy here in small town Patagonia. I've been meeting a lot of nice and interesting people--a lady called Anne in my yoga class is dueña of a vegetarian restaurant in town that has been here for some time. "El Living" got a great review in my guidbook, and I can't wait to try it once it opens for the season. Norma is the nana who works at our house during the day. I've had many nice chats with her in our kitchen, some of them surprisingly deep (she is a Jehova's Witness, so she was telling me about the "suneño profundo" (profound dream) that comes after death, waiting out the second coming.) She is petite and shorter than I am, but is the mother of 6. The most adorable thing, I think, is that she wears a screen-printed tuxedo t-shirt! I have also been playing tennis with our demure janitor at school--he seems deperate for partners, as not many Natalinos know how to play (no courts). (Many also can't swim--no pool!). Also have been biking a lot on Ruta 9 heading north. I'm very happy with the bike I got from El Rey de la Bicicleta, Andres. It's light and quiet. The ride is usually feast or famine, it seems--either an effortless sail with the wind at your back, or a tear-streaked battle against the wind, when you have to pedal hard even downhill, but it is so enjoyable! I learned that Chile is the number-once consumer of white bread and soft drinks, but have been managing to enjoy some excellent food lately, including centolla and even locos. Also had a chance to squeeze in a quick cueca class--which was not easy for me! My ten-year-old partner could outdance me any day. My host dad assured me it won't be too much of a problem, come the fiestas patrias next week--he was lamenting that most people drink to much to dance or go for cumbia instead.

Here's a (hopefully) quick update of what else has been going on. I am heading out of town this weekend with two other volunteers, Kate and Casey, to go to the big city, Punta Arenas, population 120,000--and there are only 140,000 in this entire region!

09-01-08 El Señor de la Querencia Se Termine - The telenovela finally ended, in one of the goriest finales I've ever seen, with the señor killing most of the people on his estate. Lots of blood everywhere. There has also been a lot of news regarding the actor who plays the senñor--apparently he is now undergoing treatment in a mental institution because his role was so difficult. I met someone who went to high school with him many years before he was famous--apparently he also has a beuatiful singing voice. Now I just have to get into "Hijos del Monte..."
09-03-08 Perito Moreno Glaciar, Parque Nacionál Los Glaciares, Califate, Argentina - My friend Diana, who works in tourism, invited me on a trip to see Perito Moreno Glaciar, which was utterly breathtaking, over 30 km long, and perfectly blue on a gorgeous, sunny day. The only downside was that the journey to Calafate was really long. Five hours each way on a road that was largely gravel...hopefully I will have a chance to go back and spend much more time at the park!
09-05-08 Competencia de "Public Speaking" - I was so excited and nervous for my alumno Coni. In spite of her lasseiz-faire attitude about English, she pulled it together and really nailed her speech about JK Rowling. Unfortunately, we did not take home a place at the competition. I didn't feel that the outcome was fair, but Coni seemed far less irked than I was! I thought she was going to be devastated, because she had worked so hard, but she really just wanted to go to this math festival at the high school and play games with her friends when all was said and done. I'm happy that I had a chance to work on this project--and I think that she is going to do really well once she gets to high school.
09-06-08 Torres del Paine - This past weekend, some friends were in town from Porvenir, so we made a quick trip to Torres del Paine...way too fast, of course, but I will be back. We had quite a bit of time to wait for the bus at Lago Gray, so we wound up just lying back on this black pebble beach, which was actually quite comfortable, and munching on glacial ice--hielo de milionario (and, according to my host dad, meant to be enjoyed with whiskey!) There are some photos the park, and guanacos and foxes on Flickr. Later that night, I found myself back at Las Canalles, the karaoke bar, with Kate and our Chilean friend Rodrigo, who, like every Chilean at this very local establishment, loves to croon. I just have to give credit to Srta. Harmon--her "grandes éxitos" CDs, gave me a basic, but crucial understanding of some Latin artists that still resonate--Carlos Vives, Elvis Crespo, and of course, Alejandro Sanz, who has a great new duet with Shakira. I think that translating those lyrics in class may have been the most valuable thing I learned in high school.
09-07-08 Navegación 21 de Mayo - Kate, mi compañera de Canada, obtained some discounted tickets for a boat ride to Balmaceda and Serrano glaciares, which are located several hours up the sound. There were a lot of estancias along the way, accessible only by water--we had to stop at one and drop off a few sacks of potatos.

