Dear Santiago,
I must go back to the cold and the snow now, and skip out on your miserably hot summer days. I promise I'll write you a postcard from New York. Ah, my dear Santiago: where I can get my cheese laminado and not worry about it being covered in a plastic coating; where a gran taco isn't a dish you order at Taco Bell; where a mina has nothing to do with being part of the mining industry and where I can be a huachita while still having both parents; and where being called a wea/weon can be good, bad, or mean absolutely nothing at all.
I will miss:
-nescafe
-$2.00 ice cream sundaes
-chorrillana and barros luco
-the men at the bus station who wave at me to get on their buses, when it's obvious that it isn't the bus I need to take
-CRAZY soccer celebrations
-being taller than half your population
-having TWO hilltop virgins
-the little "poof!" the fire makes when I light the calefont
-asados
-rooftop tanning sessions in December
-Americo
AND, last but not least:
Palta.
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays, Everyone! I'll be blogging you next year!
Saludos,
Kate
laminado = sliced
gran taco = a big traffic jam
mina = a really hot girl
huachita = a hot girl (also, a little orphan)
wea/weon = bro, idiot, or really, absolutely nothing at all
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Monday, December 13, 2010
The Davinci Codigo = DuoC.
Look out, Dan Brown - the stars seem to be aligning, but it doesn't mean you've mastered the formula for writing highly-engrossing suspense novels.
Emails received from two top executives of the English Program at DuocUC this week reported a massive regime change from the top down, which prompted top dog and ten-year English veteran Phillip Cary to offer a weak joke about "going fishing." Pinera's presidency has led to a mass change across the board to support more conservative policies in state affairs - as far flung as forcing a resignation of Chile's liberal football coach. AND, after learning about the PSU's, his broken IPOD, and WikiLeaks, Hitler has recently been informed of Opus Dei's dubious connections with Duoc.
That's right, folks - Opus Dei, translated from Latin to mean "The work of God," controls and provides serious funding for almost every major Catholic university in South America, including my school. Founded in 1928 as a superserious sect of Roman Catholicism, Opus Dei has been integral in retaining the most conservative and traditional rites and ceremonies in Roman Catholicism even when the rest of the Church seems to have moved the other way - translating liturgies into vernacular, focusing teachings on the most basic elements of the Gospels, even most recently providing a pass for condom usage among HIV-carrying male prostitutes (if, of course, you count that as being a wildly liberal move).
According to John L. Allen, Jr., author of Opus Dei, "the core idea of Opus Dei...is the sanctification of ordinary work, meaning that one can find God through the practice of law, engineering, or medicine, by picking up the garbage or by delivering the mail, if one brings to that work the proper Christian spirit...many Catholics today take at least some aspects of Church teaching with a grain of salt, but Opus Dei members are encouraged to "think with the Church," meaning to accept the entirety of Church teaching on faith and morals."
It makes sense, then, that a technical university like DuocUC, which specializes in more proletariat forms of labor as well as in lowscale white-collar professions, would be backed by such an organization. The rigors of Opus Dei doctrine and the religious red tape of it all would appeal to a conservative, staunchly bureaucratic society like Chile (when I order a simple croissant from a neighborhood bakery, I must talk to three different people and obtain two seperate receipts!!!). Duoc may recognize some of its high enrollment results at least in part due to the fact that their student base tends to be largely working class who in turn often take up the banner of traditional values and a good old (Protestant-turned-Catholic) work ethic. In other words, if hard work earns you an education, hard religious work might earn you brownie points with God.
And believe me, these students put up quite a fight when you challenge their conservative value systems, albeit sometimes in a nonfallical, Rush Limbaugh sort of way. After receiving a test on which a student wrote that he "wouldn't like to be a model because models are gay and stupid, and [he] is definitely not gay," I decided it was time to have a frank discussion about gay rights, human rights, and common decency in general, especially in a classroom setting. Although the students listened respectfully to my after-school special diatribe on the violence and damage caused by seemingly innocent off-color jokes (since a joke often stems from some deeply serious issue, their punchlines often aren't innocent at all), they continued to defend their right to speak freely and homophobically in whatever environment they might choose, citing their indelicacy toward gay rights as a measly cultural difference between the United States and Chile.
Duoc has often been criticized as being "too religious" of a university - it offers daily Mass at several of its campuses; college credit towards your major (whichever major it might be) if you take religion courses; even leaves mini-Bibles and pamphlets on Christian doctrine in the sala docente. Duoc continues to ask students about their religious affiliation, although in Chile it has become taboo at best and illegal at worst to ask this question, fearing how it might bear on the judgement of a student's application.
Wikipedia lends further insight into Opus Dei's involvement in education, saying that "leaders of Opus Dei describe the organization as a teaching entity, whose main activity is to train Catholics to assume personal responsiblity in sanctifying the secular world from within...the official Catholic document which established the prelature states that Opus Dei strives "to put into practice the teaching of the universal call to sanctity, and to promote at all levels of society the sanctification of ordinary work, and by means of ordinary work'". The website goes on to say that 68% of all of Opus Dei's nonprofit programs are in the form of schools and university residences, with 6% in universities, business schools and hospitals.
A Catholic education in South America tends to be viewed as some of the best education a child can receive - the Catholic church is financially able to provide ample educational resources without charging such a high student matriculation fee as would be charged in a private school setting. Catholic educational pedegogy tends to be rigorous, focusing on lecture-style classroom sessions, repetetive memorizational exercises, and narrowly-focused studies.
Watching Donnie Darko for about the bajillionth time this weekend prompted a long discussion about the influence of religious involvement in education. What are the implications of a conservative Catholic education in a school system tailored to working-class students? After mulling over the news with a professor friend, we agreed that the enduring educational dilemma is that the roots of education are in preserving accepted doctrines, and that education has been institutionalized; yet, education provides the means to radically question these same indoctrinations and institutions. How much does school - does institution - get in the way of education?
On the positive side, a Catholic education supplies learners who are highly competent and dutifully skilled in their appropriate fields of study, who are trained to be hard workers and to hold the highest ethical values (although they may be conservative ethical values). It also offers this education on a dime, making it possible for the lower class to acheive a better standard of living and of thinking.
However, negatively, Opus Dei's stress on "the importance of work and professional competence...to perform [one's] work excellently as a service to society and as a fitting offering to God" (thanks Wikipedia) might be a politically correct narrative that a university - and, in extension, its goverment - could offer to entice working class students to maintain a social status quo. Being too literal always comes with the danger of taking yourself too seriously in a society that is constantly changing and that isn't championing your personal ideas as much as you might be. Producing a field of heavily indoctrinated worker bees wouldn't be all that bad for a conservative goverment like Pinera's, nor would it be bad for boosting the economics of a rapidly developing nation such as Chile.
But what a shame it would be if the outcome of religious involvement in education were to vastly limit the chance for Chile to produce more highly skilled, highly educated citizens - if the indoctrination and bureaucracy of the Church were to interfere in allowing the students to really think for themselves, however "imperfect" that thinking might be.
As it stands, much of what I think is positive about the English program at Duoc - especially the TIPS program, which allows native speakers to become visiting professors for a year - might be on the chopping block due to regime change and conservative values. According to one of the Duoc professors, Opus Dei is metaphorically tightening its celice on the Duoc English department's thigh with plans to cut this program as well as educational supplies from native English speaking countries (like the grammar books we currently use in the classroom). TIPS next year may have to bear a burden of proving their value in an increasingly conservative learning environment. It looks like any negative aspects of Opus Dei might be less dramatic than being persued by an albino psychopathic masochistic monk, but still carry the sting of restricting various modes of education.
docente = educational staff
Emails received from two top executives of the English Program at DuocUC this week reported a massive regime change from the top down, which prompted top dog and ten-year English veteran Phillip Cary to offer a weak joke about "going fishing." Pinera's presidency has led to a mass change across the board to support more conservative policies in state affairs - as far flung as forcing a resignation of Chile's liberal football coach. AND, after learning about the PSU's, his broken IPOD, and WikiLeaks, Hitler has recently been informed of Opus Dei's dubious connections with Duoc.
