I spent two weekends ago back in the old stomping grounds of Santiago de Chile. I felt pretty grateful to be back, and moving at a slower pace; not running around and trying to fit in every historical/picturesque/gastronomically pleasing sight possible. There's a lot I've come to appreciate about 'the daily grind': sometimes you have to work a little bit harder to reach the goals others set for you. Other pleasures could be finding a seat on a packed bus, and running those seemingly pointless errands. This weekend was filled with wandering- Friday, I went to my volunteership to find my mentor crying in the office. Her grandmother had died that morning. I told her I'd stay anyway and try and help out the other English teacher, which I did. We played 'substitute' to about four different classes filled with wiggling little bodies. But not only little ones, but big ones as well: in fact, I was greeted with cat-calls and questions pertaining to my marital status upon entering the classroom of a bunch of fifteen year olds. Most of them looked older than me. They probably were.
Saturday Julia and I decided to go check out the gay pride parade. It was held in true carnaval style; with men dressed as showgirls, some succeeding more than others. Hell, some dudes looked waaay hotter than any of us girls and that was just plain depressing. But that's not the point. The funny thing that went down that day was the case of 'mistaken identity' that Julia and I found ourselves in:
The sun was beating down in the early-spring heatwave, and Julia and I quite happily accepted the picket-signs a very dominating-looking woman gave to us. There was very little shade so we used them as parasols to keep out the sun. We moved through the crowd to watch a flatbed truck of men-women dance to Madonna standards, and give moving speeches (it's just a damn shame that they had to take place at the same time because I couldn't devote my full attention to either). We finally get a bit relaxed, and we're swaying with the great beats pumping out of huge speakers. And then we're approached by a short man with a belly who begins shooting photos of us. He keeps going and Julia are starting to pose with our signs lifted high, smiling. Some North American tourists start taking photos too, because I'm sure everyone's had the feeling "I don't even know these people, but they seem like they might be important and maybe I don't know them, but there is no way I'm missing out on this photo opportunity. I bet they're celebs- and I mean they're right there. I could practically touch them. So-and-so at home will just die of jealousy.". Now we're working it for the cameras. A woman who seems to have a really bad case of take-a-photo-of-it-if-it-has-a-pulse-itis plants (and I am by no means embellishing here) a HUGE rainbow flag behind us as a backdrop and then gets to clicking away. By now, the novelty of being photographed had worn off and Julia and I were realizing we were being mistaken for a lesbian couple. And then we wondered why they would want so many damn photos of lesbians. And then we realized, looking around, that only militant lesbians were in attendance, and we counted as the only "normal looking" ones. The pot-bellied photographer came up and said "check La Cuarta on Tuesday for your picture". That's just too much. Now the whole damn country is going to know we're 'lesbians'? We're not even real lesbians!
We checked the paper, and found we were probably too ravishing for them to print, so we stayed on the cutting-room floor. But it was nice to feel like a celebrity- regardless of the assumed sexual-orientation. Part of me feels kinda sad that we didn't make it, because I would have just loved to have sent that clipping anonymously to my parents with a translation. But it's pretty lucky, because if my program saw that, I know they'd probably frame it, and I don't know if I'd be able to handle that.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Argentina, where the wine flows like the polluted waters of the Riachuela
I am here in Buenos Aires, and LOVING it. Today me and my fellow travelling pals: Tom, Julia and Alea met up with our new pal Jeff, who we met at our hostel, and went for a bicycle tour of the city. If you have even the least creative of imaginations, you would probably frown at the idea suggested by the last sentence. However, nobody in our camp had any flags going up at the prospect of ¨sharing the road¨ with Porteño motorists. We should´ve seen ´bike tour´and run in the opposite direction, bleating out random curses and grabbing at our crotches, just imagining the pain pedaling over cobblestones. But all of this was lost on us. It was like saying ¨Hey, I´m a little bored...how about rounding up some friends and playing some Russian Roulette?¨. But then again, it was terribly entertaining.
We started out seeing some random buildings: the University of Buenos Aires´s faculty of Law building, a memorial to the soldiers lost in the Falkland Islands/ Islas Malvinas that was cleverly constructed just across the street from a clock tower that had been gifted by England to Ar. on the occasion of their centennial celebration. I thought that was a bit tongue-in-cheek, but then again that´s how they feel about the Islas Malvinas matter. Don´t bring it up to them, they will only make you cry.
