Last Chile Post

The below post is the last one I will be doing from Chile. I meant to post it last week, but it didn't work for some reason. If you were not already aware, I have to suddenly leave Chile because my mother has just been diagnosed with some rather serious colon cancer. I learned this Thursday afternoon, and I will be heading home Monday night. She has started blogging about it, at www.mukilteomusings.blogspot.com.

Thanks to all who read and enjoyed my blog.

-Lucas

Two sides of Chile

The Two sides of Chile

When my family visited a couple weeks ago, I had the wonderful opportunity to show them the Chile I know, but also to experience the other richer side. We dined at nice restaurants where a meal cost more than $6 (not something you can find in Melilpilla), and the last two days of their trip, we spent in a luxury hotel in Las Condes, Santiago. We even came across people who could speak English. That, I was truly not used to. I am not going to talk about their trip; you can read it in my mom’s blog at www.mukilteomusings.blogspot.com. Anyway, the last morning in the hotel, I had to leave for Melipilla to go back to work. This was a very depressing time of course. It was pouring rain, and I had to leave this amazing hotel at 6:30am to go back to my cold house and my job. But everything was fine and I quickly got back to the routine. Then just last week, I was reminded of the incredible economic diversity of this country. Carlos came into my house with his usual emphatic “Hey Lucas, ho are jyu?!” Then he yelled, “Vamos a tomar vino!” Well, ok, I couldn’t really say no to that.

So we hopped in his pickup and went to “El bajo”, which is a rural area about 2 minutes from my house, where the people are poor. It was absolutely dumping rain and the streets were flooded—some of them with several inches of muddy water. He took me to his friend’s uncle’s farm. Arturo is an old Chilean cowboy, without any teeth I can see, and who is rather difficult to understand. In fact, most of the time Carlos had to translate to and from toothless old Chilean cowboy Spanish—because Arturo could not understand me either. I assume he had probably never even seen a non native Spanish speaker before. We tromped through his muddy farm into a shack where he had a fire going. We all sat down around the fire and made mulled wine, drank mate, and ate pork sandwiches. It was great. We talked about many things, including Indians, and Carlos kept asking me if there are still Sioux around. I gave my standard speech on North American Indians—how yes they are still alive, and no they do not live in teepees and attack the white people. But trying to elicit sympathy for them is tough, as Carlos’ friends kept on telling me how poor and violent the Mapuche Indians are in Chile. “Why can’t they just better themselves?” is a phrase I have heard more than once here. I usually just nod and try not to say anything, because I am not usually up for trying to explain 500 years of complex history and anthropology in Spanish. As I watched the rain pour and sipped my mate and drank my nice hot spiced wine in this shack with an old cowboy, I suddenly realized how incredibly different this is from Las Condes in Santiago, and even from my own home 3 blocks away. This would be way way out of my mom’s comfort zone, I thought. But it was like camping, and that hot wine sure was good.

A few days later, when the sun and mountains were out, I returned to “El Bajo” on my bike to find some chicha for a birthday barbecue I was going to have. Again, chicha is more or less grape cider. I arrived at one home that had a crude sign saying “Se vende chicha.” I hesitated, not really wanting to just walk into someone’s house, but then someone saw me and I said I wanted to buy some chicha. I’m sure they had never had a gringo on a bicycle before. This ancient woman came out to greet me and took me inside her chicha hut. It was just a dusty shack, but it had posters all over the wall of Che, the Beatles, Bob Dylan, Allende (I think), Jesus, and numerous other liberal figures. I thought that was pretty cool. She poured me nearly 3 liters of chicha into a random plastic pop bottle she had. This cost me a grand total of $2000CP, or about $5 USD. She wondered where I was from and what in god’s name I was doing here. Nice old lady, I thought. I cheerfully took my chicha (or as a friend later called it, “peasant juice”) and then biked on home.

Oh, Latin America.

I don’t think I’ve really described the actual city of Melipilla where I spend about 90% of my time. First of all, Melipilla is REAL Chile. It feels like Latin America here, and is pretty much a different world from cosmopolitan Santiago. The main plaza is usually quite lively, often with Ranchera music blasting from a man who sells the cd’s for “solo mil pesos!” Ranchera would be Latin America’s equivalent of country. It’s pretty much the same music you hear on the am radio stations of the eastern half of the state of Washington. This gives the place a very stereotypical ambiance and is a great reminder that I am far, far away from Mukilteo. Loud diesel busses and enormous semi trucks speed through the one way streets only mere feet from people’s homes—including my own. In the US, trucks would never ever be allowed in quiet residential areas—they would likely have to take a special truck route. Not so in Melipilla, and for the nervous gringo bike rider sans helmet, it can be utterly terrifying. Being passed by a dump truck doing 40 on a city street is not the most pleasant experience.

Melipilla’s economy, I believe, is largely supported by what I like to call ‘random shit’ stores. Imagine a world where most people do their shopping at the 99 cent store. Melipilla is completely full of these, and I love it. What do I mean by ‘random shit?’ Well, where in the US (Wal mart excluded) could you go to get an ice tray (not a packet of them, just one), a clothes hook, a wooden spoon, a bucket, a garbage can, a door mat, a cheap plastic dish rack, and maybe a dust pan? I remember in Missoula it took me three weeks to find an ice tray, but here I can get one in ten minutes for like 25 cents and have my choice of 5 or 6 places to do it.

Oh yes, and the babies. This city of almost 100,000 is going to triple in size in the next 50 years I believe. Much like dogs, the city is infested with babies. Yes, I said infested and yes I compared them to dogs. In the US, you just don't see babies that much, and when you do, you notice. They are even cute. It can be an enjoyable experience to see a baby in the states. Not here. I have never seen so many babies in my life and of course whenever you get on a bus or metro there are at least 4 or 5 moms who board with their babies and all of their large bulky baby supplies. They cry too. And the mothers are often younger than I am--I swear half of my students are parents and it's pretty hit or miss if there is a dad in the picture. I do believe it was precisely this scenario that was meant to be prevented when man invented this thing called a condom. Way to go Catholicism.

Just on the edge of town is a large hill—I’m hesitant to call it a mountain, but it’s a good little trek to the top. I of course love hiking so this ‘mountain’ needed to be conquered. One day I rode my bike to the base of it to do some recon. I was trying to find a way to hike up. There is a cemetery that borders the mountain, so I figured I would go through it and find an exit on the other side. With my bike, I was awkwardly maneuvering through this pretentious and over-the-top Catholic cemetery.

