Introduccion al Departamento

Not in the order I wanted, but here goes:My closet.My great little room! Amazing view out that window...

My brother's room, next to mine.

Hallway.

Cute bathroom. I'll have to get you a picture of the itty bitty tub.

Fridge full of delicious fresh vegetarian food, all ready for me! Mmmmm.

Kitchen.

More kitchen.

Our living room. Well, it's hard, but someone's gotta live here, right??

Pretty Girl from Chile

So here’s the scene: I wake up to another sunny, seventy degree day here in Viña del Mar. My Chilean mom is puttering around the kitchen, belting in English, “And I need you now tonight, And I need you more than ever, And if you'll only hold me tight, We'll be holding on forever!” Hehe. That’s how hilarious my life is now.

I’ll do my best to give you an overview of the last few days.

Thursday was registration day, but in Chilean fashion it didn’t start until 3:00 pm. So I had a deliciously late morning (after two days of jumping right into action). When I got up, our nana Mari was there, chatting with Alvaro and getting ready to cook. We introduced ourselves and I got some breakfast—a yummy little toasted sandwich (our toaster is the best—an ancient-looking little pan that we stick over a gas burner on the stove; I’ll have to post a picture), a banana, a gigantic orange, and a cafecito. I spent the morning getting some things organized and talking with a few people on Skype and Facebook.

When I left my room, I discovered that my Chilean grandparents, Maria Elena’s parents, had arrived! So, my Chilean abuelito is Guillermo and my Chilean abuelita…well, I’m ashamed to say I don’t remember her name…plus I’m pretty sure she just introduced herself as “la mamá de Maria Elena.” They were so hilarious and sweet, each greeting me with a kiss and “Hola, mi’jita” (literally, “Hello, my daughter”). Guillermo took great delight in sprinkling our conversations with English phrases (“Hello, my name is Willy! Right? Willy?”), while abuela confirmed, “Oh, you ARE pretty. Maria Elena said you were pretty.” Haha.

We ate lunch with David, who was home from work on his lunch break. Mari served us some awesome food—tortilla española (kind of a potato tart), rice, lettuce and tomato salad, bread, Coke, and porotos granados (a kind of soup/stew with these Chilean beans and lots of other veggies). As we drank our soda, Guillermo regaled us with a story he had heard about how they use Coke to take rust of off nails for construction. Greeeeat. The two guys talked about work for a little bit, then Guillermo and I started talking American politics. Like most Chileans I have talked to so far—even the self-described conservatives—he was a huge fan of Obama. Mostly we chatted about the need for the United States to see itself as a cooperative part of the world instead of an isolated superpower, to lose some of the arrogance that’s turned off so many other countries.

After lunch I got ready to go to the university for registration. When I arrived, I met a few other members of my group and we went upstairs to check the results of our Spanish exams. I was happy to discover that I had been placed in the advanced level of Español Comunicacional y Cultura Chilena. Yay! Then I tried to figure out the rest of my schedule, stopping by tables with representatives from each department to talk with them about courses and enroll in the ones I wanted. There were sooo many courses that looked interesting (Chilean Dialect, Simultaneous French and Portuguese) but most of my tough decisions were made for me, either because of scheduling conflicts or the restrictions enforced by ISEP, my study abroad program. All told, I’m pretty pleased with how it turned out:

-Español Comunicacional y Cultura Chilena (Spanish and Chilean Culture)
-Historia de América Latina del Siglo XX (Twentieth Century Latin American History)
-El Cuento Latinoamericano y Chileno (The Latin American/Chilean Short Story)
-Danzas Tradicionales de Chile (Traditional Chilean Dances)
-Gramática Avanzada (Advanced Grammar)

So, after over two hours of shuffling papers and asking questions, I had my schedule. I rode the micro back to Vina with my friend Rachel, and we made plans to meet at the beach later in the afternoon. We got there pretty late, so it got cold and windy fast and soon we parted ways headed home…or so I thought. Cada vez que te pierdas, aprendes algo. Every time you get lost, you learn something. That’s what I have to tell myself. I spotted a micro with the name of the street where I usually get off, not thinking clearly enough about what direction it was going or the fact that it had already passed that street, and hopped on. Aaaannd rode it all the way to Reñaca, the next beach/town over. Urrrgh. I knew it was wrong, and when we got to the end of the route the driver and his sidekick looked at me like I was an idiot. Preserving what precious little dignity I had left, I got off and assessed my situation. I was not a fan of the neighborhood around me, so I got on the first bus back to any place in Viña that I recognized. What an annoying waste of time. But I have learned my lesson.

