Shake and Move

2/3 of the Lucenos do Chile

2007-06-29T06:53:00.000-07:00

Charlie, our fearless chauffeur. Passes curve 39.

Our first prom picture in the Andes

No lift lines, GP. Ticket, gear, and classes 18$.

A surprise sighting of Michele Pachelet, presidenta of Chile. The blonde. Almost shook her hand, Dad will be beating himself up about that for the rest of the trip!

Ricardo, head of security at the presidential palace gives us a private tour. Launch 5 cards came in handy, thinks dads a rescue swimmer.

Couldnt pass up a shot of dad in his new coat, next to the president's orange tree.

As the sun sets, we found the southern cross. At the top of Cerro San Cristobal, looking out on Santiago. Photo taken by Cameron, moms new best Australian friend.

Chilean and New York family.

Look at all the pisco! Not another one!

An eventful trip to the Pacific. Stories to come. Couldnt find a sea lion or horses on the beach.

Now we are off to Buenos Aires, pictures and tales of the Tonto rubio to come. Miss you all and thinking of you. Adios, chau. SHAAA!

Through the lens

2007-06-20T15:15:00.000-07:00

Sunset at Copacabana. A trout meal for less than 3$.

Donkeys and llamas carry goods up and down the vertical hills and terraces of the Isla.

You dont need to be 21. Ha! Isla del Sol is run by families who open their houses and yards to be hostels or little restaurants where their 8 year old daughter might be your waitress.

A house that stood alone on the pass from the South and to the North end.

Isla del Sol

The Sacred Stone. Here on the island, they honor the creation story of the Inkas. The sun´s son and the moon´s daughter were born out of Lake Titicaca. They walked north from the icy lake until their golden staff would stick in the ground. They crossed the dry and brittle altiplano until they arrived in Cuzco, where their staff easily slid into the ground. For this, Cuzco is known as the ¨Navel of the World¨.

One of the motor boats that bring you around Isla del sol. They are usually blessed, with painted wood and a tiny smoking motor. Legend has it that if you were to fall overboard, the fishermen wouldnt rescue you. Instead, you would be given to Pachamama (Mother Earth) as an offering. Our captain, Felix assured us they rescue the tourists.

Main square and catedral in Cuzco. All around it are bars, discotecas, and balconies where you can get a coffee and a sandwich. Beware of the plaza at night where you can be bombarded by people shoving cards in your face and trying with all their power to have you come to their bar, restaurant, dance club! When in doubt, run.

Famous rock of 12 angles found in Cuzco´s wall. It says that this rock is holding the wall together, its 2 meters deep and the angles are supposed to help if their was ever to be seismic activity.

Festival in Cuzco, we are here right at the beginning of their solstice festivals. They say that Cuzco is always celebrating.. each morning we were woken up by voices on microphones and music from the main plaza.

Wheres my marker?

2007-06-13T17:55:00.000-07:00

Chileans have this joke. It gets them every time.

Tell any Chilean you are headed on a long bus journey, and before you even vocalize your destination... theyre laughing and telling you, you better bring a marker. At first I didnt get it.

In the last 5 days Ive taken 3 journeys on buses.
Santiago-San Pedro de Atacama, 25 hours.
San Pedro de Atacama- Arica, 11 hours.
Arica-La Paz, Bolivia, 9 hours.

Now I get it. Its to draw that line that runs down the seat of your pants. You lose it on these bus rides. And now Im wondering, wheres my marker!?

After the program ended we headed to San Pedro de Atacama, in the north north north of Chile. Its the driest place in the world. Its a small town full of hostels, artesania, family food restaurants, and adventure excursions. After a fuerte program, it was nice to be on vacation and see incredible places. Im with 3 incredible friends, we are working our way around South America. Already its been too much to put in words but Ill try.