Side note: I decided I really do not like Latin American cemeteries. The ‘graves’—well I’ll call them tombs--are enormous expensive shrines. I guess mausoleum is the correct word. If your family has money, congratulations, you can waste it all on an extravagant statement of wealth. The person is dead in case you forgot, and whatever your beliefs on the afterlife are, the truth is, grandma Sanchez is not coming back to admire her new post mortem mansion. Oh yeah and if you’re poor, you get a stick in the ground shaped like a cross and a shabby white fence. Again, way to go Catholicism.

Back to my adventure. So I made my way to the back of the cemetery and saw a door with what I thought was a convenient exit. I opened the door and started pushing my bike through, when I looked up and saw a young girl and her ferocious looking dog staring me down. Instantly the girl started yelling “Mama, mama!” The dog did not look to be accepting of my presence either. I took this terrified cry to mommy as my cue to leave. Fortunately, I found another exit, but when I opened the door I noticed a man defecating on the wall. Not gonna go out this way either. The cemetery is built right next to kind of a big dumping ground that is dirty and smells, and really is more or less a giant outdoor toilet. I decided not to bother this man so I went around and found the road that does go up to the top.

Angie and I decided to go and climb this hill—together-- because frankly it is not located in the best part of town. The trek is not terribly far, but is a nice little day hike. We followed a dirt road that switchbacks to the very pretty radio towers at the top. This would provide excellent views of the Andes, coast range, and maybe even the ocean, however, it was hazy, very very hazy and we couldn’t actually see anything.

I went to summit this again yesterday. This time I went by myself and attempted a different route. I crossed the large outdoor toilet, saying “hola” to the owner of the dump. He lives in a shack and I hoped he would not mind me crossing his land, since I did see spent shotgun shells on the ground. I tried to go straight up the mountain more or less bushwhacking. I started following what looked like a trail, but was actually a dirt bike track. I startled some birds coming around a bend and they really freaked out. They started squawking and then circling me. I watched this, confused, until one of them started into a dive bomb towards my face. “Oh my god,” I thought. “I am being attacked by birds.” I started running back down the mountain, all the while I heard the man in the shack (the same one who was defecating the previous time) laughing at me. Luckily, the birds left and I was able to continue up the mountain, but not without shame. I figured I should carry a weapon in case of bird or dog attack, since the only tracks I saw were from dogs. Any dogs that lived out here were surely tough and probably not used to trespassers. I found a nice pointy skull piercing rock. This made me feel better. I was not attacked on the way up, which was good. Sadly, the view was not much better this time. Still pretty hazy. On my way back down I could see three guys at the bottom who were so obviously drunk. “Oh no”, I thought, “They are going to try to talk to me. Hopefully they are too drunk to rob me.” When I got down to the bottom, sure enough they were there nearly passed out in the 11:30am sun. I said a cheerful “hola” but that of course was not good enough. They beckoned me to come “oye, gringo!” But I ignored them and kept going. Thankfully they were too drunk to harass me. When I got down I felt like I had been in a video game. To go up this mountain, one has to avoid obstacles. The defecating man, little girl and her dog, crazy birds, theoretical rabid wild dogs, outdoor toilet, and the three drunk men were all no match for me. Satisfied, I dropped my weapon at the edge of the cemetery where I can easily find it for the next time.

I have less than two months left...

It has been quite some time since I last gave an update about what is going on here in Melipilla. Well the short answer is not much. I haven't really met anybody, and Gino, our first friend here kind of turned out to be a weirdo. His friends were awesome, but we haven't really had the chance to do anything with them, plus they are just not my age. I went out with Carlos' niece and her friend one night, which was cool, but we did the clubbing thing which I really don't enjoy all that much. They were super nice, but I haven't heard from them in a few weeks. A couple weeks ago I hung out with this other girl Angie and I met at the beginning of our stay in Melipilla. She is really very nice, and I'll probably hang out with her friends again, even though I turned down a chance to do that last night, because I just was not up to it.

I think after living more or less alone in France two years ago, and then living alone here, I have really become used to it and I think it is somewhat my fault that I haven't met very many people. Plus I am constantly thinking towards the future and the fact that I am leaving in a couple months almost makes me not want to try. It kind of bothers me that I am so used to it, that spending Friday night watching TV and reading is perfectly satisfactory for me and often preferable to going out. I miss Magali too, and I guess this is a good thing, but every time I hang out with someone, I just keep wishing Magali were there, because it would just be better. I don't smoke, I don't like clubs, can't dance, and my Spanish is mediocre, which makes me not the most social being in Chile.

It's also hard because I can't understand everything, even though I assume that I should. Oh my Spanish is much improved, but I now realize how bad it was when I arrived. If I don't go to Santiago on the weekend (to hang out with my English speaking friends), I will spend pretty much most of the time alone. Thankfully Carlos has often invited me to eat with his family, but it's not the same as meeting people my own age.

But I really do like living in Melipilla. It's pleasant, and certainly different and interesting. I am looking forward to going home, but I hate to just sort of give up now and wait for the end. We'll see, things can change pretty quickly!

Some pictures of my southern adventure.

This is Chile. A truck, a flag, and a stray dog.

That is the Cordillera Darwin, with peaks over 2500m. On the other side is a bit of ocean and then Antarctica

Me at Torres Del Paine

This is in Puerto Natales

This is Punta Arenas, the most southerly 'city of size' in the world. The water is the Strait of Magellan, and Tierra Del Fuego on the other side.

Some pictures of my southern adventure.

This is Chile. A truck, a flag, and a stray dog

Cordillera Darwin, over 2500mts. high. On the other side of that is some ocean and then antarctica

Me in Torres del Paine

This is in Puerto Natales.

And this is Punta Arenas, the most southerly 'city of size' in the world. It sits on the Strait of Magellan.