Abrazos,

Elizabeth

08-31-08

2008-08-31T10:39:00.000-07:00

Apuntes

I finally have had a chance to do a bit more teaching this week--just five classes, so I am still going to try to get some more hours. The alumnos are really cute, but it's often difficult to get them to concentrate, yet alone speak English. However, there are some students who I can tell really, really want to learn. There is one student named Claudia, who has red glasses, and as soon as I started speaking, I heard her say "A mi me encanta Ingles," or I love English--so I have to do a good job! Next week, by special request, we will be translating "We Will Rock You." I welcome other ideas for songs as well!
Saturday, I went on excursion to Cerro Benitez with about 30 of my students, as well as three of the other volunteers, students from their schools, various military personnel, and guides from Conaf. It was a celebration of National Mountain Day in Chile, and things were kicked off at the base of the hill by the old and vociferous Italian mayor, Mario Margoni, and a Conaf representative in a giant squirrel costume (pictures TK, tomorrow, I hope...the costume was carried all the way up to the top so the squirrel could pose for a picture with he Chilean flag). The mayor owns a lot of land outside Natales, where we were hiking, just north of the road to Cueva del Milodon. Apparently he has more than 1000 cows roaming around--nothing, of course, can grow down here with the wind and cold. "This is my land," he told me proudly, and then after a moment, he added, "Well, actually, this is all God's land. I'm just the administrator." Even though Natales is only a town of about 20,000, the mayor's rhetorical skills are worthy of a nation. He was standing on top of a rock with a megaphone, shouting "Eat fruits! Eat vegetables! Get exercise!" It was amazing! The hike itself was fun, though a bit slow with such an enormous group. By the time we got high enough, we were hiking in cloud, so it was difficult to see anything, although we did see a bunch of condors very close up, since they have a nest right below the cumbre. It was pretty surreal to see these enormous birds just appear from below out of the whiteness! At the top, we posed with the squirrel mascot and also the flags of Chile and Magallanes. The regional flag is blue and yellow, with a zigzagged white line representing the snow-covered moutains and the southern cross in the sky. One of the alumnos from G4, Germán, also carried our own little flags to the top. Everyone was quite proud, and it was beautiful to hear all the alumnos sing the Chilean anthem!
After many visits with Andres and his mother, who is less than 5 feet tall, I finally got a refurbished, secondhand bicycle from "El Rey de la Bicicleta." It's minimal, but light and fully functional. I had a chance to go on a ride on the newly paved road that going North from Natales, quite a bit further than where I normally run. It was beautiful, and especially Zen-like, since I was riding on this straight road right toward the mountains, and it all felt effortless....that is, until I turned around and experienced the Patagonian headwind. There were hardly any cars on the road, and for a moment, I experienced what I thought there would be plenty of in Patagonia, but has proven to be rare--total silence! Coming back, I also noticed the same, beautiful owl sitting on a post near the water.
There was a karaoke competition last night, which was very entertaining. I saw a big, burly guy with long curly hair, and the sleeves of his t-shirt rolled up belt out the most romantic and heartbreaking cancion you could imagine. A woman dressed in jeans and high heels, sang a song called Eres with such passion and confidence, that I almost didn't notice that she was lacking both of her front teeth! I made a horrible faux pas later in the evening, however. After a few piscos, my Spanish seemed to be improving, and I saw a woman I knew in line for the bathroom. We were joking around a bit, and there was another person beside us, who I thought was a man, since it was very dark in this little hallway where we were. When the other person went into the women's restroom, I said something like, "Hey, he can't do that!" And we were all laughing, and then I realized that the other people in line were trying to tell me that it was in fact, a woman. I still feel awful.
My little brother Benja, who will be three in December, can almost count to ten in English! It will never cease to amaze me how quickly little kids can pick up language--and have a much easier time pronouncing things. (And it sure helps when the TV isn't on!)