-Visited salt flat, 3rd largest in the world. Full of shrimp, flamingos, and coral reef looking salt.
-Walked around deep blue lakes, rimmed with white potassium sand and golden grasses. Tricks you into thinking youve stumbled upon the alps.
-Went mountainbiking into the Valle de la Muerte... incredibly dry desert with sand dunes, rocky walls, and sandboarding tracks. Tried my luck with the sandboard... Hiking back up a massive dune in the middle of the driest place in the world, at 4,300 meters gives you a whole new appreciation for chair lifts.
-Watched the sunset in Valle de la Luna, one of the best places to see stars. Hiked across dunes and a walled crater.
-Watched the sunrise among the Geyesers de Tatio. Geysers which spew vapor from large nest looking holes or tiny snake looking holes in the ground. The background was volcanos.
-Took a thermal "bath" near the largest geyser... a hot spring strategically placed where the Chilean tour guides line up to watch the tourists, an experience!
-Ate llama. Quite tasty, salty, 0 cholesterol.
-Made some new friends in the hostel, at one point there was 5 languages going on in the same conversation. A striking contrast between the North Face travellers lugging mineral water and packs and the Northern Chileans, mostly watching....

We got to La Paz, Bolivia, the highest capital city! We are enjoying the Bolivian life for a day here, finding good food, helpful people excited to share their culture, and we are taking all safety precautions, I promise! Ive never been so responsible in my life, Mom and Dad!
-Found the best coffee in La Paz.
-Had 2 La Paz old ladies create a COA for us, to ceremonially burn when we travel to bring us good luck and have our wishes come true. It has herbs, confetti, a llama statue, candy, a silver paper, a golden paper. We have to each put 12 coca leaves on it, make a wish to Panchamama.
Our friend Freddy, a city tour guide, said we were the first tourists he met who made their own Coa, he certainly got a kick out of that one. Ill let you know how it goes!
-Visited cobbled streets filled with silver jewelry, wool crafts, al paca hats and gloves, seed necklaces.
-Went to the witches market, where you can buy any spell potions, llama fetuses to ceremoniously burn, animal fur, and lots of other things we didnt ask about...
-Went to the Museo de Coca, to unlock the mystery of this plant!
-Ate breakfast, dinner, lunch for $1 each.
-Had our fortunes read by a guide, who reads them with coca leaves...

A lot. I know. Pictures, I promise. News, I promise. Its been a wonderful few days and there is lots more to come.
Tomorrow we leave for Copacabana at 8 am.
Lake Titicaca to follow.
Staying on an island with families (hopefully) for a night or 2.
Crossing into Peru to Cuzco.
Macchu Picchu and Aguas Calientes.
Lima for flight to Chile.

disclamer: stolen from Abi:

Salt flat in Chile.

Lake trip.

Mountain biking through the Valle de la Muerte.

Sandboarding, heading down... a slow process.

Sunset at Valle de la Luna.

beginnings and endings

2007-06-11T14:37:00.000-07:00

Our program ended last Wednesday. No sooner was I back from Buenos Aires; typing up my thesis & changing from Argentinean spanish to Chilean spanish that we were back where we started this whole journey... Hotel Pacifico in Algorrobo. For what seemed like only moments our group was back together... I couldnt help but notice how different we all are. Not only the physical; ubiquitous fanny packs, high top converse, checkered chilean scarves and cool knit bags...the change went deeper. Looking back on these last 3.5 months, this program was more than I could have ever expected. More than study abroad. My biggest fear coming here, more than the language, the culture shock, the academics... was the group. Who were they? 11 out of 12 girls? What would we be like together?

And now I know, the group was everything. I think I had an idea of studying abroad and facing all the challenges of being independent... but what I found instead was the comfort of good friends, an amazing director, and the undeniably feeling of true relationships. I think more than anything these last months I have been amazed by the human capacity to share. Ive had 4 host families who opened their doors to me, shared who they are (however they care to define themselves) and who have affected me in their own unique ways.

Personally, Ive met people who I could never forget, people who have inspired me and surprised me. People who I feel as though Ive known for longer than 104 days. To be able to share something so strong, so complex, eye-opening... how could we ever pretend to be the same 12 people who landed here a few months ago?

Going to the airport, half of us stayed and half left. Airports are always marking beginnings and endings. As much as it seemed like the ending of something, watching our friends walk away... these strong, intelligent, and passionate people... we were all smiling. Because this program was the beginning of something. I'm trying to hold on to that feeling. After all, we have more control of our beginnings and endings than we think.

