Ferris Bueller does Chile

Yesterday was by far the most ridiculously fabulous day in Chile thus far.
I was Ferris Bueller and this is my story:
Wednesdays we only have class in the mornings... and yesterday I had none. Mom and Dad dont get mad and think of it as a cultural experience... LuisFer, my host brother goes to Universidad El Central and the school had contracted 50 buses to go to the beach, to celebrate the school year. My friend Debra and I went to represent the gringo population. At 10 am we got to the school where hundreds of students were impatiently awaiting the buses. Just imagine 300 students with backpacks filled with pisco and coca cola (like Jack and Coke). When a bus would come hordes of people would chase it, push each other in through the door and even try to pull up friends who werent so lucky. It was loud and crazy with people yelling, screaming, greeting each other.
We finally got on the bus 3,4 to a seat ... packed in. As soon as the wheels started rolling, the copete (piscola, jack and coke) appeared. The party started at 10 am. We drove for an hour and a half from hustle bustle Santiago to the coast. Sand dunes, little markets, horses, brightly colored houses started to appear. Occasionally the bus would stop to spit out a few people whose bladders couldnt wait. They just went on the side of the road while the bus cheered them on. We finally got there and found ourselves in sand dunes, everyone on a search for the perfect oudoor bathroom... Along the road, all you could see was a parade of parked buses, 50 of them! You walk down a hill and then BAM. Beach, music, 300 college students!!!! Dancing, drinking, socializing for hours and hours and hours. And every person swore they were on top of the world.
The water was freezing, the sun wasnt too hot and the completos (hot dogs with avacado, tomato, bun, and mayo) were everywhere. There was a DJ playing Shakira and various reggaeton beats. We set up camp and hung out talking with whoever would walk by. Somehow we ended up missing the last bus and waited another hour for another bus to come. The sun was setting and there were horses and dogs meandering along the dunes. We got to sleep a little on the bus while the rest of the people continued partying. Sometimes someone would start a chant, like the ones they sing at the soccer games and then the whole bus would erupt in spanish rhyme banging their fists on the roof.
When we got back (at 10) Evelyn my host sister had people over to watch the soccer game... Costa Rica vs. Chile. Needless to say, there was more copete.... surprisingly I was still alive and on my feet at this point and then we started playing a dice game (like kings).
My host dad, host brother, host sister, and some friends just made a circle on LuisFers bed and played this game until about 4 in the morning! I have not laughed that hard for a long time. Today my cheeks and my abs are killing me from so much laughing and smiling. We would joke, fall into conversations, pull each other leg and then Evelyn fell off the bed into the closet and we laughed for 3 straight minutes. Its a pretty long time. One of those images that just thinking about might cause you to laugh out loud in an internet cafe.
So, 18 hours of drinking piscola carreteando (i wish that the english translation of this word could encompass all that it is but basically... partying, hanging out, having a good time, or also going out. We made some good friends and some good memories. Dont you think Ferris would be proud?

getting there

after a lot of hours...

with Jamon, my host brothers best friend. Pretty much sums up the whole day.

las cruces. chile.

Just clench your teeth and do it.

Make a decision! Just do it! Take control of your experience... stand up for those things that people do with little integrity. Its hard, its difficult but sometimes you just have to hold true to your philosophy and to the agreements we have with ourselves.
And I did it. I changed families... and it has made all the difference. Santiago has a new face now, actually 5 new faces. Melisa, Pepe, Evelyn, LuisFer, and La Abuela.
It was difficult to leave Carmen- her house and her life in Providencia. I believe that she is a good woman, who is just used to being alone and lonely; that she feels comfortable and safe in her lonliness. But I didn't come to Chile to live in a homestay that is run like a hotel... where your basic needs are always satisfied but your heart is lonely. Our point of contact, our relationship was built around the dog... because Dominga is her best friend and she lives for the dog. For 12 years she has been receiving students in her house, but there is no exchange- no real desire to find out who I was or to share who she is. It was always forced conversation, me putting myself in situations where she would talk to me, and a lot of lonley, lonely days. I thought it was strange when I got there and no one (her son, daughter-who she talks to once a week on the phone, neighbors, etc.) knew I was coming. I just kept having this repited feeling.. this isnt the philosophy of the program.. of myself... of a home.
So, I was honest with my feelings and it was a hard decision to make because I feel so bad for Carmen, its hard not to feel bad when you meet her and see how hard she has struggled, how guarded she is... but I cant spend the rest of my time here in such a sterile enviornment because I feel bad. Sure we had some good times, good laughs, and smiles.... but it was greatly outnumbered by the heavy empty times...
Rene, the director of the program talked to me as soon as I told him about the contract she showed me, I was out of there... he took the weighing decision out of my hands. Simply, he told me ... this isnt the best family for you.
And the story of how I left is a whole nother blog entry in itself.... and I will come back to it!
But, I need to share the other half of the switch.
I'm in the back of a little white car stuffed window to window with my luggage (which I managed to pack all of it in a very rushed 10 minutes!). We are driving away from Providencia and into La Reina. Office buildings turn into trees, bushes, and flowers. I still have no idea what this new family will be like and I'm reeling from the emotions and events that have flushed over and out in a few very short hours.
And within minutes I am in a new doorway, with the same obscenely large backpack and sweating palms. There is a peacefulness about this house that you feel when you walk through the gate. Melisa comes to greet me in the living room, and then LuisFer my 23 year old host brother. Smiling, smiling, telling jokes, real life Chilean interaction... what a treat! We walk to the subway... my kind drivers leave me and when we return we meet the rest of the family. A 88 year old grandma, Pepe my retired host dad and Evelyn my host sister full of energy and hugs.

from last Sunday... host parents, host grandma-(such spirit!) and a host cousin... after a 90 degree day in the pool.