My southward journey part 2

As I could not go to Puerto Williams or Ushuaia, my third option was Puerto Natales where I would do the touristy thing and try to visit Torres Del Paine national park. I bought my bus ticket, which was cheaper than normal because everything had just closed for the season and headed out to Puerto Natales on Friday afternoon. It was an awesome bus ride, and I truly got to appreciate how remote and empty Patagonia is. More remote than Montana, even more so than much of Wyoming—it really felt like northern Alaska. I imagine the Brooks Range looks like Patagonia. On one of the highway distance signs, one town it was noted was like 2250 kilometers away. It was a 3 hour bus ride between Punta Arenas and Puerto Natales and we passed one town of MAYBE 100 people, and 2 or three villages with I’d say no more than 15 people each. This is the main highway between two of the biggest population centers of the region, and the road was largely empty. The empty space between is mostly private land. Every now and then we would pass an “Estancia” which is more or less a ranch. I guess the population density of this region is about .5 people/sq. km. The landscape as I said before is pretty much treeless. It looks a lot like southern Idaho—it’s flat and deserty but with large mountains in the distance. Upon arriving in Puerto Natales, I found a hostel for half the price of the one I had actually reserved. So I cancelled and stayed at this nice woman’s house. The atmosphere was great and I again met some pretty cool people. I really wanted to get up in the park and go hiking, but most things were closed and I was alone, so my only reasonable option was to take a tour. I did so, and I was a bit worried when a woman with a little kid got in the van—this was going to be a photo safari. However, it was not a bunch of old people going to snap pictures, the crowd was young and in the same situation I was. They wanted to do some hiking, but this time of year, it’s just hard to arrange. Again, I met some cool people including a South African banker, a German married to a Chilean, an English couple who has been traveling the world for over a year, and a group of 4 young Basques. I could not for the life of me figure out what language they were speaking—because I could recognize some of the words that sounded pretty Spanish, but I could in no way understand what they were saying. After some time, someone asked them and they said they were Basque. I didn’t know Basque was still spoken on a day to day basis among young people, but there was the proof. They said it’s their mother tongue and they think in Basque, not Spanish. I also ran into a French/Moroccan couple I met at the hostel back in Punta Arenas. They were super nice and were in Brest at the same time I was studying in Rennes. We exchanged e-mails, and since it’s such a small world, I ran into them at just about every next stop in my trip, including the airport.

Our first stop on the tour was the Milodon cave—which is just a cave, but also the ancient home of this weird bear like creature called a Milodon that existed during the last ice age. Looks like a bear with a camel head. Then we headed into the park. You know when you see a picture of Patagonia, and you see these rock spires and glaciers—well that is Torres del Paine. It’s where everyone goes, and where everyone backpacks, and they think they are badass because of it. I originally did not want to come here just because of its popularity—the same reason I don’t have a huge desire to go to Yosemite. But it was off season, so there was really no one in the park except us, and of course the scenery was spectacular. We saw glaciers and lakes and huge spiring peaks—it really is an amazing place. I can see why backpacking there would be really incredible, but in the high season it is crowded. In addition to the scenery, the animals were out and about. Much like the elk in Yellowstone, this park seems to be overrun with guanacos—which are in the dromedary family—so they are like a llama camel thing, but more the size of a deer or large antelope. Like the Yellowstone elk everyone was amazed at them as we entered the park, but then there were so many of them, that by the end I was sick of looking at the guanaco. We also saw this type of deer that apparently is extremely rare and only about 400 of them exist. They looked a little fatter and shorter than most North American deer. Hmmm, what else did we see? A fox that was disgustingly tame—it pretty much came up to us begging for food. And we also saw lots of eagles. So it was more or less a photo safari, but we did get to walk out to a viewpoint that was maybe a 30 minute walk. Oh and the wind—at one point the wind was so strong it nearly knocked me down. So, I would not have enjoyed backpacking in that. Wind I think is even worse than rain.

After we got back, and the next day, I had the chance to explore Puerto Natales. It is a quaint quaint town. I’d call it the Moab of Patagonia—pretty much the same vibe. In fact, I decided that I could live in Patagonia. As I am very attached to the Northwest US, there are few places that I think I really could enjoy living for a long time. Patagonia is one of them. It just felt so familiar. The atmosphere, the people, the weather all reminded me of the kind of place where I truly am happy. For instance, I felt not the least bit nervous walking around alone at night, whereas in Santiago or Melipilla that is something that is simply not done. It’s a rough and tumble kind of place where the dirty pickup truck is the standard vehicle. Ok, so Melpilla is great for a few months, but being in Patagonia kind of made me shudder when I thought of Melipilla. It is soo different. I loved the cold drizzly weather in Patagonia, but whenever it’s cloudy and cool in Melipilla, for some reason it’s kind of depressing.

I headed back to Punta Arenas for one day to conclude my trip. I walked to a viewpoint just above downtown and met two overly friendly Mormons. I knew they were there on their mission, I could spot them a mile away. I wished them well and headed to the airport. It was a great trip overall. If I had organized it better and earlier, I could have fit in a couple more solid days of doing stuff. This was a chill trip and when it comes down to it, I really only had two productive days the whole time. But it was worth it just being there and soaking up the culture at this far desolate corner of the world.

My southward journey continued:

Since I pretty much live on a map, as my mom says, I am largely in a constant state of frustration. Wherever I go, I know that there is something else just a bit farther down the road. It is there on the map, and it bothers me to no end that I cannot go there. That’s why going to Barrow, AK was so fulfilling. I could not go any farther—it was the end of the continent. Needless to say, Punta Arenas was not sufficient, there were still two ‘cities’ even further south—Ushuaia, AR and Puerto Williams, CL. I heard Ushuaia was beautiful and worth the 10 hour bus ride just to say you’ve been there. Sadly, no buses return from Ushuaia on Sundays, making a Friday-Sunday trip impossible. I decided to check on flights to Puerto Williams. Not surprisingly, the return flight on Monday was full, which is what you get for ‘playing it by ear.’