Not all programs are like this, not even all SIT programs. Our director whose been doing this for 9 years, said that no one wants this program to end, there was something different about this one...

20 minutes in Chile & 2 underwear sightings

2007-05-31T13:52:00.000-07:00

Im back in Santiago. We landed yesterday to a big cloud of smog... Santiago in winter. I found myself standing in the same jeans, with the same backpack, ringing the bell of the house on Simon Bolivar. Deja vu..... 2 months earlier, standing in this same place-- with no idea what to expect. This time the family came to greet me at the door. It was nice to see familiar faces, and they were all smiling when they hugged me and followed me into the room that they had rearranged (bye bye most uncomfortable hard as rock pillow!!!). Within twenty minutes I had downed the Chilean bread and palta (avacado) that I had oh so dearly missed and was gearing up for a siesta... ah....

Before I could do so my 88 year old Chilean host grandmother knocked her steaming hot cup of tea onto her lap, and all I could see was steam rising from her purple skirt. For a moment we were both frozen- in shock or fear or disbelief. Another second went by and she was up on her feet, jumping around in little circles waving her skirt back and forth. It was only me and her in the kitchen, what do I do!?
She first brought her skirt up by her shoulders and then, with only a second thought, pulled her skirt down around her knees. Unfortunately she also had on a slip, and bloomers and tights. She tried getting these down too (do I help? do I call for help? Do I invade her personal personal space like that!)...
So now she has her skirt and slip hugging her knees, her white bloomers she is puffing out with her hands... and Im trying like Ive never tried before in my life, not to laugh.
Because at the same time, she is still jumping around in little kangaroo circles, saying oo-oo oo-oo in distinct Chilean grandma but with her skirt and slip around her knees. You can imagine what kind of a picture this would be.
Finally she lets out a laugh, I let out a laugh. We laugh and then she waddles out the door to find a bathrobe. What do you do in this situation!!!??
Two seconds later, as Im supporting myself on the refrigerator recovering; my host mom comes in with two pairs of underwear in her hand. One is a very large stark white pair of Hanes. The other is a dark blue pair of Chilean mens briefs (very brief briefs). Are they mine? She wants to know... they found them when they rearranged the bed.... No, I swear Ive never seen them before. Nor would I ever be caught dead in underwear like that. They arent mine, especially not the blue ones, ah! Two chilean eyes look back at me "this is your underwear." No, its not, its not, please dont make me take it... The eyes think, they focus on me, they wait, okay, I believe you. The mystery of the abandoned underwear continues...
Oh, I forgot what it was like to be here in Santiago. Oh, the shenanigans.

I woke up today and as I was washing my cup, looked out to the patio. The leaves have all changed since Ive been gone. The ginko tree has a skirt of yellow leaves below it. And the mountains, the mountains that were once so dry and brown and wrinkly are filled with white. They are illuminating, with what looks like snowy ski slopes filling the wrinkles of the Andes.
Its funny to come back to a foreign place and find it familiar.
Its hailing right now, my mind is in a million places. And I have at least 10 more pages of my thesis to write before tomorrow. But I just cant shake this image of my host grandma, her shiny white hair bobbing up and down as she jumps around the kitchen in her bloomers.... So I thought Id share.

I want to share someone with you.