08-25-08

2008-08-25T15:53:00.000-07:00

Apuntes

This Friday, I went out to get some groceries with my host mom, but before we ever got to the store, we pulled up in front of a nondescript house on Calle Libertad. A man emerged from the darkness, opened the gate, and let us pull into the driveway. He operates a makeshift service station in his backyard--and sells only the finest quality Argentine gasoline, which is about half the price of gas in Chile, even with a little profit for the middle man.
Saturday, I went on a hike with Charlie, another volunteer (from Milwaukee, no less), and a group of students from the polytechnic. They can take "excursion" as one of their gym credits. We hiked through pampas and estancias, where we saw plenty of cows and sheep, as well as a real Chilean huaso, and also along the shore. Our first stop was Puerto Condor, where we saw at least 20 of these giant birds, who have nests nearby. We then passed a tiny community called Puerto Prat, and finally Puerto Consuelo, which was also just a tiny collection of houses and animals off a dirt road, but had one of the most beautiful views, right on a very narrow waterway with steep mountains in the distance. We could even see los cuernos, the twisting rocky spires of Torres del Paine--and also a gaping hole in the side of a mountain: Cueva de Milodon! I was pretty exhausted after the hike, even though it wasn't really that long, or even that far from Natales. I think that a lot of young people in Puerto Natales, even though it is so close to the National Park, and brings in thousands of tourists, don't really get to walk much in the countryside. So it's fabulous that high school students can take "excursion" for a gym class! They can also specialize in tourismo, gastronomia, or hoteleria, in addition to the usual polytechic subjects like automotive. After the walk, Charlie and I picked up a fabulous meal in town--for me, a beer and pizza, the perfect combination that just warms my heart and soul! I'm not sure if it was the fatigue, that the Austral was served "schop" (on tap), or simply that I was able to choose what I wanted, when I wanted it, but it was amazing.
Sunday, I got up ridiculously early to catch the only bus to Rio Turbio, Argentina. The town is only about 35 km away, I think, but it took about an hour to get there, because of the border crossings (one stamp to get out of Chile, one to get into Argentina, another to get out of Argentina, and another to get back into Chile!). Not to mention that when my journey started, they were unable to break the equivalent of a twenty-dollar bill, so I had to wait 15 minutes while the bus driver asked all the passengers if they had change, and then had to walk around the center, to another bus station, to ask again! I came back to get my change later, and it was not a big deal, but I was surprised that a business, such as a bus company, would not have some spare cash on hand. When I got into Argntina, I wanted to doublecheck with the bus driver that the bus would come back to Natales that evening--he gave me a very vague answer: maybe there would be one, maybe there wouldn't be...he wasn't really sure, since it was a Sunday. My intention had been to go cross-country skiing, but when I arrived at the ski center (which was little more than West Bend's Sunburst, aside from the incredible cordillera in the distance!), I realized they only had downhill skis. It was kind of pricey to ski, so I opted for a couple hours of raquetas, or snowshoes! I tromped around some trails on the top of the hill, and actually bumped into at least one alumno from the Polytechnic school! It is a small world in this part of South America. I also spotted an eagle on the top of the hill, which was rare and stunning. I showed my photo to the woman at the ticket office when I came back, and she told me I'd have good luck. As it turns out, she was actually la dueña of the ski place, and she wound up giving me a tour of her hotel, and also offering me a job! Tal vez. I asked her about the bus back, and she told me I could get a ride with Cervando, a man who was also heading back to Natales. While he skiied away the afternoon, I walked to Rio Turbio, which, I hate to say, was a pretty crappy and depressing town, home to an enormous coal mine, graffitti, and a lot of abandoned buildings. This side of the Andes has apparently not benefitted from any of the tourism that has been so good to Puerto Natales. I walked back through el Bosque de Duendes, or Woods of the Gnomes, to meet my ride back at the hill. The woods were very snowy, and the trail was lined with very unusual--sometimes very dark and obscure--wooden sculptures. Apparently, many people believe that gnomes do in fact live there! I could believe it. When I arrived back to meet Cervando, I realized that his pareja is actually Susana, the yoga teacher from Natales! We went to fill up their truck with Argentine gas before heading back home on a very nice ride.