Not knowing exactly what I was going to do for four days in Punta Arenas, I signed up for a tour that would depart from the hostel at 10am on Thursday. Why not? I had nothing else to do, and since it was a holiday, everything was closed. I was joined by two Hungarian sisters, one of whom was an astronomer. They were very interesting and fun to talk to. Then we picked up an older guy who hopped in the van and immediately said “Bonjour. Vous parlez le francais?” One of the Hungarian girls and I both said, “oui.” It was an odd moment, and Jean-Pierre from Toulouse didn’t seem to find it the least bit interesting or surprising that this American could speak fluent French, and that the Hungarian girl could certainly hold her own. Jean-Pierre’s Spanish and English were both fairly atrocious (yet he sure tried hard), so during the tour I often found myself translating to and from French, Spanish, and English. Anyway, the tour took us south out of Punta Arenas. Cruising down the road, we saw porpoises, flamingos, eagles, an eagle eating a rabbit, and numerous other birds. It really reminded me of Alaska or an Indian reservation—right as you leave town the landscape is empty and the people who do live out of town live in crumbling cabins with 14 rusted out trucks on the lawn. In addition it was chilly and right next to the water. It felt so much more familiar, than anything around Santiago or Melipilla. The weather was amazing and as we approached the end of the road, the view opened up and we gazed across the Strait of Magellan at the Cordillera Darwin—a gorgeous and impossibly remote range of white glacier capped mountains—one of them rising more than 2500 meters above sea level. We ended up 60 km south of Punta Arenas as far as the rough dirt road would take us. This was as far south on the American continent as one could go (in a car). The actual Cape Froward was a couple days hike south. So we snapped some pictures and then headed to Fuerte Bulnes. This was the first Spanish settlement in the area. The fort was reconstructed, since thatch and wood buildings last about 20 minutes in the climate of Patagonia. The Spanish did not last long at this rough spot and later relocated to Punta Arenas—which has an interesting history of being settled by Swiss, English, and Croatians—some of whom still retain strong ties to their homeland. The tour was a bit pricey but worth it. I had no other options of getting out of Punta Arenas anyway—so it was nice to see the landscape and go as far south on the mainland as I possibly could.

Later that evening I was hanging out at the hostel and joined a conversation between this Australian couple and the Hungarian girls. I really had no place in this conversation, but it was fascinating. The couple was understandably far more interested in the Hungarian girls’ stories of communism and their take on the war in the Balkans than my white American life. This couple was about the age of my parents, and (sorry mom) way way way cooler. They have pretty much been everywhere. They visited Boeing and stayed in the San Juans. Not to mention Europe, Asia and Africa. They have also driven the remote dirt highway to Inuvik, Northwest Territories on the Arctic Ocean—which they did with their children in an old VW bus. Talk about a family vacation. “It’s a great road, but no one ever takes it!” Their son is currently backpacking across China or something, and their 16 year old daughter is on a high school exchange program to Vladivostok. Of course, why not Vladivostok? The father was telling these stories in that over-excited passionate Australian way. Everything was funny, including the fact that upon reentering civilization after hiking for a week in Torres Del Paine national park, they found several text messages from their daughter along the lines of “Help dad.” “I have a BIG problem, call me NOW.” “Where are you guys?” “I need money to leave the country NOW.” It turns out Russia decided to change their visa policies, and their daughter had 2 days to leave the country and re enter. So apparently she went to Korea and has been hanging out there until the visa issue is resolved. Did I mention she is only 16? Possibly my favorite story of theirs was about the boa. They were trying to convince us that Australia is not really THAT full of poisonous things, and it’s just as normal as anywhere else.

“Except for this one time…I came home late and was opening the garage door. Suddenly this huge thing fell from the roof and landed on my head. I let out quite a scream, and then realized it was a boa. The thing was like 4 feet long! Living in our garage, imagine that!”

He told this story with the accent and all the excitement of the crocodile hunter RIP. But other than that, Australia is perfectly safe…

That was it for the first part of my journey. I’ll add another post about the next few days soon.

where am I now?

Quite a bit has happened in the past couple weeks since my last post. I am not going to tell everything about it, but in short, I went to a bbq or two where I ate enormous slabs of meat, drank wine with old Chilean men, and had an adventure with some teaching friends in the Cajon de Maipo on an unsuccessful attempt at hiking to a glacier. Bottom line: public transportation to outdoor activities is extremely limited in Chile in the off season.

Anyway, a couple days ago I decided to purchase a ticket, kind of on a whim to Punta Arenas. It was well under the normal price, and I said why not. So here I am, by myself at the end of the world. I arrived at the airport this afternoon as the sun was setting over the windswept plains. It reminded me of Barrow when I got out. Fairly barren, less tress than I expected. And no airport transfer or taxis to greet me. In fact, there was a for sale sign in the transfer van window. I guess the driver just gave up. There was pretty much no one at the airport either, so asking someone was out of the question. After a long confused wait, a taxi finally showed up to drop someone off, and I quickly snagged it, leaving other confused passengers in the dust. Punta Arenas reminds me of the US--kind of like Alaska, or maybe Aberdeen, WA. Very weathered, and very American looking. Feels kind of like home--ish. My hostel is nice and centrally located. I think I am going on a tour to some town tomorrow and will see the strait of Magellan and things like that. I have to figure out the rest of my time here--considering going to Ushuaia, but the bus times are tricky. Hopefully I cna figure this out tomorrow. I am playing it by ear!

Lokas

My Spanish is noticeably improving. Angie and I went to see a Chilean comedy the other night called ‘Lokas’ and I was able to understand the majority of what was said. This was very comforting, because I think even after a month in France, I had more trouble understanding French films. The movie was a comedy about a homophobic man who goes to see his father for the first time in 30 years. And guess what, his father is gay! As you can imagine hilarity ensues. This film must be revolutionary for Chile. According to Lonely Planet Chile has only in the past couple years even been able to talk about gay people. So needless to say, I was surprised to see this ‘Chuck and Larry’ like comedy be out in theatres. They even showed guys kissing and at one point the audience could hear sounds of sexual intercourse. In Catholic Chile. But go see this movie; its gay jokes are cliché by US standards, but what a site it is in Chile.

Oh and one last random observation. All of the advertisements and commercials in Chile as well as all the people and situations in this film were white. White = prestigious and pretty. Most people in commercials are not even light skinned mestizo. And I don’t think there are any Indians or other dark-skinned actors. Everyone is white, even blond or red-haired. Many of them could be actors in a German commercial. In the movie, you could never guess it took place in Chile. You might think Miami or L.A—actually everything in the movie was whiter and generally nicer than much of the US. The cars, the clubs, the houses, the people were all so very posh. So, for people who see this movie, the situations and people represent the rich few. Chile has one of the very highest income disparities in the world. It is a wealthy nation, not really third world--but there is a whole lot of wealth that doesn't make it to the actual peopl who need it.

Settling in

I moved out of that guesthouse a couple weeks ago into this great new house. Gino (the real estate man who I wrote about a couple weeks ago) found it for me. This old man named Carlos is renting me a room, but he is only there Saturday night and he occasionally stops by to fix something or say hello. Everything is working out well and the house even came with a bike, so I am biking to work! The house is right on the edge of town, so I have the countryside one block away. Riding my bike around there is pleasant and quite a change from town. Huasos, the Chilean cowboy, can be seen riding their horses around just a couple minutes from my urban home. So all in all things are going fine, I like my house and I like Melipilla.