That's right, folks - Opus Dei, translated from Latin to mean "The work of God," controls and provides serious funding for almost every major Catholic university in South America, including my school. Founded in 1928 as a superserious sect of Roman Catholicism, Opus Dei has been integral in retaining the most conservative and traditional rites and ceremonies in Roman Catholicism even when the rest of the Church seems to have moved the other way - translating liturgies into vernacular, focusing teachings on the most basic elements of the Gospels, even most recently providing a pass for condom usage among HIV-carrying male prostitutes (if, of course, you count that as being a wildly liberal move).
According to John L. Allen, Jr., author of Opus Dei, "the core idea of Opus Dei...is the sanctification of ordinary work, meaning that one can find God through the practice of law, engineering, or medicine, by picking up the garbage or by delivering the mail, if one brings to that work the proper Christian spirit...many Catholics today take at least some aspects of Church teaching with a grain of salt, but Opus Dei members are encouraged to "think with the Church," meaning to accept the entirety of Church teaching on faith and morals."
It makes sense, then, that a technical university like DuocUC, which specializes in more proletariat forms of labor as well as in lowscale white-collar professions, would be backed by such an organization. The rigors of Opus Dei doctrine and the religious red tape of it all would appeal to a conservative, staunchly bureaucratic society like Chile (when I order a simple croissant from a neighborhood bakery, I must talk to three different people and obtain two seperate receipts!!!). Duoc may recognize some of its high enrollment results at least in part due to the fact that their student base tends to be largely working class who in turn often take up the banner of traditional values and a good old (Protestant-turned-Catholic) work ethic. In other words, if hard work earns you an education, hard religious work might earn you brownie points with God.
And believe me, these students put up quite a fight when you challenge their conservative value systems, albeit sometimes in a nonfallical, Rush Limbaugh sort of way. After receiving a test on which a student wrote that he "wouldn't like to be a model because models are gay and stupid, and [he] is definitely not gay," I decided it was time to have a frank discussion about gay rights, human rights, and common decency in general, especially in a classroom setting. Although the students listened respectfully to my after-school special diatribe on the violence and damage caused by seemingly innocent off-color jokes (since a joke often stems from some deeply serious issue, their punchlines often aren't innocent at all), they continued to defend their right to speak freely and homophobically in whatever environment they might choose, citing their indelicacy toward gay rights as a measly cultural difference between the United States and Chile.
Duoc has often been criticized as being "too religious" of a university - it offers daily Mass at several of its campuses; college credit towards your major (whichever major it might be) if you take religion courses; even leaves mini-Bibles and pamphlets on Christian doctrine in the sala docente. Duoc continues to ask students about their religious affiliation, although in Chile it has become taboo at best and illegal at worst to ask this question, fearing how it might bear on the judgement of a student's application.
Wikipedia lends further insight into Opus Dei's involvement in education, saying that "leaders of Opus Dei describe the organization as a teaching entity, whose main activity is to train Catholics to assume personal responsiblity in sanctifying the secular world from within...the official Catholic document which established the prelature states that Opus Dei strives "to put into practice the teaching of the universal call to sanctity, and to promote at all levels of society the sanctification of ordinary work, and by means of ordinary work'". The website goes on to say that 68% of all of Opus Dei's nonprofit programs are in the form of schools and university residences, with 6% in universities, business schools and hospitals.
A Catholic education in South America tends to be viewed as some of the best education a child can receive - the Catholic church is financially able to provide ample educational resources without charging such a high student matriculation fee as would be charged in a private school setting. Catholic educational pedegogy tends to be rigorous, focusing on lecture-style classroom sessions, repetetive memorizational exercises, and narrowly-focused studies.
Watching Donnie Darko for about the bajillionth time this weekend prompted a long discussion about the influence of religious involvement in education. What are the implications of a conservative Catholic education in a school system tailored to working-class students? After mulling over the news with a professor friend, we agreed that the enduring educational dilemma is that the roots of education are in preserving accepted doctrines, and that education has been institutionalized; yet, education provides the means to radically question these same indoctrinations and institutions. How much does school - does institution - get in the way of education?
On the positive side, a Catholic education supplies learners who are highly competent and dutifully skilled in their appropriate fields of study, who are trained to be hard workers and to hold the highest ethical values (although they may be conservative ethical values). It also offers this education on a dime, making it possible for the lower class to acheive a better standard of living and of thinking.
However, negatively, Opus Dei's stress on "the importance of work and professional competence...to perform [one's] work excellently as a service to society and as a fitting offering to God" (thanks Wikipedia) might be a politically correct narrative that a university - and, in extension, its goverment - could offer to entice working class students to maintain a social status quo. Being too literal always comes with the danger of taking yourself too seriously in a society that is constantly changing and that isn't championing your personal ideas as much as you might be. Producing a field of heavily indoctrinated worker bees wouldn't be all that bad for a conservative goverment like Pinera's, nor would it be bad for boosting the economics of a rapidly developing nation such as Chile.
But what a shame it would be if the outcome of religious involvement in education were to vastly limit the chance for Chile to produce more highly skilled, highly educated citizens - if the indoctrination and bureaucracy of the Church were to interfere in allowing the students to really think for themselves, however "imperfect" that thinking might be.
As it stands, much of what I think is positive about the English program at Duoc - especially the TIPS program, which allows native speakers to become visiting professors for a year - might be on the chopping block due to regime change and conservative values. According to one of the Duoc professors, Opus Dei is metaphorically tightening its celice on the Duoc English department's thigh with plans to cut this program as well as educational supplies from native English speaking countries (like the grammar books we currently use in the classroom). TIPS next year may have to bear a burden of proving their value in an increasingly conservative learning environment. It looks like any negative aspects of Opus Dei might be less dramatic than being persued by an albino psychopathic masochistic monk, but still carry the sting of restricting various modes of education.
docente = educational staff
Friday, December 3, 2010
The Commute
The alarm buzzes. I swat at it till it stops. I swat about for my glasses. I swat the sleepy goo out of my eyes. Then, warm in my sheets, I say to myself, I won't go to work today, I'll call in sick today, don't I feel bad anyways, I just woke up with the sun blaring in my face and the alarm cheerlesssly chirping.
I roll over.
The alarm buzzes.
I get up.
I'm so happy I laid out a dress last night so I don't have to make any last-minute wardrobe decisions. It's so nice how easily a dress just gets pulled over your head and that's it. I brush my teeth, throw on some deodorant, and luckily don't have to re-straighten my hair this morning, so I leave on time.
I can walk east to the green line. Men throw these stupid loving faces in my direction, the ones where it looks like half their face has melted downwards. The polite ones greet me with a buen dia. The majority say holalindahermosabonitahuachitasenoritamericablanquita or, perplexingly, negrita.
The metro is stuffy. I walk down to the far end of the platform to try and push my way into the packed car. An old woman cuts me and there is no more room. I must wait for the next train.
Grr.
Packed car, arm in face, shoved about, pushed out, climb stairs, take escalator, cross bridge, descend stairs, packed car, arm in face, face in face, sit down, scamper out at Estacion Central, packed staircase, swing my backpack to my front to avoid getting pickpocketed, up stairs, up more stairs, up more stairs, packed Estacion Central, dodging slow walkers, dodging baby strollers, dodging men offering me cell phones, dodging men just offering, up escalator, run to bus, bus pulling away, jump for bus door, hang half out half in the door as the conductor simultaneously whizzes us around the curve and hands me a ticket, swung by the bus into the nearest seat.
Close eyes.
Annoying bus-riding clown tells jokes, pokes me awake so I can give him change.
Close eyes.
Get off, up stairs, cross bridge, down stairs, say hi to security men, even the cute shy one who won't let me leave until he comes to give me a kiss on the cheek, up four flights of stairs, and all I want is a cup. of. coffee.
Cesar greets me at Coordinacion Docente. I've been working on conditional "if" clauses in my English classes, and so have decided to try to remember them in Spanish. I try one out on sleepy, unassuming Cesar:
Si tu polola cocina para ti, y no te gusta la cosa, que le dirias?
Que tengo dolor de estomago. He gives me a shy smirk.