08-22-08

2008-08-22T17:32:00.000-07:00

Apuntes

This Wedesday, I marched with a few other profes in a parade celebrating the birtday of Chilean liberator Bernardo O'Higgins. It was a parade in true Chilean fashion, I think, very slow to start, with los militares marching and playing their instruments in fatigues. The governor of Ultima Esperanza and other dignitaries were seated in a little tent. There are some photos on Flickr. It was fun walking to the center with the alumnos, including los chiquititos, and getting to know them a little better! They are cute and funny, and eager to share with me bracelets, drawings, french fries (which they ran out to get during my class!) and chocolate. There is a very severe inspector in our school called Claudia, who warned me to be careful with the alumnos. I had to explain to her what "fuck you" meant, because one of the alumnos was saying it! (Me: "It's the worst word there is in English!" Her: "Just tell me. Just tell me!") She is a heavyset woman with dark-tinted glasses, and for some reason she burns insence in the library, but she is actually very nice to me. Overall, and in spite of just a few problems, I find the students adorable so far, especially since they all call me "Tia Eli"!
Like many things in Chile, actaully getting started with my classes has been a bit slow. I've really only taught one class on my own this week, which went fine. Most of the time, I have been working with two girls Coni and Camila, and helping them get ready for a public speaking competition that takes place the week after next. They have to do a two-minute speech, in English, about JK Rowling. The memorization is difficult, but we've been working hard and recording the speech on Camila's cell phone. The only difficulty in our practice is that I always have to stop them from drifting to the computer to download music or go to Facebook!
I went to a great yoga class last Tuesday at the home of Susan, who is originally from Germany. Her yoga studio is called “PatagOM.” There were five of us in the class, which was in Spanish. I think between yoga class and reggatone instruction, I am picking up on parts of the body quickly!
I've also been running pretty regularly. I never liked running, but with the help of the sun going down over Balmaceda, right between two larger mountains, it isn't nearly as bad as I thought! I always pass this very fancy hotel, Remota, which is practically hidden in the hillside. (I think Jim and Cheryl would like it!) I usually turn around at a ferry called Skorpios, which they are working on right now, or Puerto Bories, an old meatpacking plant. I believe that some time ago there was an incident of labor unrest there, in which some workers were killed, and now it is a museum. Today I went a little further, almost to Puerto Prat. It's always gorgeous, because the sun sets over the mountains around six, but it was very windy today. Also, a truck full of Chilean guys in orange insulated suits, and lacking some teeth, asked me if I wanted a ride back to Natales. ¡No gracias!
Even though Puerto Natales is really small, the town has it's own TV and radio station. I actually love watching the local news at night...it's already easy to see people I know (as it is walking anywhere in town), and often one of my fellow angloparlantes. Last night, there was an OVNI (Objecto Volador No Identificado, or "UFO") sighted over Cerro Ballena!
To put it mildly (and to overwrite a somewhat more reactionary post) adjusting to family life has been a little difficult for me, even though my family is kind and generous. Sitting down for a huge almuerzo in the middle of the day is so different from scarfing down a sandwich at my desk at work whenever I felt like it! There is good and bad in both types of lunch, I suppose. Some things, though, are just hard to get used to--white bread, Fanta mixed with wine, TV all day long, or finding out that my hat has been in the toilet. And all without the aid of caffenated coffee!

08-16-08

2008-08-16T13:57:00.000-07:00

What I miss

My MacBook
My bicycle
Ordering a pizza at will from Marcelo´s
Going to the farmers´market with John
Whole-wheat bread

What I love

Orange peels drying on my hot radiator, which makes my room smell lvoely
Learning to dance to reggatone in Diana´s living room
Running toward the mountains along the coast of the sound
El Señor del la Querencia, my telenovela
Yerba Mate, Argentine style, in a little wooden taza thorugh a silver bombilla...I like mine "amargo," strong and without sugar

08-11-08 G4

2008-08-12T14:48:00.000-07:00

Today was my first day at G4, (I added a link to the school´s Web site, on the right), the basica where I´m going to teach. The students prepared a lovely ceremony, reading their best English off index cards. They sang the Chilean national anthem and also played a recording of the Star-Spangled Banner. Then, two pairs of students in traditional costumes (sombrero, shawl, boots, and ruffled dresses for the girls) danced the cueca, twirling white scarves in the air. (Just as Allison twirled her napkin on my last day of work!) The profesores had a little coffee and breakfast for me in the plush teacher´s lounge and told me to make myself at home. All of the teachers were very kind, although quite a few warned me that G4 is not only the smallest (126 students in 8 grades) school in Natales, but also one of hte poorest. Many students that do poorly in othe rpublic schools apparently wind up coming here. Until two years ago, it used to be a sort of boarding school for kids who had particularly bad lives at home. I met a psychologist who was on his way to make a visit to the hom eo a student who had not been showing up for school. Apparently last year´s volunteer had "discipline problems," but at least during my bisit today, I found no evidence of any of this--just lovely kids who were already calling me tia and running up to give me a kiss on the cheek. Claudio, the English teacher I´ll work with, and Ricardo, the school principal, took me on a tour of the school, which appears farily well maintained and active. There is one tiny room in the school with blue walls that they call the musuem. It is full of dead, stuffed animals, big and small--c cormorant, nandu, condor, and swan, even a Puma. The animals are old and worse for the wear, with fur and feathers that are patchy and matted down, but Ricardo seemed so proud to show them that I hesitated to say they were slightly sad, or scary. Then Ricardo, a heavyset bearded man in a suit, tie, and sweatervest, informed me that he used to unt. Once, he shot a guanaco. And when he walked up to his tach, he said the guanaco was still living. The animal raised its head to him, and Ricardo saw tears in its eyes. That was the last animal he ever shot, he said--now he just takes photos. But still, the school is proud of its little room and hwo it can be used to teach students. The aminals were donated from the Puerto Natales Musem, which no longer wanted its old collection. It´s turning out to be another relaxed week for me, since Claudio doesn´t teach Tuesday, and there are no classes Wednesday and Friday, because it is a holy day. The Spanish word for relax is descansar.