The past couple weekends Angie and I have been doing stuff with Gino. He has taken us to three barbecues, two of which were at his English friend Frank’s house. Frank is great and so are all of his friends (who are mostly Chilean). He is 64 and has been living in Chile for the better part of 40 years most recently as a real estate agent in Santiago. He was interestingly enough rather pro-Pinochet, while his Chilean friends and family were quite liberal. So as you can imagine, the discussions were lively. These barbecues have been oddly international in flavor. So far we have met a Mexican, two English people, another American, two or three Chileans who are half German and have lived in the US, and finally a German who is married to an Ecuadorian. Everyone has been really nice and they have all welcomed us to their homes any time we wish. Despite all the nice people we’ve met, I still haven’t met any people who are likely to become great friends simply due to the fact that everyone I have met is 20-40 years older than I am. But I'll see how this goes. at least I am getting some Spanish practice.

Hike in the Andes

A trip to South America would not be complete without a little hiking in the Andes. Last weekend I went to Santiago and joined up with my English friends Laura and Sally. We booked an expensive guided hike to the summit of Mt. Pintor, at 4200 mts—that’s about 13,800 ft. I noticed the altitude in the car on the way up, as I got a little headache. The hike started at a ski resort above Santiago at 3500 meters, but we quickly ascended into the wilderness. It was absolutely disgusting to see the smog filled valley below. The city was not even really visible—just a brown cloud. So it was nice to get some normal fresh air. Plus the weather was excellent—sunny blue skies, but chilly. I could feel the altitude right away, and climbing the very steep slope required what felt like 10 times the effort it would have at sea level. Luckily I was ok and didn’t get sick—neither did Laura or Sally. The views were awesome as we climbed up into a Mars-like terrain where nothing grew and nothing lived. A glacier covered peak well over 5000 meters was staring us right in the face for most of the hike. After about 2.5 hours we reached the summit! It was tiring, but we were all ok, and it felt great to be above the smog and on top of an Andean peak. The wind was tame, which was nice since the temperature was barely above freezing I would guess. The view must be similar to the view on top of Mt. Rainier, since we were almost as high and the city below is only at about 1000 ft. We hiked back exhausted, but feeling good. The car ride back down to very low elevation was ok. I was worried my head would implode, but it didn’t and I suffered a small headache—which is pretty good considering we went from nearly 14000 feet to 1000 in just a few hours. So all in all it was worth it—expensive but worth it.

This is from near the beginning

We climbed the less glaciated one. That's Laura and our guide Juan ahead of me

Us at the top!

Happier Times

It’s amazing how quickly things can change. Yesterday things were not going so well. Magali called me and the connection was so incredibly horrible I couldn’t understand a word she was saying. I went out to find a phone card, tried to call from the guesthouse, but the old lady here is so old I don’t think she understood the concept of a phone card. She kept saying you could only make local calls. Well that may be, but a phone card is different, and she wouldn’t pay for anything either. Anyway I ended up calling Magali from a pay phone, which cost far too much money. In addition, I still had no place to live, and our checks did not arrive on time.

Today, on the other hand, was much brighter. Angie and I went to see Gino, a real estate man who was going to show me another apartment. The one he showed me the other day was dingy and largely unfurnished (like there was no stove where there obviously used to be one), but still kind of funky and in a decent quiet location. Today we went to the supermarket and Gino talked to his buddy who works at the meat department. He had a room that he would consider renting out to me. So Gino drove us to his buddy’s house, which apparently has no address, so it was difficult to find. How a house can be sans address I do not know. Anyway, it was awesome! A very nice place with a couch, kitchen and the works, even a garden. The location is excellent and it’s on a quiet street. The old guy lives in a house in the countryside and only comes to the place in town every so often. It would cost me $95,000 a month (that’s pesos), not including utilities I believe. The catch is that the owner of the house does not want the man renting the room out. So if I ever come across her, I just have to say I am an invitado and that I’m not really living there. Sounds good to me! After viewing what will likely be my home for the next four months, Gino took us on a little adventure.

Gino Arab grew up in Melipilla. We tried to guess his age at 38, and he said “yeah somewhere around there.” He’s Chilean (a white Chilean), but has a very diverse background; Italian grandmother and Palestinian and Jewish parents (yeah!). His family is all in Melipilla, some of whom we met at the furniture store, including an old man (uncle, father, friend…not sure) who told us when he was young he used to speak English, French and Arabic, until he moved to Chile and forgot it all. He spent 60 days on a boat to get here. Gino seems to come from a strong Melipilla family. He knows about 80% of the people we pass on the street and he offered to take us anywhere and help us with anything we needed. When Angie asked if he knew a place where we could taste wine, without hesitation he whipped out his phone, made a call, and in no time we were cruising down dirt roads in his little Fiat, on the way to a spontaneous wine tasting. We pulled up to a small country house with some patio tables and chairs set out. Gino went around back and hollered. A little old lady who Gino calls Nona came out and we were proudly introduced as Gino’s amigos norteamericanos. Gino has known Nona since he was a child, as has apparently every other person in Melipilla. In fact, no one even really knows her actual name. They all just call her Nona. We drank chicha which if I understand correctly is something in between wine and grape juice—something like grape cider. There is a dulce version and a fuerte. We had the fuerte which was pretty good. It’s different. It’s not wine, but it’s definitely not juice either, and it has the pale pink color of grapefruit juice. After one pitcher, she brought out another, and then another…you get the picture. I certainly hadn’t planned on getting drunk at 1:00 in the afternoon on a Wednesday, but this was what was happening and in Chile you just have to go with the flow. During this time a kid stopped by on his bike to buy cigarettes from Nona. Another old woman came by whom Gino oddly did not know, but then after a quick chat he realized he spent much of his childhood playing at her house. I love small towns. Later on, two old men came by who were delighted to meet Angie and I. We all engaged in alcohol induced, language-barrier stricken conversations about God and the goodness of people. They invited us to a barbecue whenever. We can’t do it this Saturday because we are supposedly going to eat lunch at Gino’s English friend’s house. He really wants us to meet him so we can speak English together.

After today, I see Melipilla in a much different light—the way I was hoping it would turn out. It is a quaint friendly city—the kind of place where you say hi to people on the street even if you don’t know them. The old men wear the large-brimmed Chilean hats, and I even saw a traditional Chilean dance in the plaza de armas yesterday. If I get to move in to this house, I just might not want to leave.