Yesterday morning I got up and explored the neighborhood close to my house—Calle Valparaíso, a main shopping district. Afterwards I hopped on the bus to the university to chat with Macarena about options for volunteer work. I also walked around for a bit to get a better idea of where all my classes will be held. They are pretty much allll in different buildings, which is a pain, but oh well. At least most of them are reasonably close together. When I finished my errands in Valpo, I stopped by the apartment to eat lunch with Alvaro and then met a group of friends on the beach: Sarah, Rachel, Julian, Gino, Monica, and Ana. We soaked up the sun for a little bit (no burns except a little on the backs of my legs) and then I headed with the first four on that list to eat some sushi. It took forever, and it was a bit expensive for our taste, but it was still delicious and we had a good time.

After a serious nap, I went out to see The Watchmen with Sarah and Ben. I enjoyed it, although “raw,” “violent,” and “intense” would be operative words to describe it (Mom, I don’t recommend this one for you). Then again, “existential” and “theological” would also be accurate. It definitely raised some interesting questions about utilitarian ethics, aside from being probably the most trippy superhero movie I have ever seen. After the movie, Ben headed to a party with his Chilean brothers and Sarah and I stopped by Café Journal, a club just a few blocks away from my apartment. We visited with a few people from our group at the university, but quickly decided that we didn’t much like the atmosphere there—too crowded, too loud, lame music. So we called taxis and called it a night.

Today has been a lazy day—it’s gorgeous outside, but I’m sleepy…Nonetheless, I may either join some people at the beach later or check out some free cultural events organized for El Día Internacional de la Mujer (International Women’s Day), which is Sunday. There are concerts, presentations, and films going on all weekend. More later!

Random Observations…
-The mullet is not dead in Chile. Neither is the rat-tail. Or the short-in-front, dreadlocks-in-back look. Ha.
-Unlike many people from other Spanish-speaking countries I’ve visited, who are convinced that their version of Spanish is the best, Chileans are actually very self-deprecating about the way they speak Spanish—it’s fast, often badly pronounced, and full of indecipherable modismos or colloquialisms.
-Chilean dogs have the nap down. Seriously, if you’re having problems sleeping, just let them show you how. Street corners, staircases, flower beds—all the world’s a nap spot!

Diccionario de Chilenismos…
-fome: lame, boring
-pega: job
-obvio: duh
-bacán: cool, excellent

Pocas Fotos Más...

Night view from the window of my pieza (room). Not very clear, but you can see some city lights. Afternoon view from the same window. The city of Viña del Mar, where I live. The Pacific Ocean is in the background.
My lunch today--bread (pan), vegetable casserole (caserola de verduras), rice (arroz), salad with ají peppers (ensalada con ají), soft cheese (quesillo), and my requisite cup of tea (té).

Segundo Dia: Un Resumen

Yesterday was my first day of orientation. When I got up, around 7:30, Alvaro was waiting for me in the kitchen to show me all of the breakfast stuff. After a delicious breakfast of oatmeal, bread with peach marmalade, and tea, we had a practice “leaving the house” run through. He showed me which windows to close and which gas valves to shut off (eek) when I am the last person to leave the house. Then we figured out which keys corresponded to the various locks that I encounter on my way out (my keys are color coded—thank goodness—and they live on a cute little Washington, D.C. keychain, a tribute to my nationality). Leaving the apartment complex, we headed around the corner to the funicular, the street elevator that carries you down the steep hill (cerro) to the main avenue where the buses (micros) stop.

We paid the $200 pesos to ride and met Macarena, my program coordinator from the university, who lives in the same apartment complex! She accompanied us to the bus stop and we all rode together to Valparaíso. I made furious mental notes of my surroundings and which buses to take: to go to school I take the Errazuriz bus to Estación Barón. To return, I take the Alvares bus. Not too bad. Alvaro told me that once I receive my student ID we can get a discounted train pass and I’ll ride the metro instead—a lot more comfortable and it follows the same route. The average bus ride costs around $500 pesos, a little under a dollar. Arriving at la Casa Central of “la Católica” (the quick way in Spanish to say PUCV, Pontificia Universidad Católica de Valparaíso), we went to the international office to meet my monitora (orientation leader) and see about my schedule for the day. Once he made sure that I was more or less settled in, Alvaro left to go to work.