08-10-08 Cold, Quiet, Beautiful

2008-08-10T13:57:00.000-07:00

Apuntes

I am "Elly" to everyone here.
My friend Diana tells me it´s easy to identify the extranjeros here, because so many (like me) wear knit hats with sort of Peruvian designs and earflaps. When my mom Paola drop me off at malabar, she asked the man outside the door, ¿hay gringos? as if to make sure it was safe for me to enter.
The night starts late in Chile. This past weekend, we left for the bar at 1, and it was only at 3:30 that friends decided to go dancing at "Milodon" (giant, extinct sloth), the favorite disco in Natales. I was worried about coming home after 3, but my host mom came back later than I did. Most nights end at 5 or 6 at least.
Living with a family again is an adjustment. Paola always wants to make sure I´m eating enough, literally pouring the last drop of crema de pisco down my throat! She is an excellent cook, and we eat very well, but Chileans seem to put sugar on just about everything and a lot of things in the store are very processed. As my guidebook puts it, "Sadly, the average Chilean diet is getting less healthy, as a result of increasing prosperity. Exercise levels are falling and consumption of meat, alcohol, fat, and artificial sugars is increasing, while consumption of vegetables has fallen to about half of the recommended level." Still the big grocery store in Puerto Natales is a step forward...it just opened a few months ago. Before that, there was only one tiny supermarket!
I´m learning some Spanish listening to Nino and Paola sing to their children: "Salta, salta, salta. Salta cabellito salta!" Also, "No en la boca" is a phrase I hear a lot.
My family likes to put the bread on the radiator during dinner. An innovative way of toasting.
These words have recently entered my Spanish vocabulary: cisne (swan), centolla (king crab), ovejo (sheep), planchar (to iron), osorro (fox), ostion (scallop - we had fabulous empanadas!), suegro (father-in-law), trago (a drink/cocktail).
Our Chilean Spanish teacher said it was best that we avoid the subject of Pinochet as much as possible. My dad, Nino, asked me what I knew about the dictator, and I wasn´t sure what to say because I had seen a picture of Nino´s jowly father in full military dress above the television. I mumbled something about the Human Rights Watch movie John and I had seen, but otherwise plead ignorance. And then today, when I was checking my email, an intense conversation just started up--I forget how. Nino told me his father was a "Pinochetista," a medic in the army during the dictatorship. He told me he could remember waiting in line for bread before Pinochet took power, but little else. He said that torture didn´t take place around Puerto Natales...although some of the roads around here, at least according to my guidebook, still may have some landmines. Extremes are bad, Nino said, far left or far right, and his politics appear to be right in the middle. It´s OK to talk now, he said, but for a while it was not. "They were listening," he said. Yet, even though Nino´s father was Pinochetista, other members of his family had to flee to Argntina (where they live now) because they were listed socialists. Reading the barometer of opinion and emotion about the past is still difficult!

08-07-08 Update from Puerto Natales

2008-08-07T13:33:00.000-07:00

I´m out of my suitcase and finally at home! I arrived in Puerto Natales Tuesday and am living with Hector (Nino) Soto, his wife Paola, and their three children...Belen, 12, Benjamin, 2, and Alejandro, 1. Life at home is very busy with Nino and Paola running to their jobs as teachers, the little boys scampering around, and telenovelas blasting on the TV all the time. I´m starting to get into one show El Senior de la Querencia. Everyone seems to watch this historical drama...I have to see what will happen next, since one of the characters just received a sort of "chastity belt" as punishment for being my "ponica," another chilenismo.

After our flight down from Santiago, we spent one night in Punta Arenas--I´ve added a few photos of the Strait of Magellan and the town on Flickr, but I didn´t have a chance to see a whole lot. Tuesday afternoon, we took the bus up from Punta Arenas, it was a three hour ride through a landscape that was mostly flat, bleak, and covered with snow. Although the afternoon was clear and mild, the road was white and packed down with ice. We didn´t see many other vehicles on the ride north. Each time we did, our bus driver would flash his lights and wave before moving off to the side of the road a bit to make some room.

Puerto Natales, on Last Hope Sound, is beuatiful with rocky, snow-capped mountains in the distance and the water quiet and still in the sound. Wednesday morning, they had a little ceremony for us at the polytechnic school, and I met the mayor (an old and forceful Italian man), governor of the province, my students for the first time. The students gave me a little figurine of a milodon, a prehistoric animal that used to live in Patagonia. Yesterday, I gave my host family a few presents from home, including Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak. When I showed Benjamin the book, he shouted milodon, because that´s exactly what the pictures look like.