Mendoza pictures!

Typical car and scene in Mendoza

Vinyards!

The main paseo

Me at a winery.

Melipilla Mess

On Monday, Angie and I finally moved to Melipilla. Duoc (the university system I am working for) was supposed to have found us housing in Melipilla before classes started. However, they did not really do their job, and despite the many calls from Teaching Chile over the previous several weeks, they didn’t do anything. We ended up commuting to Melipilla from our hostel in Santiago. This was supposed to only last one week, but of course we did it for two. Duoc finally found a place for me close to the university and with a Chileno. However, the day before I was supposed to move in, it fell through. The guy apparently did not tell his roommate about having another person live with them for 4 months. Angie had a similar problem, and hers fell through as well. At the very last minute Duoc found us a guesthouse sort of place. We came here on Monday, but have already started looking for other places to live. The location is excellent—only 3 blocks from the college, but it’s like being at a very cliché Grandma’s house. The woman is nice, but she overdoes it. She is TOO nice. If she forgets to put the sugar on the table, she apologizes as if she had just run over my dog. We don’t have a key to the outside door, so we have to let her know when we are coming back, and forget about coming back after midnight. We do get fed 2.5 meals a day including an excellent lunch, which is great, but the kitchen is locked in the evening, so cooking ourselves is a bit difficult. The place is “nice.” It’s under construction now, which was supposed to be finished on Monday for our arrival. There is a garden with grapes hanging everywhere, but there is this dog who is chained to a tree and who cries and whimpers incessantly. It’s sad and annoying. Also, I have a very severe ant problem in my bathroom. Luckily, everyday she cleans away the hundreds of dead ants that appear there over the course of a day. I don’t want to know what kind of chemicals I am living in. All this for what would be $240,000 (pesos) a month, which is pretty ridiculous. That is like $600 a month, which is about twice what it should be. It does include laundry, all utilities (TV and supposedly internet), 2.5 meals, and maid service. But I don’t necessarily need all those things.

The husband cannot understand a single word I say. Ok, so my Spanish is far from perfect, but other people can at least understand the words I am trying to spit out! He has no clue at all. I tried to explain to him that I was going to the plaza to get my carnet, or mi cedula (my Chilean ID). He had no idea what I was looking for, and started throwing out various words that start with “C.” No, I was not looking for the califont (water heater), nor did I suddenly have a desire for carne. I don’t think he has ever had to talk to anyone with any kind of accent. I bet someone from Spain would have almost as hard of a time with this man.

This all might be a little harsh because the people are so generous and the place is livable. But I don’t think I want to pay so much for this for four months. We’ve already looked at 3 places, and hopefully more today. (We will live separately, but we are looking together to see all options available) So far, I haven’t found any that really jump out at me. Angie liked the first place we saw, so she might end up with it, but it’s also still my top choice. It’s a party house with 7 other young Chileans. Great place for Spanish and social life, but it was pretty dumpy, with a painfully small bedroom, and it will surely be loud.Today we’ll make some more calls and hopefully see a few more options. Our pre-paid housing runs out next week!

Mendoza

This weekend was Easter, as you probably know. In Chile, that means a 3 or 4 day weekend, and everyone leaves the city. Angie, Elizabeth and I headed to Mendoza, Argentina—a 6-8 hour bus ride away. Friday morning we took off on the most spectacular bus ride I have ever been on. We crossed the Andes on the windiest switchbacky road I have ever seen, over an 11,000 ft. pass, and got a good clear glimpse of Mt. Aconcagua, the highest peak in the western hemisphere at over 22,000 ft. It truly was stunning and reminded me sometimes of the Alps and sometimes of Colorado or Glacier and then like Utah when we crossed to the other side. Sadly we couldn’t get out of the bus and explore. When we arrived in Mendoza, we went straight to the hostel and attempted to check in. They had lost our reservation, and lucky for us the entire city of Mendoza was completely out of rooms. Hostelbookers.com had overbooked the hostel—and badly. Virtually everyone’s reservation was messed up in some way. People were sleeping on the couches in the lobby because Mendoza was full. We argued with the front desk in Spanish for a few minutes and then after a phone call, 3 beds miraculously appeared. The girls were ok, but in my room all of the beds were taken. The hostel man was certain that there was one available because the computer said so. However, that was obviously not the case. For some reason, there was an extra mattress in the room, so we laid it on the floor and I volunteered to take it (for free of course) if they gave me some sheets. They refused and told me to take one of the beds since there was most certainly one free. So I did, and I moved someone’s stuff off the bed. Sure enough, at 4am, the rightful owner of the bed came stumbling in. Luckily, he was probably drunk so he just passed out on the mattress. In the morning, I tried to explain the whole situation, but he really did not care at all.

The first night we were there, we tried got a feel for the city and went to eat. It seemed there were more foreigners in Mendoza than Argentines—it was extremely touristy. However, it was really fun and the city comes completely alive after 10pm. Street performers, venders, and live music fills the streets. It’s a great summery festive atmosphere. For food, we went to find some Parilla, which is a traditional Argentine giant pile of meat. We paid $8 for a salad, empanada, and all you can eat meat, which they brought to our table on a grill so it would stay warm. It was quite good, but I stayed away from the kidney and one other organy mystery meat.

The next day we explored Mendoza. The city oddly reminded me of Poland. Wide tree-lined streets filled with old Peugots gave it a strangely soviet feel. The city is in a near perfect grid, with a large central park and four perfectly spaced smaller plazas surrounding the city center. The food was good—better than Chile in my opinion and a bit cheaper as well. The service, however, was lacking and I realized Chileans are quite speedy when it comes to restaurants.