Then we continued to bike down streets that were about 12 lanes wide and continued to make a left hand turn from the right hand lane. I have a feeling that my little pal Alea suffered from at least one panic attack during the course of the ride. But this wasn´t even the best part-not even the fact that we were on 1950s-styled town-cruiser bikes and huge helmets in bright primary colors with giant flames running down them. We were not permitted to take them off unless we were off the bikes. It was pretty painful- I would honestly wear a training potty on my head in place of one of those things. I think it´s done permanent damage to my self-esteem. Funny, because I don´t remember signing any waiver forms....
We headed down from the luxurious side of town to the slums where we stopped at what could easily be described as: a huge tourist trap. The town was painted in crazy colors, and giant faked-up photo-ops were set up nearly every four feet. It was charming. I think I want a summer home there.
Here´s where it gets a little tricky: our tour was to end at 5pm. At that time, we were literally at the farthest point from our starting destination as possible. But that wasn´t all that was working against us; it was ¨Student´s Day¨. That means kids didn´t (figure that one out) have school and all gathered at the public parks lining Avenida San Martìn to smoke pot, drink out of 40s and listen to live music staged in different areas. It was pure chaos. People were everywere, it was like riding a bike through a shopping mall the night before Christmas. But, after being teased relentlessly for our càscaros or helmets and watching an enormous fistfight breakout (unrelated to our helmets, I´m told), we were back where we started from. It had been 5 1/2 hours. Thank God our guide was nice to look at.
We started out seeing some random buildings: the University of Buenos Aires´s faculty of Law building, a memorial to the soldiers lost in the Falkland Islands/ Islas Malvinas that was cleverly constructed just across the street from a clock tower that had been gifted by England to Ar. on the occasion of their centennial celebration. I thought that was a bit tongue-in-cheek, but then again that´s how they feel about the Islas Malvinas matter. Don´t bring it up to them, they will only make you cry.
Then we continued to bike down streets that were about 12 lanes wide and continued to make a left hand turn from the right hand lane. I have a feeling that my little pal Alea suffered from at least one panic attack during the course of the ride. But this wasn´t even the best part-not even the fact that we were on 1950s-styled town-cruiser bikes and huge helmets in bright primary colors with giant flames running down them. We were not permitted to take them off unless we were off the bikes. It was pretty painful- I would honestly wear a training potty on my head in place of one of those things. I think it´s done permanent damage to my self-esteem. Funny, because I don´t remember signing any waiver forms....
We headed down from the luxurious side of town to the slums where we stopped at what could easily be described as: a huge tourist trap. The town was painted in crazy colors, and giant faked-up photo-ops were set up nearly every four feet. It was charming. I think I want a summer home there.
Here´s where it gets a little tricky: our tour was to end at 5pm. At that time, we were literally at the farthest point from our starting destination as possible. But that wasn´t all that was working against us; it was ¨Student´s Day¨. That means kids didn´t (figure that one out) have school and all gathered at the public parks lining Avenida San Martìn to smoke pot, drink out of 40s and listen to live music staged in different areas. It was pure chaos. People were everywere, it was like riding a bike through a shopping mall the night before Christmas. But, after being teased relentlessly for our càscaros or helmets and watching an enormous fistfight breakout (unrelated to our helmets, I´m told), we were back where we started from. It had been 5 1/2 hours. Thank God our guide was nice to look at.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
iFeliz Fiestas Patrias!
Hello friends, I'm off to an asada-barbecue- and to observe the crazy fiestas or carretas that go on down here (at least 10 people are left dead every year from too much partying). It is a great improvement on my other activities- laundry, poop picking up, the watching of a dubbed television show from circa 1973, starring Patrick Duffy...
I'll be sure to log the interesting goings on, as I'm sure there should be more than enough.
I'll be sure to log the interesting goings on, as I'm sure there should be more than enough.
Where I've been for the past several days:
Well, my host family has gone to Brazil to pass the Fiestas Patrias, so I returned from my little jaunt to the south to pass the next few days in solitude. Which, if I may say so, is the perfect mini-rest between my own vacations.