Life at home is very nice so far. I´ve been helping out a little bit at a Catholic school for girls today and yesterday. I won´t start working with my partner teacher Claudio until Monday. It´s a little cold in the house and I´ve been feeling a little sick the past few days, but everything is nice overall. Even for the smallest meal, a little "once" before bed, the table is always set elaborately with palcemats, a tablecloth bread, sugar, and lots of condiments, including a gigantic bag of Hellman´s mayonaise, which many Chileans like to put on just about everything. It´s a nice little formality, I think, and it´s been great sitting and talking with my new parents, brothers, and sister.

08-02-08

2008-08-02T12:50:00.000-07:00

Don’t ever have a hangover it a hostel. It’s much worse when you’re in a bunk bed and sharing a bathroom with 20 others. Last night, the volunteer program threw us a little fiesta, and then we went out with one of the coordinators at a place a few blocks away. Though I was still feeling the piscos this morning, today was one of the most beautiful days we’ve had in Santiago—clear and blue and sunny. We took the metro to Cerro Santa Lucia, a big hill in the center of town. The bottom of the hill is where Pedro de Valdivia founded the city of Santiago in 1541. In the 1870s, an effort was made to transform Santiago into a more cosmopolitan and European place, so beautiful terraces, fountains, and walkways, even a chapel, have been built into the hillside. Cerro Santa Lucia is a beautiful place to stroll and get a good look at Santiago. The Andes were still covered in clouds, our smog, but you could still see the foothills, coastal cordillera, and lots of sprawl and condos.

After coming down, I walked to el Mercado Central, near the river. The market also dates back from the 1870s and is an active, bustling, place, made only slightly seedy by the inquisitive, whistling men lining the aisles. I walked through the seafood stalls, where men in white coats and hats were weighing octopi and filling bins full of mussels. The men also were also constantly hosing down the conctrete floor, which only made t market more steamy and the sea smell stronger.

I tried an empanada de queso and camarones. It was by far t best empanada I’ve had so far. The restaurant/marisqueria where I sat, like most eateries in the market, looked like a greasy spoon. In fact, the dark green tablecloth was stained with greasy circles—but the fish was fresh and delicious, and there were halves of lemons sitting on white saucers on each table. Los camarones were rich and filling, especially in combination with the cheese sauce inside the crumbly pastry. The place was called Tio Willy—and my server, Ronal, was friendly and chatty, dressed in a bright red sweater. He said he knew the Chicago Bulls. Ronal asked me how my empanada was—muy sabrosa, I said. Then I heard him laughing with the other waitresses. Is sabrosa the correct word? I asked in Spanish. Yes, he replied, but you must say Ronal is muy sabroso—that’s how I learned his name. After I paid, he asked where I was going. When I told him back to Barrio Brasil, he took my hand and walked me through the wet floors of the market to the street to point me in the right direction. Chilean people are amazing.

Later that night, a group of us went to La Piojera, a famous, rather underground (although yes, it’s in Lonely Planet) bar near el Mercado Central. We all had a terremoto—which is a glob of ice cream in a big plastic cup of cheap white wine. It was actually really good, even in spite of the day’s early promises to swear off drink. We sat in a tiny, smoke-filled room—the walls were covered in graffiti and the wobbly seats and tables were sticky with alcohol. In the corner, a group of young, long-haired Chileans were playing guitar, singing, and clapping together little white saucers for percussion.

The best part of going to the bar was this lovely family of five seated next to us. A couple in their 50s, Magnolia and Juan, their two sons, and their oldest son’s wife. The conversation started when one Chilean remarked that Richard, from New Zealand, looked like Quentin Tarantino. We talked for quite some time—the Chileans had questions about the use of the n-word in rap songs they had heard. Is it OK to say? They wanted to know. Nicole tried to explain.

The songs coming from the corner of the bar were written by Victor Jara, who often played at La Piojara. Pointing their fingers to their heads, our Chilean friends explained that Victor Jara was shot in the Estadio de Santiago during the Pinochet regime. (The stadium has now been renamed in honor of Jara, we learned.) The oldest son, who was wearing a plaid, western-style shirt, said that if we studied the music of Victor Jara, Violeta Para, and a few others, we would understand everything there was to know about Chile. He drew us a map of his country on the back of my placement, noting all of our placements in the various regions.