Our Saturday afternoon was devoted to a “Bikes and Wine” adventure. We made our way out to the countryside and rented some bikes to do a winery tour. The road was busier than I would have liked, and at times kind of dangerous, but it was nice to get out and bike. We hit up two wineries and ended up running in to virtually everyone who was staying at our hostel as well as three of our friends from Santiago! Debbie, Cameron and Emily were in Mendoza for the weekend doing the same thing we were. It’s not a huge city, so we knew we would run into them sometime. After another glass of wine, we all biked back to the rental place. On our way back, two guys on a motorbike reached out and grabbed Elizabeth’s bag, trying to rip it off her. They pulled hard and she wobbled and crashed right in the middle of this very busy road. I was horrified when she fell, thinking she was going to have a gruesome accident. Luckily, she went down and came out with just some cuts and bruises on her legs. She could have been seriously injured or even killed, had a car been coming. I was right behind her and saw the whole thing. The men sped away, thankfully not getting her purse. Two women immediately came to the rescue and called the police, who were very nice and took her back to the bike rental place. Of course, these thieves won’t be caught. People like that make me absolutely sick. It’s one thing to pickpocket someone on the metro, but this sort of crime is violent. You can’t yank someone’s purse off when they are riding a bike and not expect a bloody result. Anyway, Elizabeth was ok, just a bit shaken up. The bike place even had someone (I have no idea who it was) take us back to the hostel in his car. That night we met up with our friends who we ran into and went to a pretty bad Mexican place. Go to Argentina to eat piles of meat, not Mexican food. My carne burrito was actually more or less a piece of pizza, with a small meat filling. It was weird.

We had to leave Sunday morning at 7am, because that was only bus back to Santiago. Everything was going fine until we hit the border. Drug sniffing dogs caught a scent and the border police detained this poor British girl who was just traveling through. She spoke no Spanish and was completely terrified. They strip searched and humiliated her. It turns out the man she was sitting next to was trying to smuggle cocaine. He had it taped to his body in a little pouch. This caused a long delay, but eventually the man was let back on the bus! We thought he would surely be going to jail, but it turns out he only had enough for personal consumption, so he basically got let off with a fine and a court date sometime this week. Elizabeth yelled at him to apologize to the poor English girl, but he just kind of smirked. What an asshole. Who tries to smuggle drugs across a South American border by taping it to yourself?? What an idiot.
We did get back, and despite these three incidences, we really had a great time. Mendoza is beautiful and well worth a visit, as long as you wear your purse in the front, don’t use hostelbookers.com, and please, don’t try and smuggle cocaine.

A Few Pics, click on them to see original size

This is my store!

Santiago skyline, from Cerro Santa Lucia

Me on top of Cerro San Cristobal

El Tabito, the beach!

Chile quirks

As I complete my third week here in Chile, I certainly have been here enough time to make some judgments about the way things run.

1.) 1) Receipts.

In this country, you receive a receipt for EVERYTHING. How much paper is wasted from this practice?? Every small mundane purchase merits a slip of proof. In the words of Mitch Hedberg, “I bought a doughnut and they gave me a receipt for the doughnut. I don't need a receipt for a doughnut. I'll give you the money, you give me the doughnut—end of transaction. We do not need to bring ink and paper into this. I just cannot imagine a scenario where I would have to prove that I bought a doughnut. Some skeptical friend—"Don't even act like I didn't get that doughnut—I got the documentation right here! (pause) Oh wait, it's back home in the file…under 'D'…for doughnut." 'Cuz we all know that 'D' is for doughnut.”

He could not have summed it up better. Mitch Hedberg must have gone to Chile.

2.) 2) Inefficiency while making a purchase.

In Chile, most purchases are made three or four times more difficult and time consuming than necessary. For example, the other day I went to buy a piece of cardboard paper to use in my class. It cost $300 pesos, less than one dollar. The process involved going downstairs and asking for the paper. He gives me a statement of what I want with the price on it. This of course required waiting a minute for the machine to print. Then I had to go back upstairs and wait in a long line to pay for my piece of cardboard. The line could not have been moving slower. After a good 10 minutes, I got to the register and handed her my slip. She types some things and stamps and writes on the slip. Then we sit and wait a good minute for the machine to print me out another slip of paper. This is my second receipt and proof that I paid for my piece of cardboard. Next, I went back downstairs to get what I paid for. The man says that I retrieve my cardboard upstairs. So I go back upstairs and make my way through the cash register line to hand another man my new receipt. Magically, my cardboard had somehow made it upstairs, and was wrapped in a tube. The man stamped my new receipt and then of course gives me my yellow copy. I walked out at least 20 minutes later. All of this for a 300peso piece of cardboard.

3.) 3) Bus stops.

Chile has an excellent bus system. They run frequently and you can get most places you want to go around the country. I have few complaints about the busses, except for the fact that there are like a dozen different companies that often go to the same places, and there is no database or system or location where you can view where all of these companies go and their times. It seems people just sort of already know. Anyway, bus stops. When I take the bus to Melipilla, it makes several very quick stops…along the freeway. I don’t know how these people know the bus will stop there, or where they are coming from or going to when they get on. The bus will just pull over, literally on the side of the freeway and someone will get on or off. There are no houses nearby, just usually an onramp and some fields and cows. Where are they going?? Also, these are business men in nice suits, not farmers. Sometimes people even get on at the toll booth—but actually in the middle of the freeway right after the toll! So the bus gets through, and then some guy is just standing there in the middle of the road to be picked up. It’s just plain weird.

4.) 4) Weird professor man

This is not about Chile, just about a weird professor. He speaks English quite well, but seemed a bit too happy to meet Angie and me. He heard us speaking English and talked to us and said he studied abroad in Michigan many years ago. He seemed enthralled with us, especially me. He thought it was the most amazing thing he’d ever heard when I told him I studied in France. And now for the weird part: He calls me “boy.” “Hey, boy” and then he shakes my hand. Or sometimes, it’s, “Hey, how’s my boy?” Yesterday he even referred to Angie and I as ‘boys.’ Now I do believe it has been many years since he has spoken English, so I think he is trying to say ‘guys’ or something like that. But it just comes out creepy. Then he invited Angie and I to a rodeo or something, but we are going to be out of town in Mendoza, Argentina on the weekend.