En SERIO, Cesar.
Que igual es rico, y que me lo agradezco, he says, and I nod in approval.
Boletas para el cafe? I smile hopefully.
No todavia, chica. Thwarted out of a free coffee, I reach into my bag for a packet of Nescafe and my mug. I brew the delicious sugary stuff using the hot water from the bubbler.
I give my students fifteen minutes of written exercises on the board. It takes them twenty.
This is the best part: pure silence as I sip my mokaccino and begin my day.
I roll over.
The alarm buzzes.
I get up.
I'm so happy I laid out a dress last night so I don't have to make any last-minute wardrobe decisions. It's so nice how easily a dress just gets pulled over your head and that's it. I brush my teeth, throw on some deodorant, and luckily don't have to re-straighten my hair this morning, so I leave on time.
I can walk east to the green line. Men throw these stupid loving faces in my direction, the ones where it looks like half their face has melted downwards. The polite ones greet me with a buen dia. The majority say holalindahermosabonitahuachitasenoritamericablanquita or, perplexingly, negrita.
The metro is stuffy. I walk down to the far end of the platform to try and push my way into the packed car. An old woman cuts me and there is no more room. I must wait for the next train.
Grr.
Packed car, arm in face, shoved about, pushed out, climb stairs, take escalator, cross bridge, descend stairs, packed car, arm in face, face in face, sit down, scamper out at Estacion Central, packed staircase, swing my backpack to my front to avoid getting pickpocketed, up stairs, up more stairs, up more stairs, packed Estacion Central, dodging slow walkers, dodging baby strollers, dodging men offering me cell phones, dodging men just offering, up escalator, run to bus, bus pulling away, jump for bus door, hang half out half in the door as the conductor simultaneously whizzes us around the curve and hands me a ticket, swung by the bus into the nearest seat.
Close eyes.
Annoying bus-riding clown tells jokes, pokes me awake so I can give him change.
Close eyes.
Get off, up stairs, cross bridge, down stairs, say hi to security men, even the cute shy one who won't let me leave until he comes to give me a kiss on the cheek, up four flights of stairs, and all I want is a cup. of. coffee.
Cesar greets me at Coordinacion Docente. I've been working on conditional "if" clauses in my English classes, and so have decided to try to remember them in Spanish. I try one out on sleepy, unassuming Cesar:
Si tu polola cocina para ti, y no te gusta la cosa, que le dirias?
Que tengo dolor de estomago. He gives me a shy smirk.
En SERIO, Cesar.
Que igual es rico, y que me lo agradezco, he says, and I nod in approval.
Boletas para el cafe? I smile hopefully.
No todavia, chica. Thwarted out of a free coffee, I reach into my bag for a packet of Nescafe and my mug. I brew the delicious sugary stuff using the hot water from the bubbler.
I give my students fifteen minutes of written exercises on the board. It takes them twenty.
This is the best part: pure silence as I sip my mokaccino and begin my day.
Friday, November 19, 2010
Booze Hound
Sorry I haven't been quite writing legitimate blog posts lately. I've been struck by a particularly nasty and virulent bout of hay fever (tip-o'-the-hat to Santiago pollution) which climaxed rather attractively yesterday in the middle of class when I projectile snot-rocketed all over the front of my brand new dress. I assure you, my professor "cool" cred just keeps rising.
Terms in italics defined:
When I'm not busy shoving my face into a roll of Confort, I've been combatting another Santiago kryptonite - my stifling top-floor apartment. It's the only place you'll ever find me trotting around in a bikini or voluntarily submerging myself in a vat of ice water (wag-o'-the-finger to cantankerous calefonts).
But, determined to get SOME sort of color this summer, I've been trying to beat the heat in some cheap excursion-ey ways. And there is no better way of doing that than with an ice cold beer.
Like any good group of 20-somethings, I think I could fairly say that the majority of the gringos I've met here self-medicate in various degrees with alcohol (not to say any of us are alcoholics or budding alcoholics in the least bit, but I for one certainly have been drinking more). Although we all have adjusted really well to the daily stressors of living in a foreign culture, it certainly is harder to say "no" to that tempting fourth shot of pisco, letting our hair down, and dancing like a fool when the weekend finally hits.
I've had a few conversations with other gringos concerned about the "responsible adult" dilemma we face as we get older and still are gettin' frat-house shitty. We had a surprising number of birthdays in October and November and so we partied pretty hard. But every year the canhas get more severe and our tolerance lowers (on the plus side, making me even more of a cheap date). And we feel more uncomfortable about having one too many...or four too many. "I just kind of feel like, well, I'm 25, and I should grow up. I should have the self-control to limit myself at this point," a troubled friend confided to me on Skype.
A lot of it is probably the attitude surrounding us. Sometimes it feels like we're back in college, or on this ultimate vacation from real life; the rules do not apply. Two of my friends joke that they "left their dignity at the airport" when they entered Santiago and "will pick it up on the way back home." Funny, seeing as my position here is the most respectful job I've ever held, and that a lot rides on our being responsible adults.
With this in mind, I've set out on an initiative to temper my drinking, or to appreciate it in finer ways. DUOC's no-fear policy to poppin' some bub allowed me my first opportunity: an artisanal maridaje at Tosh's campus (which literally looks like a French Hogwarts) last Friday afternoon. Seven mom and pop breweries strutted their stout in the indoor courtyard, and culinary students tastefully whipped up some accompanying h'ors d'oeurves. Well-known contenders like Mestra proved, as always, to be a crowd pleaser with their mouth-watering amber and bitterly-brilliant scotch ales. But it was a newcomer that had me wanting to rent a car just to drive to retreive a few 24 packs: Kobold brewing company, located on some breathtaking acerage in Vina del Mar, will leave you foaming at the mouth. One of the brewers even told us in English the tale behind the company's trademark labels: it seems a bunch of mischeivous German dwarf booze hounds won't let you or your household rest in peace until you offer them to kick back and klink.
But the best part of the whole thing (besides the free beer and sushi) was learning about the small start-up beer companies. Schop is incredibly popular in Chile, with almost every bar offering their own particular brew or contracting out to small businesses such as these. Since the majority are brewed without preservative or chemical additives, their carbonation lasts almost a lifetime once the bottle is sealed. And, for those of you not quite ready to grow up yet, artisanal beers tend to have at least double the alcohol content of their mass-produced contenders.
But I'll let you read the rest for yourself: Saludos a todos!
Terms in italics defined:
A brand of toilet paper
Hangovers
"In gastronomy, the technique or art that determines the adequate combination of wine and food in a manner that compliments or contrasts flavors, with the intent of heightening the consumers' experience." (From the flyer given to us before the beer tasting at DUOC. Translation mine.)
Water heaters
Artisanal beer
Cheers, everyone!
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Danger! Danger! High Voltage!
Teaching my kids about permission, warnings, obligations, and prohibitions at work:
Friday, November 12, 2010
TGIF!!! A Look at Friday Happenings in Santiago Centro
The opning of an art gallery a few buildings away from me prompted an old-time band (complete with smart straw hats, striped red dress shirts and white trousers) to start up with some rag time:
(Bad view of the band due to the tree, but nice 180 view from my balcony.)
(Bad view of the band due to the tree, but nice 180 view from my balcony.)
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
The Roof, The Roof, The Roof is on Fire...
I melted all over the taxi's backseat on Monday afternoon. Bits of me dribbled onto the floor mats, dripped over the plush valour seats, and formed a little puddle that could have previously been my exhausted, sweat-shimmering arms draped limply over bags and bags of our luggage. I was in the process of moving everything to my new apartment, which is in a tiny corredor closer to Plaza de Armas and Mercado Central, but still rests on the edge of Parque Forestal.
In a liquidy haze I overheard the driver animatedly telling me about the "storm" Santiago had a week ago (by storm, I mean it maybe rained lightly for two hours). "Last one of the year, I believe, though you never can tell," he told my limp, lifeless body.
Santiago could give SoCal a run for its money in terms of sunny days. The shift from freezing wet winter to hot arid summer was so immediate I barely had a chance to blink my eyes. Here it was: a golden land of stagnant summer smog and parks full of pirouetting pollen. Definitivamente me estoy derretiendo.