La Piojara was definitely authentic Santiago, and our family had been visiting so far back they had often seen Jara play there in his lifetime. Near the end of our chat, Magnoila signed her name on the wall with a pen. She explained to us that La Piojara has always been a place where all types of people—rich, poor, Peruvian, Argentine, even gring—get together under one techo.

Keep your placemat, Magnolia advised me. I already have it, I said, pulling out a rumpled up sheet of brown paper from my bag. The woman always knows—she said back—the man thinks about it, but the woman does it.

07-31-08

2008-08-01T16:28:00.000-07:00

Today we visited la Escuela Alberto Hurtado in the morning for a brief observation. I have just a couple pictures of the school, which is set around a courtyard, I hope I can post them soon. Hallways and stairwells are in the open air. All of the students were so cute, and so happy to see us! It helped allay some of my fears about freezing up in front of a classroom. I sat in an English class with a room full of 15 and 16 year olds. One student said her name, and then announced:

“My interests are tattoo and my favorite animal is the seal.”

It was adorable. She asked me if I watched the TV show Miami Ink.

One boy stood up to ask me a question. What is your name, the one in the middle? He said to me. When I told him Elizabeth, he replied, “Elizabeth, you have beautiful eyes.” I could feel my face turn red, but could do nothing but smile in that class because the kids were just so cute. Their teachers were young and kind, and they spoke good English and liked English-language music, which is on the radio often in Chile. I could have stayed at the school all day.

After we returned back to Barrio Brasil and wrapped up our afternoon classes, we went to a large and glitzy mall in Los Condes, likely where the wealthy of Santiago go to shop. Katie and James bought boots and hats to prepare for their placement in Porvenir, on Tierra del Fuego!

On the way back into the center, our nice little group, which included my other roommate Clare, from Durban, South Africa, and Drew, from Austin, stopped for sushi at a quiet Japanese restaurant in Provedicenia, near la Universidad Católica. I had a lovely rainbow roll, miso, and a nigiri made of Chilean whitefish—I will have to look up the name. This lovely meal was accompanied by the cerveza Austral (“southern”) from Punta Arenas, where we’ll be heading Monday! I can’t wait to go, but I feel like I’m getting to like Santiago better and better.

We took a cab home, after negotiating the price ahead of time, as we’d been advised. The cabbie was so friendly and outgoing, he pointed us out sights and important buildings as we drove by them, but he also took us quite out of our way and took a number of wrong turns. Our American instincts (maybe not Clare’s) kicked in, and we started to think that perhaps, we were being “taken for a ride,” so to speak. But as it turned out, this was not the case at all. We just happened to have a very kind, older man as our driver who genuinely wanted to show us around in his taxi. At the end of the ride, he got out of his cab to say goodbye to the five of us (who had managed to pile in to his tiny car). “Disfrutalo, disfrutalo,” he kept repeating—enjoy it, enjoy it.

07-29-08 !Hola Santiago!

2008-07-31T16:12:00.000-07:00

¡Santiago es enorme! A few nights ago, I ventured out of the Barrio Brasil, where we've been staying all week, for an evening tour of the city by bike. I grabbed a greasy empanada on a street corner near Los Heroes and took the subway east, almost to the end of the line, to Alcantara. We have been warned, by just about everyone, about our safety in Santiago, so fumbling for the right coins for my subway ticket and noticing, for the first time, that everyone on the train around me had thick, dark brown hair, I felt nervous, but only for a minute. Jostling through the underground and gripping the metal bar on the seat in front of me turned out to be a comforting routine, and certainly after three years in Chicago,I did just fine!

I arrived at La Bicicleta Verde in the bustling and glass-windowed barrio of northeastern Santiago called Los Condes. I met Peter Murphy, native Kansan and tour company founder, Joel, a Chilean co-guide who is a lawyer by day, Coni, a young Chilean journalist (she's doing an article for her magazine, http://plantacarnivora.cl), and her friend Juan, a photographer. Peter came to Santiago six years ago to get his masters in politics on a scholarship, and today teaches in a university, in addition to running his bike tours. We hopped on brand new mountain bikes with blinking lights and cruised through cool, dark, quiet parks, and what seemed to be some of Santiago's most exclusive neighborhoods—very different from the graffiti-lined streets where our hostel is. We passed through Los Condes—banks, skyscrapers, five-star hotels, upscale bars and restaurants—and then through Vitacura, equally "high society" as Peter said (this English phrase seems to be understood in Spanish.) Vitacura is named after an Incan cacique, I learned, but today is home to shops like Ermenelgildo Zegna (Jim, do you need anything?). There are ten working Starbucks in Santiago. I visited one in lieu of Nescafe, but will, in the future, resort to this only in emergencies. It’s the McDonalds of my generation—even below the Tropic of Capricorn, the packaging is in English.! The neighborhood of Vitacura is sometimes called "Sanhattan" because of it's resemblance to New York City—a real showcase of wealth and capitalism. I could be wrong, but I believe I read in my guidebook that Pinochet lived in this exclusive suburb until late in his life. I do not know the general Chilean perspective on the former dictator, but I would like to find out, having my own opinions. I have been advised by my Spanish teacher to avoid this topic of conversation (as well as abortion and homosexuality) as much as possible. My ears are open for now.