2007-05-23T10:23:00.000-07:00

His name is Oscar Lautaro Hueravilo. My advisor had set up an interview with him for yesterday at 7:30 at the Café de las Madres. Yesterday, I ran off the subway, got to the café, ordered a tea and quickly scribbled some notes. A few minutes later he walked into the café smiling; an older man with a bright red scarf and black moustache. I waved him over- he had no idea who I was, as we had never met before! He greeted me with 2 kisses on the cheek and sat down across from me. It was the easiest beginning to an interview I have ever had. He eased my nerves immediately and brought out a newspaper from his bag. There was a small picture in the bottom corner of two people, with 70s hair and black and white features. The man had the same moustache and features as Oscar.
“This is my son and my daughter-in-law” he told me.
I knew what happened to them. The picture was like so many pictures fathers and mothers here carry with them. Oscar and Mirta, the faces in the picture are 2 of the 30,000 people who “disappeared” during the dictatorship. Two people whose families are still waiting to find out what happened to them… two people whose crime was nothing more than being young and having dreams. He was 22, she was 23. He was studying to be a lawyer, was the president of the student Communist organization. She was a teacher, who loved Italian, English, and French. They had been together for 8 months and she was 6 months pregnant with their first child.
Their picture was in the paper because it was 30 years ago from Saturday that military men, dressed in civil clothes bombarded their apartment, bringing them both to the ESMA, the most notorious concentration camp/torture center in Buenos Aires. It’s been 30 years since Oscar has seen his only son.
Something so difficult to deal with, to process, is how the dictatorship took control of the Argentinean youth, of the future. How they ripped apart families, marriages, an entire country. I don’t have any children but I cannot imagine the feeling of losing your child to the government of your country; of the hope, the waiting, the despair, and the denial you must go through.
There are 500 cases of either pregnant women or children who disappeared during this time. We know now that most babies born in the ESMA or other places of detention were given to military families who couldn’t have children of their own. There is an organization of grandmothers who have fought for 30 years to find their own grandchildren, to reclaim those whose identities have been completely rearranged.
Mirta was 6 months pregnant- four months after she was taken away, a baby appeared at a hospital in Buenos Aires. Hidden in the baby’s clothes and blankets, as well as inside of a doll the hospital workers found a little paper with the name Emiliano Hueravilo. The baby also had a little mark on his ear that had been made with a pin. With these clues, the nurses were able to identify Emiliano as Oscar’s grandchild and in an act that you could call miraculous, Emiliano was returned to his paternal grandparents. Now Emiliano is 30, and his grandfather couldn’t be prouder of him. He is the first of 82 grandchildren who have been recovered.
I spent 40 minutes talking to his grandfather, originally Mapuche from Chile- a man who has fled Chile & Argentina- who suffered so much because of his work with work unions. The right to decent work is a human right, he has spent his life working to improve and uphold this basic human right.
This 74 year old man had more life in him than I can possibly express. After telling me his story he asked me about my family, what are their names, what are they like, what are your little siblings like? He gave me his phone number, we are going to keep in touch aren’t we? Do you have a camera, I want to remember you. He walked me to the subway stop and waited until I bought my ticket to leave, waving to me the whole time. It would take him an hour and a half to get back home. Its been a pleasure knowing you, he said.
Oscar loves to dance, he loves to spend time with his friends, drink mate. Oscar has suffered a lot of hurts but he doesn’t ever forget how lucky he is. I didn’t want to leave; I wanted to express how much one hour talking with him had affected me. I wanted to thank him, hug him, call my grandparents; I wanted to never forget how lucky I am.

2007-05-11T12:18:00.000-07:00

Someday you might find yourself
toasting to good friends
in a cafe on a street
in which you know not the name.

Maybe one day you remember who
you used to be- the dreams that
on schoolnights kept you up late.
You remember, on a bus in
a nameless town looking out a
windowfull of mountains.

Have you ever written a word
on some paper, somewhere
and realized you've given it
a new meaning. You've given
it a memory.

There are times you might
get lost in thought
only to look up and find
someone someday
somewhere on the subway
is smiling at you.

Someday your expression
might change when you realize
You're exactly where you need to be.

Temuco, Southern Chile.

2007-05-04T15:31:00.000-07:00

MAPUCHE:
Mapu= land
Che= people
People of the land. Pictures of the land and the people we met in Temuco. 5 days that touched, affected and changed all of us.

Temuco- google earth yourself to find yourself at almost the end of the earth. Full of farmland, cows in the streets, yarn, yerba mate, pigs!

The neighbors putting their wool out to dry after being washed. They knead it between their fingers to make the yarn- a traditional Mapuche woman job- our house was full of pictures of the grandma at different stages of her life knitting. It sort of became the family joke "Otra vez tejando!"

Mauru, my 2 year old host brother. I spent most of my time with the Mapuche building block towers only to have them knocked down within seconds by Mauru!