Coming from temperate Connecticut, I've never had to worry much about fire danger. Smokey the Bear was often confusesd with Yogi Bear. Every summer I've vaguely watched massive forest fires rage across the West Coast on tiny t.v. screens, disinterested by the massive power of nature unfolding 3,000 miles away.
But yesterday night my ignorance literally exploded in my face. I lie tossing and turning, a pool of slowly desolidifying flesh in my hot hot bedroom, when the sound of literally dozens upon dozens of fire engines rose up from below. Peeking out of my window with my half-deliquesced eye, I saw this:
The heat from the flames was so strong I could literally feel it on my face through the glass. Buildings popped and fizzed like popcorn on a stove, sending up epic flares of fresh flame and cinders. Men scrambled on rooftops, shielding their faces from the smoke and the light, desperately looking for a way to get down. The whole of Santiago Centro lit up with the blue, red, and green of ambulances, fire engines and cop cars. The initial fire was actually MUCH bigger than what I caught on film - at least three times this size. I stayed awake, awkwardly got dressed, and remained with a blanket and water bottle by my side in case an evacuation was called.
But, perplexingly, there has been NO NEWS on this fire. I've Googled in both English and Spanish, scoped out electronic versions of El Mercurio and The Santiago Times, and I've seen no reports on last night's scary and awesome events. Brittaney, who lives a few blocks down from me, said that none of the people in her building had heard of anything last night. She slept soundly, although I text-messaged both her and Tosh to warn them, as all of us live very very close to where the fire occurred.
So, this prompts me to very eloquently ask: WTF, Santiago?!?!?!?
I've been trying to Google fire precautions and safety measures that Santiago takes in the case of a firestorm like last night, but haven't come up with anything. I'm going to interview my Duoc colleagues tonight and re-edit this post based on the information I get.
For right now, it seems odd that santiaguinos aren't fuming over more effective fire-safety measures. I don't know what caused the flames, but I sure hope to find out that there's something in place to deal with occasions like these, and to inform the public when they occur.
CIEE people: has anyone seen or heard anything about this? I'd be interested to have more information.
In a liquidy haze I overheard the driver animatedly telling me about the "storm" Santiago had a week ago (by storm, I mean it maybe rained lightly for two hours). "Last one of the year, I believe, though you never can tell," he told my limp, lifeless body.
Santiago could give SoCal a run for its money in terms of sunny days. The shift from freezing wet winter to hot arid summer was so immediate I barely had a chance to blink my eyes. Here it was: a golden land of stagnant summer smog and parks full of pirouetting pollen. Definitivamente me estoy derretiendo.
Coming from temperate Connecticut, I've never had to worry much about fire danger. Smokey the Bear was often confusesd with Yogi Bear. Every summer I've vaguely watched massive forest fires rage across the West Coast on tiny t.v. screens, disinterested by the massive power of nature unfolding 3,000 miles away.
But yesterday night my ignorance literally exploded in my face. I lie tossing and turning, a pool of slowly desolidifying flesh in my hot hot bedroom, when the sound of literally dozens upon dozens of fire engines rose up from below. Peeking out of my window with my half-deliquesced eye, I saw this:
The heat from the flames was so strong I could literally feel it on my face through the glass. Buildings popped and fizzed like popcorn on a stove, sending up epic flares of fresh flame and cinders. Men scrambled on rooftops, shielding their faces from the smoke and the light, desperately looking for a way to get down. The whole of Santiago Centro lit up with the blue, red, and green of ambulances, fire engines and cop cars. The initial fire was actually MUCH bigger than what I caught on film - at least three times this size. I stayed awake, awkwardly got dressed, and remained with a blanket and water bottle by my side in case an evacuation was called.
But, perplexingly, there has been NO NEWS on this fire. I've Googled in both English and Spanish, scoped out electronic versions of El Mercurio and The Santiago Times, and I've seen no reports on last night's scary and awesome events. Brittaney, who lives a few blocks down from me, said that none of the people in her building had heard of anything last night. She slept soundly, although I text-messaged both her and Tosh to warn them, as all of us live very very close to where the fire occurred.
So, this prompts me to very eloquently ask: WTF, Santiago?!?!?!?
I've been trying to Google fire precautions and safety measures that Santiago takes in the case of a firestorm like last night, but haven't come up with anything. I'm going to interview my Duoc colleagues tonight and re-edit this post based on the information I get.
For right now, it seems odd that santiaguinos aren't fuming over more effective fire-safety measures. I don't know what caused the flames, but I sure hope to find out that there's something in place to deal with occasions like these, and to inform the public when they occur.
CIEE people: has anyone seen or heard anything about this? I'd be interested to have more information.
Monday, October 25, 2010
To Autumn (Sad When I Think of Missing This)
An ember faintly shines in autumn darkThe pulse of light, the heartbeat of a fire
Emits a ghostlike, ectoplasmic smoke
That dissipates on eddies in the wind.
A fiery ensign branded in the bark
A thousand stars in coal I must admire
They constellate, and laugh at private jokes,
And murmur crackles in drowsy lovers' ears.
It could be coaxed. To woo inspired sparks
With gentle blow I could ignite the flame.
But court too harsh, live cinder could be choked,
Extinguished by too strong of a desire.
When I am spent and doused, may it prove true
That charcoal is a useful object, too.
Photos by Google Image of fall foliage in Connecticut.
Poem by me.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
New Digs in the Old Country
There is no internet in my new house because the house is so old that the cable lines do not exist close enough to the location to have internet.
I love my internet. I love my cruddy late-night Grooveshark dance mixes and my pirated t.v. Project Runway marathons. I love calling my mommy on Skype whenever I want to. I love wasting several thousand hours of my life on Facebook. Oh, and I love blogging.
You think I would have thought to ask if an internet connection existed at my new place, but I found myself falling into the Chile trap - thinking briefly that Chile is as technologically pimped out as the U.S., and forgetting it actually isn´t.
So, resigned to my fate, I will be spending the last two months in Chile internetless, excepting forays to Starbucks and the internet at my school. I will also be spending the next two months without: a fan or air conditioner, a washer, or an oven (luckily I have already resigned myself to lacking a dryer, hairdryer, hot water, dishwasher, microwave and any semblance of affordable prepackaged food).
After so much time here I´ve just kind of forgotten how much harder it is to do simple tasks in Chile. I´ve reached the ¨meh¨ phase of my trip, where it doesn´t really bother me to spend two hours standing in line at a bank, six weeks to fix a washing machine (lucky there was one to fix), or ten thousand hours cooking completely everything from scratch.
I´ve grown to enjoy the rusticness and simplicity of some of these activities. The physical labor acts as a calming force in my life. I like that I´ve learned how to fix broken pipes, use a sodering iron, bake from scratch, construct a makeshift mop, and do my laundry by hand (in a bucket with one of those funny-looking scrubbing boards). I kind of feel like I should be milking goats or something, or composting my trash.
It has definitely inspired me to live more simply when I return to the States. There really is just so much you don´t need. So internet, schminternet. I´ll be alright getting it when I can. And maybe I´ll spend more time outside in this beautiful weather...
I love my internet. I love my cruddy late-night Grooveshark dance mixes and my pirated t.v. Project Runway marathons. I love calling my mommy on Skype whenever I want to. I love wasting several thousand hours of my life on Facebook. Oh, and I love blogging.
You think I would have thought to ask if an internet connection existed at my new place, but I found myself falling into the Chile trap - thinking briefly that Chile is as technologically pimped out as the U.S., and forgetting it actually isn´t.
So, resigned to my fate, I will be spending the last two months in Chile internetless, excepting forays to Starbucks and the internet at my school. I will also be spending the next two months without: a fan or air conditioner, a washer, or an oven (luckily I have already resigned myself to lacking a dryer, hairdryer, hot water, dishwasher, microwave and any semblance of affordable prepackaged food).
After so much time here I´ve just kind of forgotten how much harder it is to do simple tasks in Chile. I´ve reached the ¨meh¨ phase of my trip, where it doesn´t really bother me to spend two hours standing in line at a bank, six weeks to fix a washing machine (lucky there was one to fix), or ten thousand hours cooking completely everything from scratch.