Teaching week one

Yesterday I finished my first week of teaching! Since I do not yet have a place to live in Meliplla, I had to commute from Santiago—which is about an hour and a half each way. I arrived Tuesday morning to show up for my new job, without knowing virtually ANYTHING. For some people this would be a nightmare. I just have to go with it, because this is Chile and things just don’t function like they do in the States. As TIPS (Teacher Intern Practicum Specialists), we received little training. Well, there was one week of ‘training’ but it we really didn’t receive any of the most necessary info. All I knew showing up was what time I had classes. Other than that, I had no materials, no syllabus, and no information on pretty much anything regarding course content. Not to mention that no one in the administration speaks a word of English, and the English director (who is in charge of us) actually works at another campus. (I just learned today that he quit. So…now we have no director). But I went in and I can luckily speak some Spanish, so I was able to figure out some things. My first class, Ingles Basico, is at 10am and the students are all learning to be auto mechanics. Needless to say, their level of English is not exactly outstanding. They were rowdy, but respectful, and if I told them to be quiet, they would—at least temporarily—shut up and listen. I let my classes go 20 to 45 minutes early, because it’s the first week, and we have no materials. I teach three classes in a row (2 basic, one intermediate) in the morning and then two in the evening, finishing at 10:45pm. I get a 4.5 hour break in the afternoon, which will be really nice when I am actually living in Melipilla. No complaints about my schedule, I have the best one out of anyone. Tuesday and Thursday, that’s all! So I have a 4 day weekend every weekend. Awesome. Anyway, my evening class consists of auto mechanics, whose level of English is lower than I thought humanly possible. If you surveyed Americans, I’m sure 95% of them would know what ‘gracias’ means. Well, my students in this class did not know ‘thank you’, they had never seen the verb ‘to be’ or ‘to have’ before, and struggled with the alphabet. They will be a challenge. I later realized that many of them have probably never studied Spanish before, and have no idea how to make sense of what I put on the board. I cannot be any clearer though! I translated everything and conducted most of the class in Spanish, but that didn’t get through to everyone. They see a bunch of words, but even with the translations have no real idea what it means or how it fits into real life speech. I don’t want to be negative, especially since these auto mechanics are quite motivated, but I seriously doubt many of their abilities to pass this class. Most of my other classes are a pleasure, and the students know just enough to make my job doable.

Overall, it was a good week. Thursday was even better, and I felt more confident, yet I still am only writing things on the board and having students repeat. This could get old fast. If I had some materials or access to a free copy machine, things might be different! However, I did play a numbers game with most of my classes, and they really enjoyed it. They got really into it. So at least they are having fun—that’s the kind of teacher I wanted to be.

Chilean fashion

I have never seen so many Iron Maiden shirts in my life. For some reason, heavy metal seems to be SUPER popular in this country--the word 'heavy' has even made it into Chilean slang. Everyone wears black, and 80% of the time it is band name shirt. I probably saw 5 or 6 Iron Maiden shirts yesterday, 2 Dream Theater shirts, and numerous others including Metallica, Cannibal Corpse and Slayer. I didn't even know Iron Maiden was still around.

The other style is kind of a thug deal-- just like any urban area in the states or Europe. Baggy jeans, fubu, etc...

Well that's about it for this post. I just can't wrap my head around why metal is the only style for young people here.

Santiago, week one

I’ve been in Chile more than one week and so much has happened that I thought I would start a blog again. I could have written several entries about the past week—I feel as if I have been here for a month.

Well, let’s get a review of my arrival and first week in Santiago. While waiting out a 3.5 hour delay in the Atlanta airport, I met three of the other teachers in my program who were on the same flight, and on the same taxi reservation. We grabbed a beer and some food and discussed the upcoming life-changing adventure. The flight down to Santiago was not particularly pleasant, as we had no personal screens and the least amount of leg room I had ever seen on an international flight. When we finally arrived, it was close to noon, and a few hours later than we were supposed to get there. Luckily, our taxi reservations were still there and we headed off to the hostel.

My first glimpse of Santiago revealed a seemingly wealthy city with good roads and new cars. When you are in the ‘centro’ you might feel like you are in Europe, not Latin America. Sure, the outskirts are poverty-stricken with some people living in shacks, but it is not even remotely on the same scale as Guatemala City, for example. I have a hard time designating Chile as ‘third-world.’ However, in talking with the two Chileans who own this hostel, I learned the rich European atmosphere is kind of a façade. Yes, Chile is the wealthiest nation in South America, but has a huge income disparity. The rich are very rich, and the poor are very poor. The middle class is scarce. In Santiago, even the well dressed businessmen walking down the streets are usually quite poor—but they don’t look it. The government has a lot of money, but it just is not distributed. Many people hate la presidenta Michelle Bachelet. According to one person, she was elected just because she was a woman, and not because she would be a good president. She has ties to Pinochet’s regime, and there is currently a war going on between the Mapuche Indians and the government in the North, so I have been told.

My first week in Santiago was great. About 13 other Americans and 3 English ladies are living in this hostel. Naturally we all became pretty good friends pretty quickly and have done virtually everything together. Of course small social groups have formed, but pretty much everyone is very cool and we all get along. The English ladies have dubbed me “Mountain Man” for obvious reasons. But what made them laugh the most was the fact that I own, wear, and am a vocal proponent of zip-off pants that are magically transformed into shorts. I am very different from many of the people here. BUT there seems to be a plurality of people from the Northwest, including a girl who went to UM (now lives in Seattle), and whose sister works with my cousin’s wife at a middle school in Helena. When two people from Montana meet, wherever you are in the world, there will ALWAYS be a connection. So I can talk about anything with them. The other day we Seattleites even made a toast to the phrase ‘the mountain is out.’ No one else understood the significance of that phrase, but we all knew. It is geography that attracted us northwesterners here. Apparently in rugged Patagonia, the vast majority of all tourists they get are from California, Washington, and Alaska—hardly an accurate representation of the population of the US.

After only a week, I know the metro system (which is quite nice) and can orient myself in the city. Overall, it’s European in appearance but with some very Latin neighborhoods and culture. Dogs run free throughout the city and there are constantly dozens of couples making out, very intensely I might add, in the park. So in that respect, this is South America.

The other day, I had the chance to visit my campus in Melipilla. I am excited about going there. This town is South America. It cannot be more different from Santiago—the buildings are colorful, the air is clean, and palm trees line the streets. The campus is actually situated on top of a mall. It’s the top floor of this normal American-style mall and the views are amazing. It is the highest building in town and every class has floor to ceiling windows. We showed up at this place and these two girls, about our age, met us and gave us a tour. They were SO nice and will likely help us with anything, ie. Housing?? They also spoke slowly enough for us to understand pretty much everything they said, which brings me to another point: Spanish. Chilean Spanish is certainly difficult to understand. They don’t seem to think the letter ‘s’ needs to be pronounced, and they speak rapid-fire with a smattering of Chilenismos. My Spanish seems to vary—sometimes I can understand pretty much everything and can hold a decent conversation, while other times I can’t even spit out a word. It will get better, especially in Melipilla, where Angie and I will be the ONLY gringos in the town. Oh, and I found out my name means, “money” in Chilean slang. Yo tengo las lucas!

That is a pretty large post, but not even nearly enough to get a feel for my first week. Yesterday I got back from a weekend at the beach, which I will maybe write more about later.