After stopping in a park for Nescafe out of a Thermos, we cruised through El Golf (another wealthy, urban neighborhood with a golf course at its center). After El Golf, we followed the river to the lively neighborhood of Bellavista, an area every guidebook classifies as Bohemian, home to lots of restaurants, bars, and theatres. We finished the ride raising our glasses at a spacious bar called Surreal. Over pisco sours, I learned a few more Chilenismos. I love trying to speak Chilean Spanish—the crew I rode with were really great to speak to, and the Chilean accent, which tends to drop the endings of words, especially the letter s, is charming. I’m working on it!

Chilenismos

al tiro, al toque (Peru) = right now

pito = whistle or joint (80% light up once a year, according to Peter)

mamoncete = mama’s boy

concho = backwash

polera = t-shirt

guachaca = local

marcar la tarjeta = call boyfriend/girfriend on a regular basis

rayar = to obsess about, literally, to scratch

There are probably many inaccuracies in my description of our route, but suffice to say that it was fun and beautiful and chilly to cruise around Santiago on a bike at night. Santiago has a ciclovía, and even a sizeable Critical Mass the first Tuesday of every month, but it isn’t nearly as bike-friendly as Chicago. The cars are large and inconsiderate (I saw more pickups and SUVs than I ever did in England, perhaps they’re the product of big continents)—the busses go so fast they could decapitate bystanders on the sidewalk with their side mirrors. Most cyclists ride on paths or sidewalks and most ride mountain bikes, though Joel and Peter say fixed-gear bikes are popular here too. In style everywhere, it seems! There did not appear be many bike lanes.

The crew I rode with were fabulous, and I would definitely recommend the tour!

That’s all for now, between the Internet cafes and borrowed laptops, I’m usually scrambling to get all this down. (Annie, you were right about the computer!)

Elizabeth xoxo

07-27-08 Dude, where´s my old life?

2008-07-28T16:12:00.000-07:00

Apuntes

It´s a good thing I like Nescafe, because that is the perferred coffee of Chile. On the street, you can by a little brown plastic cup with a heap of sugar for about 40 cents.
There are lots of sad and adorable dogs roaming the streets of Santiago. Most carry fleas, I´m told, so it is best to resist petting them!
Chileans don´t like it when U.S. citizens identify themselves as Americans. We were always aware of this at McGraw-Hill I recall, and rightly so!
The water really does go down counterclockwise!
In Santiago, you can watch My Name is Earl on TV, listen to Fergie on the radio, and get munchkins at Dunkin Donuts! I asked our waiter today where he picked up English, and he told me HBO!

I feel as though I´ve been in smoggy and cosmopolitan Santiago a long time, even though I´ve seen very little. My first 48 hours here have been occupied with lots of practicalities, getting the information for our residence cards together and trying take in everything we can about the Chilean educational system and teaching in all day workshops from 9-6. Luckily, these are punctuated by ample breaks for Nescafe.

My roommates are a diverse group. I met Katie, from upstate New York, while I was at the airport. Claire is South African, and Dodi is a woman in her 50s from Montana. In general though, most of the volunteers are younger than I am. Many graduated less than a month ago. All are especially friendly and outgoing--leaving our door open to the hall, walking in packs, crashing on my top bunk, and lining up for chow at the hostel, it´s a bit like being a freshman again. Living this life the past two days, I realize how much I´ve changed in the past three years since college, and how much I have to be greateful for--a great life in the fabulous city of Chicago, a boyfriend who took me on so many fun adventures, a career, an apartment that felt like home, and friends who made it feel that way. Sinking into my bunk bed last night, I realized how much I had changed my life, practically overnight!

Santiago is cold, and it gets dark at six--I´m wearing a hat and scarf here in the Internet cafe. Oddly enough, I miss that disgusting sweaty summer city grit that used to get all over my arns while I was biking around Chicago.

I´ll try to keep up writing regularly, and e-mailing too. I miss everyone, but I´m having a good time too.

Lots of love,

Elizabeth