A neighbor gathering wood for the wooden stove in the kitchen. I admit I stole this photo from Kira- pretty good, huh? With the Mapuche you sometimes feel like you've somehow happened upon a National Geographic special- privy to share a little bit of their lives and the hours start taking on a whole new meaning.

Me, Mauru, and our host mom in the front yard. Note the jacket and scarf- I swear we all came in bundled in all the clothes we brought, while the Mapuche walked around in sweaters!

Side view of the house and one of the 4 dogs... this window was more popular than the TV. They loved to sit in front of the window and watch everyone who passed by- there are about 80 families in the community and everyone knows and is (in some way) related to everyone.

Mauru and Guante, the white building in the background is the central school house. Its a 3 room school house with a soccer field and a dining hall. All of the kids are Mapuche and are beginning to learn about their traditions- dances, songs, language that is being lost with each new generation. The kids taught us Mapuche games, danced, and let us sit in on their classes.

Well... the inner vegetarian in me bit her lip and took this picture since they asked for it. Never have I been so close to my bbq ribs. They killed the biggest pig for us to eat as a barbeque (asado) on our last day. It was a kind gesture and one where you eat the meet excaiming QUIE RICO after every bite. My family got to keep the head because we hosted the bbq. The head sat in the kitchen for at least 2 days. Also, the uncle came over and was served one half of a pig face... with teeth and the hairy snout still intact. To Mapuche, land is everything and everything that mother Earth provides they use- it wasnt barbaric at all, and for the first time I saw a house funcioning pretty self-sufficiently. Still, watching the uncle cut off pig skin and rest his bread on the open jaw- I couldnt help wondering where the other half of the pig face was...

After the dance, our group and our new friends. I have to thank them for their tag games as it was some of the only exercise we've all had in the last 2 months. Needless to say, we usually lost. But when it was our turn, they got some good Duck duck goose and frisbee time in.

In case you forgot what I look like.

The most beautiful kid in the world. Thanks dad for teaching my some card tricks.. the 3 robbers (Jacks) was a big hit.

Our grandpa, Francisco- one of the community leaders who asked me about Lincoln, Kennedy, had a picture of Hilary Clinton and counted off proudly on his fingers 1-10 in English. I can also thank him for teaching me some of the only words I know in Mapundungun.

kofke- bread. mely- four. mari mari- hello, good morning/night.

My new best friend.

Our parents- some of the two quiestest, kindest and most sincere people I've ever met. Also, the Mapuche have great laughs.

The school. The pride of the community.

Rene, our director (on the right) and Juan Antonio the Mapuche director. Two amazing people with a capability to teach and inspire and give you opportunities like this photo- to not take life too seriously.

Leaving. When you leave somewhere, they hold your hand with their two hands. They look you in the eye and wish you the best of luck in life. And you just know that they mean it. I wasnt really ready to leave, but maybe I'll find my way back there someday.

An update

2007-04-23T15:27:00.001-07:00

Its Monday, 6:30 Im sitting in Cafe Teatro listening to Regina Spektor and drinking actual good coffee. I have a full journal, a spinning head, and a happy feeling. We got back from Buenos Aires on Friday and it was the most incredible two weeks. I went back to Pergamino to visit with my old host family.. the catalyst of so many things that have happened in my life thus far. Those two days solidified so many values, so many memories, so many feelings. Some things never change. Some do, but relationships... the true ones we make when we can openly share our lives only grow. It was amazing to be back.
I also figured out my independent study project for the month of May. Off to Buenos Aires, to study the Universidad Popular de Las Madres de la Plaza de Mayo. We met with a 92 year old woman who has been protesting the disappearance and murder of her son for 30 years. Little women in white headscarves who have created a bonafide social movement. These agents of change who have shaped and accomplished so much in the face of a dictator. Who endured and endured even as their founders were abducted and killed by their very own government, by their very own people. Women who rally for the human rights of all. Who still, after 30 years go every Thursday to march in the center of Buenos Aires. Determined not to fade away... Beautiful women.
Tomorrow, actually in 12 hours I leave for Temuco, to live and learn about the indigenous Mapuche community in the South of Chile. This time tomorrow who knows what I will be doing, seeing, speaking! Ill be back in a week surely with many things to write to you all about.
I got letters from you wonderful people today. Thank you for giving me something (more than something) to miss. And miss you I do. But oh when we meet, when we meet again...
Thank you for your airmail!