Its impossible to explain how wonderful wonderful wonderful I feel. How wonderful these people are. Oh yeah- theres a pool! To beat the 85-90 Santiago days! How much I finally feel like myself in this country! There is much more to come, there already is much more I need to catch up on. But the library is closing, I am the only one left so I should get going... I have a long sardine-esq metro ride home!

pool with Andes behind

!buena onda! some Chileans and Americans... guess whos who?

A lot of catching up to do...

A lot has happened, changed, and transformed my life here in Santiago. To start at the beginning I am posting a blog that I deleted almost as soon as I wrote it. But I think it serves as a good starting point:
March 5th

I sit here almost debating what I should write in this entry and if I should even write it at all. Because, today was different. And today was difficult. But the more I muse about my feelings the more I realize they are a part of this process, a part of learning and growing. So you have to deal with whats thrown at you, even if it makes you feel as small as mosquito.And as much as I want to just go on, forget about today and wake up tomorrow pretending that every day is as peachy as a Santiago sunset... I won't be that person right now.

Because right now, I feel so raw, exposed, and vulnerable to this long and powerful country. Today I have been confronted with questions and notions of being American. Am I even proud to be an American? What the heck does being American even mean, because every definition I've gotten so far is the antithesis of what I would call myself.But there is one thing that is so undeniably American... money. Crisp green dollar bills. And now I'm suddenly finding myself questioning how I define myself- how I define people- my want and need to trust in people. Because today I felt like a walking dollar bill... and I feel used.
And yet, there is this little voice somewhere in me (a conscience...a jimminy cricket?!) saying... well, can you really blame them? You are your nationality, as much as you try to deny it sometimes. Being from the U.S., being from NY implies something- opportunity and hope. And well Brady, arent you an easy target?
Earlier today I think I've made a friend, he tells me all about indigenous rights, his politcal views, poetry, the rights of oppressed. And then when its time to go back for dinner... well I'm an American and shouldnt I help pay for this person's university costs? I mean, its not going to cost me anything is it... Whats 20000 pesos... oh and hey, look there is a bank right here. Why dont you just give me a little bit of money- surely you can spare it, you have this nice backpack, these nice ideas, nice earrings, and nice eyes.
But these kinds of things take something away from a person. A freedom of spirit. An ability to trust. You need to walk around here with your backpack on your chest... forcing you to walk down stairs with a whole new appreciation for pregnant women... wary of taxis, of men, of women who work for men, of unlocked doors, of people standing next to you on the metro car, for people giving you a bad deal on a money exchange, for people taking advantage of you because well... you know, youre so obviously not from here.
And then at the same time, can you blame them... can you say you've walked in their shoes? That you've grown up amongst an indigenous population who are shunned and looked down upon by so many of their fellow citizens? That you've spent 8 years trying to pay for school? I mean, there's no way I can know what it feels like to have those feelings, those thoughts and fears. All that I have are my own, and today they have been consistently contested.
And God-forbid you tell someone that you are supposed to bring your lunch to school instead of returning to the house to eat; a journey that takes 45 minutes each way... because then, someone might take out the study abroad contract and tell you that it doesnt say that in there. Might point to and make you read word for word, where it says in neat black letters under the expectation section "to provide 2-3 meals per day during the period in which the student is in the homestay". If you cant come back for lunch, well you're on your own for that one... you're not my responsibility then...
Because, what are you anyway... money, a job for someone... are you a dollar bill or a "host daughter"?

Maybe its time to re-evaluate the meaning of naive. This is a snapshot. Of one day. Of the first day since I've been here where I've felt down, felt low, really put things in a different color of perspective. Tomorrow will be better, because its a new day. But today has its lessons as well.

The street where I live

Imagine a picture you've probably seen somewhere. A colorful house, a cobblestone sidewalk, and an older woman sitting on her stoop, squinting from the summer sun- her hand supporting her chin. Now imagine a few more of those women, a dog for each of them. And then me; somewhere in the background. The evenings in this quiet neighborhood are often transformed into a snapshot like this. Somehow I found myself in this surreal experience, talking with older ladies, musing and analyzing domestic pets.
I couldn't tell you where the closest discoteque is, the name of a Chilean pop star, or where the best movie theater is. But if you want to know the eating habits of mutts versus purebreds, which stray cats to avoid, or what exactly the positioning of your dogs ears mean... I've got you covered.
And although my situation here is different from the others in the program, while they are going out on Wednesdays and mingling with the chilean youth... I wouldn't change it. Because now I know Teresa, the woman who walks her dog Perla every day down the same street. Everyday with the same yellow shirt and the same denim skirt. Teresa, who cracks me up every time I see her because besides her dog, her other companion is the rolled up newspaper she doesnt hestitate using to swat street dogs who find their way in her path.
There is something so peaceful about this street, about the things I am learning and picking up on from these woman.
These women who have worked hard all their lives... who have seen and experienced so much here- a dictatorship, social unrest, kindappings, being widowed, some whose children may have even disappeared in the 70s. These women, who all day work as mothers, grandmothers, hairdressers, cleaners, nurses, friends, consultants, aunts... women who have worked all their lives. You need only to look at their feet to see the stories of their lives... strong, proud, and tired feet- feet that undeniably have walked many many miles. So keeping this in mind, I understand the peacefulness they have created here in Providencia. The preoccupation with their dogs, the enjoyment they get out of each others company, the reassurance that we are all, in some way, in the same boat. If for now if the worst of their worries is how many times a day their dog has eaten-thats not too bad at all.

the room, the patio and LA Dominga, my constant companion!