I´ve grown to enjoy the rusticness and simplicity of some of these activities. The physical labor acts as a calming force in my life. I like that I´ve learned how to fix broken pipes, use a sodering iron, bake from scratch, construct a makeshift mop, and do my laundry by hand (in a bucket with one of those funny-looking scrubbing boards). I kind of feel like I should be milking goats or something, or composting my trash.
It has definitely inspired me to live more simply when I return to the States. There really is just so much you don´t need. So internet, schminternet. I´ll be alright getting it when I can. And maybe I´ll spend more time outside in this beautiful weather...
Monday, October 11, 2010
Night of the Living Death Metal
Sebastian probably wears a leather jacket every day of his life. I can't picture him without it, even in the increasingly hot, dry days that have landed suddenly in Santiago. He wore it every day we had class last semester, and every day we didn't have class but I'd see him in the cafeteria, or on campus. I couldn't really quite place his body structure or build because of the bulk of the jacket.
So it is no surprise to me when I turn the corner out of the metro Saturday night that he is immediately recognizable in the thing. But it DOES surprise me when he takes it off and offers it to me to fight against the "cold" night. (This is a thing Chileans collectively worry about me - that I am underdressed for "cold" weather that could be taken to be downright balmy in the Northeast.) And it surprises me how incredibly small and skinny this kid is without his bulky cowskin.
Sebastian is a smart kid, and he was one of the only students I had last semester who was vaguely interested in learning English. He and his friend Mauricio have really looked up to me in that 18-year-old-boy way, gawkily trying to please me because I was their hip young foreign teacher. They respect me and they desperately want me to love them and to love where they come from. Sometimes I do, like tonight.
I haven't seen Sebastian since class ended, and it is nice to feel respect oozing off of him as I inquire about his life, his family, his friends; if he is okay with work and money; how he is handling the recent loss of one of his best friends. (Being inquisitive here is taken as a sign of intimacy and kindness. It is not at all viewed as being "nosy" or "prying," as it might be considered in the States.) And he grills me about my time here, and about my relationship, and about politics here and back home.
He's come to break down the teacher-student wall. We're working now on learning how to be friends. I have a very strict rule that I do not hang out with students outside of class while I have them in class. At my old campus I found it to be a sort of necessary evil - placing myself cold and distant from kids who would otherwise be my peers - so I could earn enough respect to teach them effectively.
So I think that there is no better way of breaking down that distance than by getting silly over a few beers at a local bar. Sebastian takes it one step further by inviting me to go see a death metal concert with his brother. I'm buzzed enough where I am strangely comfortable with the idea.
An unhealthy love for heavy metal is something that most Chilean men share. Like Sebastian, some of them dress the part of badass rocker - long hair, leather jacket, huge boots, dark clothing. They're diehard Metallica fans, and they know all the lyrics to Anthrax songs by heart. There's this strange attraction to being bad - to acting out, to being out of control - that lures them in and fascinates them.
I've tested this theory out on Sebastian a little bit. He's told me that he thinks it's due to the political oppression in the past. In the eighties, he explains, when metal first became universally popular, it was the first time Chileans really had a safe arena to act out decades of pent-up agression against the government. Music was a safe "f-you" to The Man. And I guess it makes sense and I can see it as another extension of the Chilean desire for free and uninhibited expression. I just kind of wish acoustic rock had the same effect.
So I'm packed in a room with about a hundred sweaty men with long sweaty hair, shoving each other back and forth. I almost can't pay attention to the music because I'm too busy swinging other people's hair out of my face and trying in vain to protect myself from being absolutely soaked in beer. But the band - Dorso - is surprisingly good. You know, for loud screamy stuff. The most amusing part is the montage of B-rated horror films the band has chosen to project on a background screen - everything from claymation cyclops to lesbian vampires.
This spectacle is what people come for, I think. It's like watching professional wrestling in the States - the band members are costumed, wearing fake alien claws and dog collars studded with nine inch spikes. The movie montage is the sickest, fake-bloodiest gore you could ever possibly come across. And even the actions of the fans - the violence, the rage, the protest - is all really very staged. No one seems to actually want to hurt each other, and I think honestly they wouldn't even be acting out at all if the whole environment wasn't so conducive to being absolutely ridiculous.
This ridiculousness - this spectacle -might be able to be extended to the whole protest scene in Chile today. Chileans love a good protest, but I think they love more the idea of a good protest. Maybe in the 80s there was some significance, but now a lot of protests seem to be about the practice, not the faith. Even very serious protests - like the current Mapuche hunger strike - are built on arguably ludicrous grounds. (The Mapuche have asked to sit down at a table with the heads of the three legislative sectors in Chile to talk about receiving some ancestral lands. The thing is there AREN'T heads of two of the three legislative branches, so even if the government wanted to, they couldn't fulfill the Mapuche request.)
I can't blame them, though - spectacle is definitely fun. And it does serve a purpose: playing make pretend emotionally might help assuage real dissatisfaction in other areas of life - in your job, in your relationships. Blowing off steam, and blowing it off in a safe, productive way, probably keeps everyone contentedly ticking along. So I raged and screamed along with them, and flung my sweaty hair in other people's faces. Oh yeah. I'm bad to the bone. At least on the surface.
So it is no surprise to me when I turn the corner out of the metro Saturday night that he is immediately recognizable in the thing. But it DOES surprise me when he takes it off and offers it to me to fight against the "cold" night. (This is a thing Chileans collectively worry about me - that I am underdressed for "cold" weather that could be taken to be downright balmy in the Northeast.) And it surprises me how incredibly small and skinny this kid is without his bulky cowskin.
Sebastian is a smart kid, and he was one of the only students I had last semester who was vaguely interested in learning English. He and his friend Mauricio have really looked up to me in that 18-year-old-boy way, gawkily trying to please me because I was their hip young foreign teacher. They respect me and they desperately want me to love them and to love where they come from. Sometimes I do, like tonight.
I haven't seen Sebastian since class ended, and it is nice to feel respect oozing off of him as I inquire about his life, his family, his friends; if he is okay with work and money; how he is handling the recent loss of one of his best friends. (Being inquisitive here is taken as a sign of intimacy and kindness. It is not at all viewed as being "nosy" or "prying," as it might be considered in the States.) And he grills me about my time here, and about my relationship, and about politics here and back home.
He's come to break down the teacher-student wall. We're working now on learning how to be friends. I have a very strict rule that I do not hang out with students outside of class while I have them in class. At my old campus I found it to be a sort of necessary evil - placing myself cold and distant from kids who would otherwise be my peers - so I could earn enough respect to teach them effectively.
So I think that there is no better way of breaking down that distance than by getting silly over a few beers at a local bar. Sebastian takes it one step further by inviting me to go see a death metal concert with his brother. I'm buzzed enough where I am strangely comfortable with the idea.
An unhealthy love for heavy metal is something that most Chilean men share. Like Sebastian, some of them dress the part of badass rocker - long hair, leather jacket, huge boots, dark clothing. They're diehard Metallica fans, and they know all the lyrics to Anthrax songs by heart. There's this strange attraction to being bad - to acting out, to being out of control - that lures them in and fascinates them.
I've tested this theory out on Sebastian a little bit. He's told me that he thinks it's due to the political oppression in the past. In the eighties, he explains, when metal first became universally popular, it was the first time Chileans really had a safe arena to act out decades of pent-up agression against the government. Music was a safe "f-you" to The Man. And I guess it makes sense and I can see it as another extension of the Chilean desire for free and uninhibited expression. I just kind of wish acoustic rock had the same effect.
So I'm packed in a room with about a hundred sweaty men with long sweaty hair, shoving each other back and forth. I almost can't pay attention to the music because I'm too busy swinging other people's hair out of my face and trying in vain to protect myself from being absolutely soaked in beer. But the band - Dorso - is surprisingly good. You know, for loud screamy stuff. The most amusing part is the montage of B-rated horror films the band has chosen to project on a background screen - everything from claymation cyclops to lesbian vampires.