An update

2007-04-23T15:27:00.000-07:00

Oh, Argentina

2007-04-23T13:30:00.000-07:00

Flying from Miami to Chile, the woman sitting next to me told me that everytime she sees the mountains out the window she cries. She cries because she knows shes coming home, to her patria. I missed it in February because we landed before the sun came up. Going to Argentina and looking out the window, I finally understood what she meant.

The collections of Marta Centaro, my host mom in Buenos Aires Argentina. Includes hundreds of cans from around the world, paintings, photos, little wooden owls and books with titles like "Medicinal Plants of Argentina" and "The explosion of Uruguan poetry". Amazing. Eclectic. Alive.

Marta is an artist, a philosopher, a beautiful women, even though she often pretends shes not. Also, the most expressive woman Ive ever met, besides my mom... the kind of woman you always want on your Charades team.

Drinking mate with Marta and Debra. Planning our trip, our dream to Machu Picchu.

Caminito, La Boca. Bright colors... tango in the street... good pasta. Tourist trap but I love it. Reveal in your inner tourist.

Chico Chico. The spitting image of Gus, only Chico Chico is worse. He bites. Marta brings out the hair dryer when he wont listen and then he turns into the nicest cat youve ever met.

Our Easter celebration in the hotel. Full of toliet paper, good music, good friends, and togas.

Tango. in the streets.

San Telmo. Buy anything you can think of... from finger puppets, to rugs, to old sunglasses from the 70s to Peron calendars.

I still havent written an entry of the day of the ESPINA. Story to come.

Buenos Aires. Radio taxis. Always an experience.

BUENOS AIRES

2007-04-09T13:18:00.000-07:00

Its been four years since I´ve been back to Argentina. For two days its been a flood of old memories, good feelings, and familiar places. It started at the airport. Funny how airports are really just portals that give us a little time for reflection, who we are when we arrive and who we are when we leave. I can remember those airport moments when I was 15... getting there and not having any idea who to talk to, what to do, or what the heck I was doing in Argentina. Then after two months, leaving Buenos Aires armed with tissues, knick nacks for my friends, little presents I had been given, and my journal filled with what I had done and thought with these new people in this new place.
And there I was again. The same me in the same airport standing at the same baggage claim. But with a different suitcase this time, with a different group around me... with my new friends and with a much better grasp of the Spanish language. Yet if experience has told me anything, in two weeks when I leave Buenos Aires, through that same aiport portal I will not have the same feelings, thoughts, and memories. If being in a foreign country does anything for you at all... it gives you the opportunity to reinvent yourself.

We had one night in the hotel in the center of the city. In the morning the families came to claim their student. The first woman who entered the room was a beautiful woman with gray hair, a long coat, and she enthuiasticaly hugged and kissed each of us. She busted in that room and paved the way for the other families to come in. There was somethign about her that you couldnt help but like. And wouldnt you know, I ended up going home with her!
She is a 63 year old Argentinean woman with a funky apartment, a relaxed style, two cats, a love for NYC and Starbucks, and a political edge about her. She is fun, enthusiastic and very much alive. One of those people you like immediately... when they tell you within an hour of meeting you that its okay if you want to sleep in the nude if thats what youre most comfortable with (haha, i assured her I wear pajamas)...
I only wish her first impression of me could have been the same... but unfortunately all the Argentinean meat, asado, food, pasta, pizza, dulce de leche and everything else I had scarfed down in the last day had got the better of me. We went to the park with her cousin and Debra to walk her big German Shepard, Minnie when my stomach decided to deceive me. Within hours of knowing this student, I was throwing up in a park in the middle of Argentineans picniking and walking their dogs in the middle of Buenos Aires while being eaten alive by mosquitos.
Awesome.
So my first day was a little rough as I continued getting sick and my fever continued to rise. Nothing like this to make someone completely nervous on their first day of being host mom. Marta told me stories of her sicknesses, shes great for telling stories... and ended up using a trick that a aborignal man from the Amazon had used on her when she was sick in the selva. Lemon. Squeeze a lemon and drink it to rid your body of anything that would be making you feel sick. It worked.