I just arrived home this evening from a four day trip to the Southern 'Lake District' which was quite the little adventure. I went with my two girlfriends, Julia and Alea, by plane to a town called Temuco. Once there, we treated ourselves to a nice hotel room and walked around the city- average Latin American town with a center Plaza de Armas and assorted street vendors, not to mention the requisite Paris and Falabella department stores (they're more populous than street dogs). We then proceeded the next day to Villarica, a splendid little town that seemed very similar to Boyne City. Allow me to interject that at this point the architecture grew Bavarian, and the streets had names like Blah Blah Blah Schmidt, etc. History Lesson: Villarica, although small in size and highly seasonal by current day standards, was once the gold-panning hot spot of Chile; hence the name. We went to a thermal spa in the evening and relaxed. The next morning is when the fun began: all three of us girls awoke before dawn in order to eat breakfast and catch the 7 am bus. Well, the person who told us about this alleged 'bus' was misinformed. Infact, the bus terminal wasn't even open until 7:30 <Please take this moment to appreciate the fact that I woke up at 6 am and there were no firearms involved in coaxing me out of bed>. No matter, we're still ready to go, and a little waiting doesn't hurt anyone. We were the second to be helped in line. The cashier told us that unfortunately, our desired ride was absolutely full, and so was every other one that was to leave before about 1pm that day. We were crestfallen. The cashier then quickly suggests that we hedge our bets on catching an available ride from some tiny town called Loncoche. That way, we'd get to Valdivia (our preffered destination, and also former fortified colony...which didn't save it from certain doom by Mapuche warriors).
needless to say, we didn't arrive in Valdivia 'til about four, as we had to spend three stimulating hours in Loncoche- shanty town extraordinaire. There, we realized that only two of us had brought umbrellas, and that I have the smelliest feet on earth-dampening them only makes them more aromatic. Perhaps it was dipping them in the brackish water of Con Con, or the fact that I haven't removed them from my feet since arriving here, but I actually have made myself gag at the mere prospect of leaning down to unlace them. For that reason, they are currently soaking in a ridiculous amount of detergent. I have a feeling this may not even touch the odor though.
It's so bad that I think it may get in the way of making (or keeping) friends.
I just arrived home this evening from a four day trip to the Southern 'Lake District' which was quite the little adventure. I went with my two girlfriends, Julia and Alea, by plane to a town called Temuco. Once there, we treated ourselves to a nice hotel room and walked around the city- average Latin American town with a center Plaza de Armas and assorted street vendors, not to mention the requisite Paris and Falabella department stores (they're more populous than street dogs). We then proceeded the next day to Villarica, a splendid little town that seemed very similar to Boyne City. Allow me to interject that at this point the architecture grew Bavarian, and the streets had names like Blah Blah Blah Schmidt, etc. History Lesson: Villarica, although small in size and highly seasonal by current day standards, was once the gold-panning hot spot of Chile; hence the name. We went to a thermal spa in the evening and relaxed. The next morning is when the fun began: all three of us girls awoke before dawn in order to eat breakfast and catch the 7 am bus. Well, the person who told us about this alleged 'bus' was misinformed. Infact, the bus terminal wasn't even open until 7:30 <Please take this moment to appreciate the fact that I woke up at 6 am and there were no firearms involved in coaxing me out of bed>. No matter, we're still ready to go, and a little waiting doesn't hurt anyone. We were the second to be helped in line. The cashier told us that unfortunately, our desired ride was absolutely full, and so was every other one that was to leave before about 1pm that day. We were crestfallen. The cashier then quickly suggests that we hedge our bets on catching an available ride from some tiny town called Loncoche. That way, we'd get to Valdivia (our preffered destination, and also former fortified colony...which didn't save it from certain doom by Mapuche warriors).
needless to say, we didn't arrive in Valdivia 'til about four, as we had to spend three stimulating hours in Loncoche- shanty town extraordinaire. There, we realized that only two of us had brought umbrellas, and that I have the smelliest feet on earth-dampening them only makes them more aromatic. Perhaps it was dipping them in the brackish water of Con Con, or the fact that I haven't removed them from my feet since arriving here, but I actually have made myself gag at the mere prospect of leaning down to unlace them. For that reason, they are currently soaking in a ridiculous amount of detergent. I have a feeling this may not even touch the odor though.
It's so bad that I think it may get in the way of making (or keeping) friends.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Hello family and friends,
I just wanted to let you know that I've added more photos to my picasa account.
I just wanted to let you know that I've added more photos to my picasa account.
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
"Why must it all be so dramatic?", she cried.