This spectacle is what people come for, I think. It's like watching professional wrestling in the States - the band members are costumed, wearing fake alien claws and dog collars studded with nine inch spikes. The movie montage is the sickest, fake-bloodiest gore you could ever possibly come across. And even the actions of the fans - the violence, the rage, the protest - is all really very staged. No one seems to actually want to hurt each other, and I think honestly they wouldn't even be acting out at all if the whole environment wasn't so conducive to being absolutely ridiculous.
This ridiculousness - this spectacle -might be able to be extended to the whole protest scene in Chile today. Chileans love a good protest, but I think they love more the idea of a good protest. Maybe in the 80s there was some significance, but now a lot of protests seem to be about the practice, not the faith. Even very serious protests - like the current Mapuche hunger strike - are built on arguably ludicrous grounds. (The Mapuche have asked to sit down at a table with the heads of the three legislative sectors in Chile to talk about receiving some ancestral lands. The thing is there AREN'T heads of two of the three legislative branches, so even if the government wanted to, they couldn't fulfill the Mapuche request.)
I can't blame them, though - spectacle is definitely fun. And it does serve a purpose: playing make pretend emotionally might help assuage real dissatisfaction in other areas of life - in your job, in your relationships. Blowing off steam, and blowing it off in a safe, productive way, probably keeps everyone contentedly ticking along. So I raged and screamed along with them, and flung my sweaty hair in other people's faces. Oh yeah. I'm bad to the bone. At least on the surface.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
The Long Bus Ride Travelers: Bariloche, Argentina
If there is any very important information I have learned about myself onmy trip to Bariloche, Argentina, it is that I'm not cut out for the elite of the Long-Bus-Ride-Travelers. I sat for so long that I could literally feel my bones deteriorating from the constant friction of my tush on the bus seat. I was delighted the entire way to the heady, intoxicating (emphasis on the "toxic") perfume of corn chips and feet. And (intimate friends and family would be impressed to know) I had to pee so bad that I actually braved the horrifying bathroom facilities with female delite and the success of not vomiting out my insides.
In the grand scheme of things, twenty hours on a bus down here is nothing. Certain trips can take 5 to 7 days. Imagine spending FIVE TO SEVEN DAYS. ON A BUS. So I'd like to take a moment to honor those who have heroically perservered traveling by bus around South America by offering them the worldwide recognition they so deeply deserve. They are the few. They are the proud. They are the Long-Bus-Ride-Travelers.
__________________________________________________________
You can imagine the soil-kissing, tear-leaking relief I experienced as our trusty coach rolled on in to the bus terminal in Bariloche. Erik and I had come to escape what we though would be certain chaos in Santiago during Chile's Bicentennial Celebration. And what an escape it was: even at the terminal we were treated to stunning lake views and towering blue mountains. The air was crisp and smelled of wood smoke curling up through the chimneys of tiny cottages. I was on the frontier of Patagonia and I could not help but feel the giddy magic of my surrundings.
We checked into luxury at La Cascada, a boutique hotel on the edge of town, and I blasted away the dust of our journey with a nice, hot shower. No view on the trip was more impressive than that from our own bedroom window. It left me feeling excited and inspired every time I awoke.
Bariloche is a popular ski resort during the winter. We had luckily come toward the end of peak season, so the town was fairly calm, which felt appropriate in the quiet majesty of our surroundings. We explored the city center our first night there, enjoying some Argentine-German fusion arquitechture.
Cafe del Pueblo serves submarinos (a type of hot chocolate where you stir a submarine-shaped chocolate bar into a glass of steamed milk) as well as live flamenco music every Friday night. We clapped out the beat on the sidelines as the complexity of the songs grew and as more and more intoxicated patrons stood to dance. I smiled at a young girl as she rumbaed alongside her mother. It was a beautiful welcome to Argentine culture - warm, rustic and friendly, which I sometimes miss in the bustle of Santiago.
The next day could have put a smile on Snow Miser's face: it was 1,000 below. Although I might have complained a little as I sat shivering atop Cerro Campenario, the view was absolutely stunning. We were surrounded on all sides by mirror lakes, snow-capped mountains and verdant green valleys.
We also paid a stop to the Fenoglio Chocolate Factory and Museum on the edge of town - $6.00 U.S. per person, roughly, got us a brief guided tour of the museum and factory as well as some personal history of how chocolateering came to be in Bariloche (read: Italian immigrants are always responsible for the best things to be found in any country). And, of course, we got to sample some hot chocolate and bonbons. Erik and I literally flew back with a kilo of chocolate each. (Choclate is very expensive in Santiago, but VERY cheap in Argentina. For comparison, a candy bar here is about $4.00 U.S., while a whole box of artisan chocolates in Bariloche was the same $4.00.)
Our last day in town was spent on Nahuel Huapi, which roughly translates to something about a very big cat, I believe, although with the wind and the rain it was hard tohear the tour guide talking as our catamaran island-hopped across the lake. We stopped first at Victoria Island (the original name was a man's name, but the locals mis-pronounced it as Victoria). The island was purchased for private use and in 1902 all the native wood was forested for profit. Later, a man who bought the island turned it into an arboretum for trees native to North America, Europe, and Africa. Imagine my surprise standing on an island on the tip of Argentina face-to-face with a baby sequoia (still hundreds of years old).
It's got nothing on California, but the smell of the pines made me a little homesick. Ecofreaks will be pleased to know that they are slowly trying to reforest the island with native flora and fauna. It is a VERY slow process, as indigenous trees only grow 1mm maximum per year.
Next we went to Arrayenes National Park. The island is covered in these trees with flaming orange-colored bark that peels away in strips to reveal a white chalky wood underneath. The effect is pretty po-mo. This location was so inspiring that Walt Disney actually based the setting of "Bambi" from a small cottage located on the island, and the small native deer (huapu huapu) inspired Snow White's close friends.
We were tired and beaten traveling back over the mountains, through Puerto Montt, and onto Santiago. But WHAT a journey. Cold, wet snow fell heavy on my face as we walked through the customs line. Erik asked if I wanted to make a snow angel. I must teach him that different types of snow call for different types of snow art.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Best Responses of the Semester: Part Two
I would like to be a model because...
they only need to walk.
I have many fans.
I look great in my underwear.
(from a boy) I am very beautiful, and my size is perfect.
I am twin with Paris Hilton.
I wouldn´t like to be a model because...
no one wants to see my fat mountains.
I like eating.
I don´t consume drugs.
I have the ¨muffin top¨.
It is exhaust to hook up wiht many persons.
that isn't manly at all.
they only need to walk.
I have many fans.
I look great in my underwear.
(from a boy) I am very beautiful, and my size is perfect.
I am twin with Paris Hilton.
I wouldn´t like to be a model because...
no one wants to see my fat mountains.
I like eating.
I don´t consume drugs.
I have the ¨muffin top¨.
It is exhaust to hook up wiht many persons.
that isn't manly at all.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
A-museo-ing
Six months into my Chile experience. The dollar is falling and I'm beginning to feel my belt tighten a little bit. With an increase in transportation costs to my new Duoc site (in Plaza Oeste), I'm in the process of ditching my uber-expensive room for some more humble digs. Sionara, Kintaro Sushi. Hello vitaminized 40-cent pasta. I'd be on the Ramen diet if it weren't so expensive here (479 pesos for a CUP?!?!?)
Luckily, there is a bunch of free and cheap things to do in Santiago, ranging from tourist traps worth your time to small breaths of fresh air from the heavy smog. Take a look at the top five (plus) ways to kill a weekend without killing your budget:
5. Fantasylandia
What? A real live amusement park in the heart of Santiago, Chile? Six Flags had better be shaking in its boots. This park is really meant for lolitos, but not a problem if you're a lolito at heart.
4. Museo del Arte Precolombino
3. Cafe La Boa
Three friends, an ugly seed, an Erlenmeyer flask and one special wish is all you need to make the te magico, $3000 CLP, bloom to life. Have your waiter spin you a yarn that will make all your wishes come true. Cafe Laboratorio serves some whoppin hot bevs with a science-lab twist. You bring the chemistry.
2. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday Movie Nights
Duoc's scheduling leaves me with a lot of lonely weeknights, easily filled by catching a flick. Prices for movie tickets at CineHoyts around the city drop from $4,000 to $2,000 CLP on Mondays and Tuesdays - OR, on Wednesdays, tickets are 2 for the price of 1. So go ahead and order that extra-large popcorn. You know you want to.
1 3/4. Halloween - Chilean Style!
Come October 31st, more than a few Chileans don't mind going gringo and having a ghoulishly good time. Chile's leading underground gay bar, Blondie, is offering a diva night on a dime, with their normal ghastly entrance fees lowering to as little as $3000 CLP for the night. It might have more than one gay man wondering if the svelte little blonde in the Lady Gaga costume is chick-or-treat.
If spending that much money still seems horrific to you, Santiago brings you a screening of Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds, completely free with an advance reservation by phone (), running from late October to early November. It's bound to be peck-tacular!
11/2. The Shoe Bins at Plaza de Armas
Say goodbye to window shopping AND sore feet - what could be better? Trade in that ratty pair of flats for one of the endless footwear choices you'll find in bin shoe stores at Plaza de Armas. Shoe size rule tends to be to add a "3" in front of your size in the States, unless you have clown feet (then, add a "4"). So, women, if you are a 6, your size would be a 36. They will provide the right shoe, and you'll have to go to the counter to obtain the left. Average cost is about $5000 CLP - $10 U.S. - for two pairs.
1. Subway Station Tour
Are you REALLY broke? Why not just spend 500 pesos on a tour of Santiago's super-modern subway system? Each station has unique art and archetecture, and some, like Quinta Normal, have museum-worthy exhibits that pass through. It's worth a "change" of pace.
Have fun this weekend, and tell your wallet that I say, "You're welcome."
Luckily, there is a bunch of free and cheap things to do in Santiago, ranging from tourist traps worth your time to small breaths of fresh air from the heavy smog. Take a look at the top five (plus) ways to kill a weekend without killing your budget:
5. Fantasylandia
What? A real live amusement park in the heart of Santiago, Chile? Six Flags had better be shaking in its boots. This park is really meant for lolitos, but not a problem if you're a lolito at heart.
4. Museo del Arte Precolombino
Who knew that there was mummification going on 2,000 years before the Egyptians - and right here in South America! Apart from being partially creeped out from all the death and sacrifice images, this museum had me at "hola". Usually the entrance fee is $3000 CLP, but for the fiestas patrias, like the other 85 (that's right) museums scattered throughout the city, it should be free.
3. Cafe La Boa
Three friends, an ugly seed, an Erlenmeyer flask and one special wish is all you need to make the te magico, $3000 CLP, bloom to life. Have your waiter spin you a yarn that will make all your wishes come true. Cafe Laboratorio serves some whoppin hot bevs with a science-lab twist. You bring the chemistry.
2. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday Movie Nights
Duoc's scheduling leaves me with a lot of lonely weeknights, easily filled by catching a flick. Prices for movie tickets at CineHoyts around the city drop from $4,000 to $2,000 CLP on Mondays and Tuesdays - OR, on Wednesdays, tickets are 2 for the price of 1. So go ahead and order that extra-large popcorn. You know you want to.
1 3/4. Halloween - Chilean Style!
Come October 31st, more than a few Chileans don't mind going gringo and having a ghoulishly good time. Chile's leading underground gay bar, Blondie, is offering a diva night on a dime, with their normal ghastly entrance fees lowering to as little as $3000 CLP for the night. It might have more than one gay man wondering if the svelte little blonde in the Lady Gaga costume is chick-or-treat.
If spending that much money still seems horrific to you, Santiago brings you a screening of Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds, completely free with an advance reservation by phone (), running from late October to early November. It's bound to be peck-tacular!
11/2. The Shoe Bins at Plaza de Armas
Say goodbye to window shopping AND sore feet - what could be better? Trade in that ratty pair of flats for one of the endless footwear choices you'll find in bin shoe stores at Plaza de Armas. Shoe size rule tends to be to add a "3" in front of your size in the States, unless you have clown feet (then, add a "4"). So, women, if you are a 6, your size would be a 36. They will provide the right shoe, and you'll have to go to the counter to obtain the left. Average cost is about $5000 CLP - $10 U.S. - for two pairs.
1. Subway Station Tour
Are you REALLY broke? Why not just spend 500 pesos on a tour of Santiago's super-modern subway system? Each station has unique art and archetecture, and some, like Quinta Normal, have museum-worthy exhibits that pass through. It's worth a "change" of pace.
Have fun this weekend, and tell your wallet that I say, "You're welcome."
Monday, September 6, 2010
Monday, August 30, 2010
The BF
April is rolling out the heat in Laura's new apartment. Her muted beige walls practically bronze in the loud summer light. I have so much sweat rolling down my spine that it feels like I could be swimming. Good thing Tim's brought the booze and a rather large pitcher of ice cubes. It's sangrias all around as the day dims.
We're laughing and chatting and, as wine induced evenings usually go, I've failed to notice a rather good-looking...Chilean?...not sure, occasionally brushing up against my shoulder as our love-seat reaches max capacity and spills over to people perched on the armrests. I've also failed to notice a full wrapper of Oreos. The two seem like a good mix, and to have an excuse to indulge on the one (the Oreos) I offer them to the other (the hot guy).
The wine has loosened my tongue and I'm steaming along in Spanish, questioning and laughing and offering more and more Oreos until topics are wasted away. "Eres chileno?" I finally ask, and with an unbelieving and kind smile he says, "Definitivamente no. Soy peruano." "Ah, eso es por que puedo entenderte," I laugh.
The party moves into the still warm night. We, wobbly, seek out a bar not all that far away and continue coupling our conversations with empanadas and schop. Erik wears intelligence casually, like a favorite shirt. Our conversation skips from language learning to geology to physics and I'm captivated, intoxicated, and perfectly pleased.
Laura is making eggs in the kitchen a few days later as Erik prepares to head off to the mountains to work. "Este es para ti, si necesitas cualquiera cosa, me avisas, okay?" he notes, handing her his email information. Giggly Laura smiles and laughs over her inherited new big brother.
Erik turns to the door, but hesitates and grows red. "Oh, y...tengo un poquito verguenza en preguntarte pero...si querrias compartir esta informacion con tu amiga con el cabello corto....seria muy bueno...." He smiles cutely and walks off.
Three minutes later I have a Facebook message in my inbox. "YOU WILL NEVER BELIEVE WHAT JUST HAPPENED," Laura spills. "soooo....guess who wants your info? My Cutie McCute roommate, Erik!!!! He was so freckin cute!!! Ima tell you all about it later but it was so cute!!!! okay, well his whole name is erik chavez and his email is (blah), and he'd like yours as well, so get on that! I can't wait till you do the walk of shame out of my apartment, it's gonna be great! LOVE YOU!"
And so I emailed him, and so he charmed the pants off of me, and so now I'm staying in Chile for a little while longer than I had expected. Funny how life changes over wine and Oreos and sticky summer evenings.
We're laughing and chatting and, as wine induced evenings usually go, I've failed to notice a rather good-looking...Chilean?...not sure, occasionally brushing up against my shoulder as our love-seat reaches max capacity and spills over to people perched on the armrests. I've also failed to notice a full wrapper of Oreos. The two seem like a good mix, and to have an excuse to indulge on the one (the Oreos) I offer them to the other (the hot guy).
The wine has loosened my tongue and I'm steaming along in Spanish, questioning and laughing and offering more and more Oreos until topics are wasted away. "Eres chileno?" I finally ask, and with an unbelieving and kind smile he says, "Definitivamente no. Soy peruano." "Ah, eso es por que puedo entenderte," I laugh.
The party moves into the still warm night. We, wobbly, seek out a bar not all that far away and continue coupling our conversations with empanadas and schop. Erik wears intelligence casually, like a favorite shirt. Our conversation skips from language learning to geology to physics and I'm captivated, intoxicated, and perfectly pleased.