Soon I met my monitora, Anaiza, who gave me a brief rundown of everything the group had discussed on the previous day (most of which was apparently just rehashing the student manual, which I had already perused). The next order of the day was the written Spanish exam. I waited with Sarah and Tom, two other students who also arrived on Monday, until they found a space for us to work. The exam was fairly straight forward—a multiple choice section for grammar, followed by reading comprehension and a short response essay. When we finished, we joined the rest of the group and walked over to a little photo shop, where they took our pictures for the visa registration process. The mental exercise started again as I circulated through my group, trying the meet as many of them as possible. I surreptitiously jotted down their names in my handy dandy PUCV planner so I could remember them—Marcus from Asheville, Kate from San Diego, Sarah from Knoxville, Erin from California, Tom from Washington state, James from California, Ben G. from Oregon, Rachel from Wisconsin, and, of course, Ben R. from Knoxville/Maryville College.

After the photos we waited for our oral Spanish exam appointments. Though it sounds pretty scary, the oral exam was just a short conversation with a professor, who then recommended which language courses we should take. It was actually a pretty comfortable situation. Happily for me, the profesora who did my oral exam told me that I spoke very well and could handle the advanced level of Español Comunicacional y Cultura Chilena. Yay! After the exam, we each took yet another photo (this one, I believe, was for our student IDs) and registered our visas with the local police. I am so thankful that Anaiza was there to walk me through everything. She is wonderful and extraordinarily helpful—when I asked where the bathroom was yesterday, she literally took me by the hand and walked with me. (You can make all the jokes you want about that; I know what you’re thinking. But it was really sweet.) They are serious about making sure we settle in as quickly as possible and understand everything that we need to know, which is pretty great—so different from my experience last summer, when I went it alone and relied on my own instincts (ha, so reliable) and thuh kiiindness of strang-uhs, in true Blanche DuBois style (sort of).

I rode home on the micro with Rachel from my group, and actually managed to make it in one piece, all by myself! Sweet success. I didn’t know who would be home, and had planned to just make myself a little sandwich and then take a nap. But once again my host papá Alvaro one-upped me. When I headed to the kitchen, he followed and started pulling out containers of food. We have a nana (household help) who comes over twice a week to do little chores and cook food to last three days at a time—whoa. So no teeny sandwich for me. Instead, Alvaro loaded me up with rice, bread, salad, and a delicious little wrap containing corn, cilantro, some other veggies, and a creamy sauce. Yum, way better than my idea. Although the nap had been my intention, I got carried away talking with folks on Facebook and Skype and never got to sleep.

When everyone got home, I broke out the little gifts I had brought from SC and TN. After everyone oohed and ahhed over them (David liked the coffee, Maria Elena liked the mango goats’ milk lotion, Alvaro liked the Fighting Scots pencils), we headed over the Macarena’s apartment for a little party celebrating her birthday and that of her dad (I’ll call her Maca from now on, her nickname). Now would be a good time to mention that everyone—EVERYONE—in Chile smokes. Including my host family, all three. They are really cool about it and only smoke out the kitchen window while I’m living here, which is fine. There is absolutely no stigma about smoking. It's actually kind of hilarious--in a very, very dark way--to watch them all light up with ciggies from packages emblazoned with the grim warning "TOBACCO WILL KILL YOU!" and a picture of a guy using an oxygen tank. David is convinced I will start smoking before I leave, since “all” the gringas do, “even though they tell us they don’t smoke!” We’ll just see about that, bro.