Funny I should have mentioned the tear gas; because surprise, surprise guess what I encountered while walking to class today? That's right. I have had a stuffy nose and sore throat, courtesy of my host sister, so I wasn't surprised when it began to run like a faucet as I neared campus. But then my eyes started watering and burning. I saw the people on the sidewalk up ahead holding handkerchiefs over their noses and mouths. Then I realized that this is pepper spray. It was like being skunked, but even more powerful and prickly on the senses. Admittedly, it was a bit off-putting, but there was no way that I was going to miss this class. I arrived a half an hour early to make sure there were students filing inside, and then waited another twenty minutes at my desk, after class was to have commenced, for the arrival of captain mutters-a-lot. We wrote questionnaires about anything we wanted...I still have yet to see it's pertinence in the class. However, I have made a new Chilean friend out of the whole deal, a very smart girl who is studying to be an English teacher, named Daniela. She pretty much told me that I haven't missed much, and that the day I couldn't find the class and went to talk to the secretary, class had been delayed for about an hour. "And where do you sign up to be on that e-mail list?", I ask. She giggles. "There's no list; you just have to wait." Classic.
Apparently, the tear gas was from a pedagogy protest march asking for more government funding. I don't think these kids are being irrational, I mean the school's so tight with cash, you have to bring your own toilet paper. Additionally, I should expect more and more of these protests this month because 1) September 11th is not only the day of the awful attacks on the twin towers, but also the golpe de estado staged by Augusto Pinochet in 1973. 2) The 19th of this month marks the country's independence day, and 3) the 29th is considered a 'dia de patria' as well, and I was told by two Chilean students to expect at least one demonstration every week for the next month. So, let's just say we're not out of the dark just yet.
Apparently, the tear gas was from a pedagogy protest march asking for more government funding. I don't think these kids are being irrational, I mean the school's so tight with cash, you have to bring your own toilet paper. Additionally, I should expect more and more of these protests this month because 1) September 11th is not only the day of the awful attacks on the twin towers, but also the golpe de estado staged by Augusto Pinochet in 1973. 2) The 19th of this month marks the country's independence day, and 3) the 29th is considered a 'dia de patria' as well, and I was told by two Chilean students to expect at least one demonstration every week for the next month. So, let's just say we're not out of the dark just yet.
Monday, September 3, 2007
Monday, Monday...
Greetings, friends.
I have only a few moments to write, so I'll be short:
I have my alleged class today, and if I am late to it, I may have a breakdown. The story behind it is that I apparently went to the wrong classroom, and so as soon I realized no one was coming to the class, I went to the Linguistics office to inquire as to which room the class had been moved to. The secretary scoffed, and gave me a quizzical look, "That class is only on Mondays at 6pm." She looked at me as if I had just asked her what year it was, and, as it was Wednesday at 2:30pm, I might as well have.
Well, I wait until the next week comes around (which was last week) and sit in the classroom until about 6:30. Nope, no class there, no class on the next floor, and when I return to the faculty office, I ask a different secretary, and she looks through her little book. "Oh, I'm sorry, that class is on Mondays and Wednesdays at 2:30. You'll have to come Wednesday and check those two classrooms." Well, as you may remember, there was a huge, violent protest all day on Wednesday, and all classes were cancelled. Maybe it was because of all the tear-gas that the police were throwing, or the fact that they were arresting everyone, even businessmen trying to get to their offices...we may never know. So here we are, and I'm packing my bag with bated breath and crossed fingers. I hope this class is actually happening. I don't care if it's shoe-talker. I just want to graduate, for God's sake!
I have only a few moments to write, so I'll be short:
I have my alleged class today, and if I am late to it, I may have a breakdown. The story behind it is that I apparently went to the wrong classroom, and so as soon I realized no one was coming to the class, I went to the Linguistics office to inquire as to which room the class had been moved to. The secretary scoffed, and gave me a quizzical look, "That class is only on Mondays at 6pm." She looked at me as if I had just asked her what year it was, and, as it was Wednesday at 2:30pm, I might as well have.
Well, I wait until the next week comes around (which was last week) and sit in the classroom until about 6:30. Nope, no class there, no class on the next floor, and when I return to the faculty office, I ask a different secretary, and she looks through her little book. "Oh, I'm sorry, that class is on Mondays and Wednesdays at 2:30. You'll have to come Wednesday and check those two classrooms." Well, as you may remember, there was a huge, violent protest all day on Wednesday, and all classes were cancelled. Maybe it was because of all the tear-gas that the police were throwing, or the fact that they were arresting everyone, even businessmen trying to get to their offices...we may never know. So here we are, and I'm packing my bag with bated breath and crossed fingers. I hope this class is actually happening. I don't care if it's shoe-talker. I just want to graduate, for God's sake!
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