Laura is making eggs in the kitchen a few days later as Erik prepares to head off to the mountains to work. "Este es para ti, si necesitas cualquiera cosa, me avisas, okay?" he notes, handing her his email information. Giggly Laura smiles and laughs over her inherited new big brother.
Erik turns to the door, but hesitates and grows red. "Oh, y...tengo un poquito verguenza en preguntarte pero...si querrias compartir esta informacion con tu amiga con el cabello corto....seria muy bueno...." He smiles cutely and walks off.
Three minutes later I have a Facebook message in my inbox. "YOU WILL NEVER BELIEVE WHAT JUST HAPPENED," Laura spills. "soooo....guess who wants your info? My Cutie McCute roommate, Erik!!!! He was so freckin cute!!! Ima tell you all about it later but it was so cute!!!! okay, well his whole name is erik chavez and his email is (blah), and he'd like yours as well, so get on that! I can't wait till you do the walk of shame out of my apartment, it's gonna be great! LOVE YOU!"
And so I emailed him, and so he charmed the pants off of me, and so now I'm staying in Chile for a little while longer than I had expected. Funny how life changes over wine and Oreos and sticky summer evenings.
Friday, August 27, 2010
Stable Ground
"I mean Negative Capability, that is when man is capable of being in uncertainties, Mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason." - John Keats in a letter to his brothers, 1817
The cobblestones on Providencia's boulevard make William's car shake so badly that he has trouble smoothly shifting his rusty Fiat standard. A Duoc colleague and a Santiago native, William is kind enough to offer me rides home after our twelve-hour Wednesdays at the university. He has to jimmy the lock on the driver's side door now because his car was broken into a few weeks ago. I ask if he will fix it before he leaves for South Dakota, where he and his wife have decided to move to raise their children. "What's the point?" he counters. "I am leaving so soon. It might as well stay broken."
The six months I have spent in Santiago could best be described as shaky. Our beginnings here were unstable. We were shook to the core our third night here in the world's sixth strongest recorded earthquake. We turned corners to find ourselves lost in the maze of the city. Every stare reminded us of our outsider status. Every word I spoke in Spanish felt unsure in my mouth. We had no stable ground. Emotionally, I was homeless, and it seemed the outside world had decided to reflect the rubble and the ruin I felt inside.
When our world is taken down, there comes the question of how to rebuild. We have the chance to see where our previous flaws in thinking have brought about rubble. As I tried to construct my own home here in a cavernous apartment, I felt increasingly isolated. Everything that had brought me a sense of security in the past - my friends, my family - simply weren't here. Chile's physical devastation brought about a reflection on my perceptions of "Home." I relied too much on thinking of home as a physical embodiment of my security: a signpost that existed 3,000 miles away from where I currently reside.
Back in the car, William complains about the anti-intellectualism that he perceives to be a growing phenomenon in Chile. I ask him if he is nervous about making friends when he moves to the States. "I think it's easier there, actually," he reflects. "There, it doesn't matter what your interests are - if you're big into communism, you can find peole just like you. If you're a Trekkie, there's a group for that. Here in Chile, if you are at all different from the norm, you're on your own. It's much harder to form a community, because the thought here is to be the same, not different."
I don't know exactly what it was that set off sirens in my head, but I knew immediately that I didn't agree with Will. I realized that I had set a trap for myself in the Here vs. There binary that Will was now narrating; I perceived, suddenly, that I had told myself the wrong story about establishing a home abroad. What peole liked about me here was that I WAS different, and what I liked about my home here was that it offered me new ways of living outside the construction of my home in the U.S. I wasn't exected to be a type or to fit into a group. I was acting as a primary source for how chilenos perceived people in the United States - for how they perceived my home through me. The story I'd been telling myself - of being a lone wolf unable to find a way in - began to evaporate. My new story, immensely liberating, was that I was seeking to marry my outsider status and my inherited Chileanisms.
I have begun to think of my home abroad as a combination of an inner stability and an outward willingness to connect. I just have to be willing to say yes - yes to staying out dancing all night at a dive bar, even though the American in me is dog tired; yes to mercilessly shoving people aside to grab a spot on an overcrowded bus; yes to allowing my Chilean friends to borrow my cell phone because theirs has run out of saldo. Regardless of the mistakes I make, I use Spanish unabashedly. If I get lost on my way home, I know I'll eventually wander to a familiar landmark. And, even though it adds thirty minutes to my commute, I accept rides home from Will, because he helps me to feel welcome and wanted.
Will gets us lost on the way to the bar and we have to ask four different people for directions. It makes me feel better that he doesn't know this city all that well, either.
My home here in Santiago will continue in its instability. The people I have connected with here and who are part of my home here will come and go, as William will. But that doesn't bother me. The next time the ground shakes, literally or figuratively, I will tell myself a different story to build some stable ground.
The cobblestones on Providencia's boulevard make William's car shake so badly that he has trouble smoothly shifting his rusty Fiat standard. A Duoc colleague and a Santiago native, William is kind enough to offer me rides home after our twelve-hour Wednesdays at the university. He has to jimmy the lock on the driver's side door now because his car was broken into a few weeks ago. I ask if he will fix it before he leaves for South Dakota, where he and his wife have decided to move to raise their children. "What's the point?" he counters. "I am leaving so soon. It might as well stay broken."
The six months I have spent in Santiago could best be described as shaky. Our beginnings here were unstable. We were shook to the core our third night here in the world's sixth strongest recorded earthquake. We turned corners to find ourselves lost in the maze of the city. Every stare reminded us of our outsider status. Every word I spoke in Spanish felt unsure in my mouth. We had no stable ground. Emotionally, I was homeless, and it seemed the outside world had decided to reflect the rubble and the ruin I felt inside.
When our world is taken down, there comes the question of how to rebuild. We have the chance to see where our previous flaws in thinking have brought about rubble. As I tried to construct my own home here in a cavernous apartment, I felt increasingly isolated. Everything that had brought me a sense of security in the past - my friends, my family - simply weren't here. Chile's physical devastation brought about a reflection on my perceptions of "Home." I relied too much on thinking of home as a physical embodiment of my security: a signpost that existed 3,000 miles away from where I currently reside.
Back in the car, William complains about the anti-intellectualism that he perceives to be a growing phenomenon in Chile. I ask him if he is nervous about making friends when he moves to the States. "I think it's easier there, actually," he reflects. "There, it doesn't matter what your interests are - if you're big into communism, you can find peole just like you. If you're a Trekkie, there's a group for that. Here in Chile, if you are at all different from the norm, you're on your own. It's much harder to form a community, because the thought here is to be the same, not different."
I don't know exactly what it was that set off sirens in my head, but I knew immediately that I didn't agree with Will. I realized that I had set a trap for myself in the Here vs. There binary that Will was now narrating; I perceived, suddenly, that I had told myself the wrong story about establishing a home abroad. What peole liked about me here was that I WAS different, and what I liked about my home here was that it offered me new ways of living outside the construction of my home in the U.S. I wasn't exected to be a type or to fit into a group. I was acting as a primary source for how chilenos perceived people in the United States - for how they perceived my home through me. The story I'd been telling myself - of being a lone wolf unable to find a way in - began to evaporate. My new story, immensely liberating, was that I was seeking to marry my outsider status and my inherited Chileanisms.
I have begun to think of my home abroad as a combination of an inner stability and an outward willingness to connect. I just have to be willing to say yes - yes to staying out dancing all night at a dive bar, even though the American in me is dog tired; yes to mercilessly shoving people aside to grab a spot on an overcrowded bus; yes to allowing my Chilean friends to borrow my cell phone because theirs has run out of saldo. Regardless of the mistakes I make, I use Spanish unabashedly. If I get lost on my way home, I know I'll eventually wander to a familiar landmark. And, even though it adds thirty minutes to my commute, I accept rides home from Will, because he helps me to feel welcome and wanted.
Will gets us lost on the way to the bar and we have to ask four different people for directions. It makes me feel better that he doesn't know this city all that well, either.
My home here in Santiago will continue in its instability. The people I have connected with here and who are part of my home here will come and go, as William will. But that doesn't bother me. The next time the ground shakes, literally or figuratively, I will tell myself a different story to build some stable ground.
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