So I spent the next several hours meeting various members of Maca’s family (two sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins, mom and dad), eating delicious little tapas (olives, carrot sticks, tortilla española, cheese cubes, garlic toast), and inhaling everyone’s secondhand smoke. (Honestly, I guess I might as well smoke, haha, I think that’s the reasoning behind it. Good job guys.) At first it was a little overwhelming to be in a room with fifteen chilenos speaking super fast Spanish all at the same time (a little??) but I did have several nice chats with people. One friend or cousin, I think her name was Claudia, works at the same bank as my host mom and is taking an English class, so I invited her to give me a call if she ever wanted to practice. I also talked at length with Maca’s dad, Fernando, who told me about good places to visit while I’m here and revealed his grand love for los Beatles. In the neighborhood where he grew up they only received radio stations with British rock music, so it was all Beatles and Rolling Stones for him. As a teenager, he even had his own radio show with a group of friends, where they played their fave Brit-rock for an hour once a week. He was a really sweet guy, and I was sad when he had to leave. But I was exhausted and I left soon after to take a shower (oops, cold since I had neglected to ask how to light the gas water heater…it was a quick one) and go to bed.

So this morning it was time to find my own way to Valpo. I did everything perfectly until I got off at Barón and turned the wrong way. I was so confused—I knew that the day before la Casa Central had been RIGHT THERE! But instead I took about a ten block detour, made a huge circle, and finally arrived at the university to meet my group, sweaty and disgusting. Luckily, this is Chile, and no one even noticed I was late!! We were given maps of Viña and Valpo and then boarded a bus to go on a tour to the other university buildings around the two cities. Since this is an urban school, they are spread out all over. We went to the Institute of Psychology and Education in Sausalito, the Institutes of History and Art in Viña, and the Institutes of Marine Sciences (saw a big sea lion swimming right off the coast!) and Music in Valparaíso. Most of my classes will probably be in la Casa Central, which makes it easy. If I have class in the Institute of History it will also be super easy--it's about two or three blocks from my apartment.

After all of that, I left the school and went to eat lunch with Ben R. and Pippa, who was a new addition to our group. She and Ben have an interesting situation. Ben lives with a guy named Gonzalo and his three sons--Gonzalo Ignacio, Matias, and Nico. Pippa lives with Gonzalo’s ex-wife, Silvia. The weird thing is that Silvia goes over the Gonzalo’s house all the time to cook, clean, and visit. So Ben and Pippa figure that they are almost like siblings here! We had a yummy lunch of cazuela (a Chilean soup), bread, tomatoes, avocados, and juice. Then we walked Pippa over to Silvia’s house and Ben went with me to the mall to buy a cell phone. We stopped by the beach and ended up meeting a group of recent college grads who asked us to take their picture. We chatted for a few minutes and exchanged contact info—they live closer to the Andes and invited us to come skiing sometime! Very cool.

Ben helped me find a bus back to Avenida Alvares and from there I took the elevator up to my street and walked home. Maria Elena was already home, so we talked and she fixed me some dinner (again, super delicioso). Now I’m vegging out after a looooong day of walking (blisters on my toes and a little sunburn on my shoulders), but I have a much better sense of where everything is, which is great, and I'm feeling better about the bus system. Tomorrow is registration day and we don’t have to arrive at school until a little before 3:00 in the afternoon. Mmm.

Diccionario de Chilenismos
-el taco: in Chile, a traffic jam, not a staple of Mexican cuisine
-al tiro: ahora, now, immediately
-pesado: annoying (No seas pesado!)
-auto: car (instead of carro or coche)
-pituto: un trabajito, a little job that you do on the side
-huevón (pronounced "weón"): formerly a derogatory nickname, now used to refer to any person in general (like "guy" or "dude")

Photographic Documentation

I did not make this crazy trip up. See? The scene on I-85 as we made the dash..er..crawl toward Atlanta. My dad is pretty much amazing for driving in this.
Caitlin was thrilled about the weather. I suspect that the snow and ice were all part of a sinister plot created by her, my cat, and Nina Verevkina to prevent me from leaving. Ha, I thwarted you all! I, on the other hand, was less than thrilled. Pobrecita yo!
A beautiful sunset was my reward. Oh, and a trip to Chile. "Winter Weather Alert." This helpful sign appeared after we got closer to Atlanta, the temperature rose several degrees, and the interstate was no longer a death trap.
My first good look at Chile, from my window seat right as we landed.
Aeropuerto Merito Benitez in Santiago.

Buen Viaje

I hope this satisfies you, anxious readers.

In my twenty years of traveling, it seems I've just been extraordinarily lucky. So there was that one time when five-year-old me had to run (with her grandparents, don't worry) to catch her plane to Disney World. And that disastrous return from Mexico last summer. But this time I had somehow lulled myself into thinking it would be a flawless journey. Surprise!

My tranquil last-Sunday-morning-at-home got hectic when I discovered that the first leg of my journey, from Charlotte to Atlanta, had been canceled due to freak winter weather in the Southeast. Hm. No matter, it's only three and a half hours from my house to Atlanta, plenty of time to make the drive and catch my 9:15 pm flight, I thought. It was still on schedule according to the Delta website. However, a glance at my online itinerary turned up a more interesting tidbit--I had been inexplicably re-booked for Wednesday, March 14. Tranquil morning morphed into serious action. I spent all morning--save a brief church visit and a quick Japanese lunch--calling every number for Delta I could find, with zero success, until I finally annoyed the robotic voice on the other end long enough to be connected to a human being. I explained my situation, asserting that anything other than a spot on the 9:15 flight was unacceptable. Luckily, she was able to get me a seat on my originally scheduled flight (thank you). So, the entire morning I had set aside for calm final packing and checking to make sure I had everything turned into about ten minutes of tearing around my house, throwing random last minute items into my luggage and stopping just long enough to make sure my passport and visa were in my possession. The essentials, you know.

We hop in the car and begin the drive to Atlanta, where the weather is cool but clear according to all information I could find. (Note: never, ever trust me if you need reliable information about road conditions.) We leave sometime after 2:00 pm. The farther southwest we drive, the bigger the blobs of snow sploosh to the ground. "It's so pretty!" gushes my sister. Decidedly not, I counter. "No need to worryyy, even though we're in a flurryyy," she croons in her best Allison Krauss twang, "Ohhh, Atlant-uhh!" (Caitlin: I know you're going to kill me for including that, but it had to be done. I love you.) As my intrepid dad navigates the treacherous roads, my mom calls Delta practically every five minutes to check the status of my flight--no sense risking our lives if it gets canceled. "Flight one-forty-seven," she intones over and over again, desperate to gain the understanding of that aloof robotic voice on the other end. On time. The flurries increase. On time. The slush thickens on the road. On time. A hundred miles to our exit, a little under five hours until my flight. Hmm.

Around 5:30 I begin losing hope. The slush is piling up, the traffic's barely moving, we're sliding here and there. A call from home tells us it's snowing there too, school is canceled for the next day. We stop to get gas. There are six inches of snow on the ground. I call and my flight is STILL on time. My parents are strangely optimistic, while I maintain that arriving in time for the flight is highly improbable. (I know you're all surprised by this pessimism. How unlike me!)

Shortly after 6:00 the road is suddenly clear, the snow now just rain. A smidgin of hope? No, I must not allow it. But a few minutes later I am rewarded with a fiery burnt sienna sunset--dare I call it the light at the end of the tunnel? We finally arrive at Hartsfield-Jackson. Amazingly, it is only about 7:20 pm. La familia drops me off out front. I decide that being rushed might actually be the way to travel--no time to think about what you're leaving behind. I check in and head for security, receiving my first compliment from a TSA guy who checks out my visa and says, "Chile. You live down there?" Ha, apparently I pass for a chilena. I'm ok with that. I'm loading my worldly possessions onto the conveyor belt when I hear, "Nobody move! Stop moving! Stop moving!" Everyone is still. Security breach, mutters my TSA agent. But then the announcement: it's just a drill. Thanks for participating. I make it to my gate, make a few calls, board on time. I can't believe we pulled this off.

Of course, the trip's not over yet. At 10:30 we are still sitting at the gate, waiting for de-icing and a spot in the take-off sequence. From my vantage point on the wing (the right wing, incidentally) I am in prime viewing position for my first de-icing experience. The machine comes close and barely has a chance to spray the tip of the wing before I hear the captain saying, "Oooo-kaaay, folks, we're done with de-icing, let's take off!" Whaaat? There is definitely still snow on that wing. I get a weird feeling. We taxi over to the runway. Finally, as my heart starts beating out of my chest and I instinctively clutch the two prayer books I've brought along, his voice returns, "Oooops, thanks to some observant passengers, we've realized we need some more de-icing!" Duh. But now we have to wait for another spot in line and...it's 3:00 am before we finally take off.

I am amused by roughly half the passengers on the plane who are on their way to embark on a Princess cruise. Hereafter they shall be called The Cruise People. The Cruise People feel they have Special Status because they might miss their cruise due to our interminable delays. "Where do you leave from?" inquires one Cruise Person to another. "Oh, I dunno, Val-, Vala-something," answers the other. He means Valparaíso , where I'll be studying all semester. Pablo Neruda might roll over in his grave (cliché, cliché) to hear them botch the name of his city like that. With an extra seat next to me and Doubt as an inflight movie option, I have a most pleasant journey.

We arrive in Santiago around 12:00 pm. I stand in line to find out that I am exempt from the reciprocity fee levied on North Americans and Australians since I've already forked over big bucks for a student visa. The Cruise People, despite being reassured that Princess will not sail without them, are still freaking out. They feel their Special Status entitles them to be expedited through immigration. One fine specimen, hereafter known as the Ugly American, takes charge of the situation. A layperson as far as I can tell, not a Princess representative, her shrill voice echoes through the halls of Arturo Benitez airport as she directs confused American retirees. The Ugly American has a tight, shiny face and a no-nonsense ponytail. She is dressed in running clothes. A family with an older woman in need of a wheelchair is among The Cruise People, and the Ugly American takes it upon herself to help them cut in line, ostensibly to obtain said wheelchair with more haste. A forthright German in line just behind me has a problem with this, and takes her on: "Ma'am, what you're doing isn't fair. I understand what she needs, but the rest of us are waiting. THIS is exactly why YOU have to pay that reciprocity fee back there! I wish they would make you pay MORE!!!" he rants. Ooh. She rebuffs him, clearly considering herself the heroine for rescuing this poor woman and her family, though her help hasn't paid off with any noticeable results. Ah, intercultural exchanges.

I clear immigration and head to customs. An official calls me aside, wishes to open my bag. I acquiesce, of course, and when she asks me what it contains, I explain that I'm carrying clothes and some electronics. "Any food?" she queries. "Yes, a bag of cookies, I think that's all," I respond. Clearly doubting me, she reaches inside and feels around, her hand emerging triumphantly as she clutches my hidden contraband...

...a bag of sliced almonds that my Mommy packed me as a snack. I have completely forgotten about them, and that is seriously not just a lie I made up for the customs people. "Well, the fact remains that here they are," she says smugly, "and you didn't declare them. I'll have to ask someone about this." I agree to wait, silently kicking myself for surviving all of this and then being denied entry to Chile for a boring bag of almonds. A few minutes later she returns, clearly disappointed. "They say it's ok, because they're sliced. But NEXT TIME..." she warns. I mutter apologies in my sweetest Spanish and gather my stuff. Heading outside, I don't see my driver. But a really nice taxi guy named Andres helps me drag my bags to a pay phone. Then he gets me change and helps me dial the number for Macarena, my coordinator at the university. Being a foreign woman who speaks decent Spanish has its perks. Finally, we locate my driver and I bid adios to Andres, my first Chilean friend. (You, customs lady, certainly do NOT count).

For the next hour and a half I drift in and out of consciousness and several climate zones. We start in the Mediterranean-esque Santiago area, where there are straight-up avocado orchards as well as fields of practically any other fruit you can name. The next time I awaken, we are speeding through wine country, vineyards on both sides of the road. When I wake up for good, we have arrived in Viña del Mar and are searching the meandering streets for my host family's apartment. My host dad, Alvaro, greets me and lugs my bags up to the fourth floor, where Maria Elena, my host mom, awaits us. The apartment is adorable and so are they! I settle in, shower, eat, and then crash. When I wake up, my host brother David sets up my wireless internet and Maria Elena fusses over me, bringing me countless cups of tea and a bowl of oatmeal, while Alvaro pops in with the occasional joke.

Así no ma', po. Hasta pronto.

Oda a Valparaíso

"Qué disparate eres,
qué loco,
puerto loco,
qué cabeza con cerros,
desgreñada,
no acabas de peinarte,
nunca tuviste tiempo de vestirte,
siempre te sorprendió la vida..."

-Pablo Neruda (1904-1973)