Weekend with the Pacific Ocean: Valparaiso and Vina del Mar

2007-04-02T16:05:00.000-07:00

words, stories, explanations to come!

A timeline of sorts

2007-04-02T16:02:00.000-07:00

Excerpts from my Journal, because I am utterly disorganized.

February 21
And it only hits me now that this feeling-this separation from those who truly love us, know us, appreciate us (that which is familiar) is what makes this an experience. If you have nothing to leave, nothing to wait for you… you can never come full circle. Isnt it true that journeys always have to start somewhere. And maybe it is this beginning which is just as important. I don’t think I could ever take the first step of any of these journeys without always having my beginning: home and family.

February 22
If landscape is to be used as inspiration, then Chile is the place to be. The warmth and the excitement of the 11 other students and directors of the program reaches out to grab you. Everywhere, people want to know who you are and what your story is and will be.

Advice from seat A next to my seat B on the plane: “You might run into an asshole now and then, but assholes are everywhere. There are more nice people in Chile” My first advice from the first Chilean I met. Who would have thought- her favorite state is Pennsylvania!

February 25
I’ve been concentrating so much on the land, I cant lose track of the people I’ve gotten to know it with. And there is so much value in the people in the program… the fun, the adventure, the types of conversations we have so easily slid into. Eating together, going out the first night to the bar, sharing stories on the beach, (whats your favorite scar, thanks GRAB), stretching/yogaing during class breaks. Finding a Common Ground! Yesterday walking back from the seafood restaurant we all felt warm and fuzzy, and for awhile no one could stop laughing. Yes, the pisco sours are strong and tasty here, and they flow until the wee hours. But this night… I felt like we were evincible, this band of people with such hopes and dreams and ambition, giddy with anticipation of what was to come.
There is something to be said for a group of people speaking in the same broken language, in a dimly lit bar in a crowded beach town talking about their favorite pages in the Lonely Planet guide.

March 8
I wish I could see all the things that have been lost in translation. If I could be lost in translation I would never leave… because I get the feeling it would be the funniest place to be. My inspiration for this thought is an email a friend received from a Chilean student we met last night. He wrote in English:
“Hi Lauren. I’m Mauricio, we met yesterday. I was the one with the bag in my pelvis…”
I can only assume he is referring to his black leather fanny pack.

March 18
As it turns out I am utterly, unbelievably disorganized. My thoughts have already passed to become memories and they are all over the place. At least I have managed to save some by pasting them to these pages.

what do you do when you wake up?

2007-04-02T15:56:00.000-07:00

Beep beep beep. Turn off your alarm clock, its 7:00. Stay in bed for 5-7 more minutes. Then realize that you are sleeping on the hardest pillow in the world. Sit up, yawn.. find your towel which is hanging on the door. Drop off your things in the bathroom which is only a few feet away. Smile at your Abuela in the room across from yours, who is lying in bed, running her fingers over the rosary. For a second; marvel at the fact that she always wakes up at 6:30- and she has for every day of her life. The nuns used to tell her that if she didn’t get up when her eyes first opened the demons were going to bring her down to “you know where”. You’re not sure if she can see you in the dim light but she always knows what time you wake up (and what time you come home!).
Walk to the kitchen and notice how the sun has just gotten up too, out the big windows looking into the backyard. Turn the valve on the calefont, and light the box so that you can have hot water for your shower. Shower, put on your clothes, pack your books in your obscenely large backpack and then realize you better hurry. Grab the lunch that has been packed the day before by your host mom. Snatch the margarine from the refrigerator and butter the rolls that are freshly bought each day and in the drawer next to the “refri”. Run back to your room because you forgot your keys… decide you want one of those apples (the biggest juiciest reddest apple you’ve ever seen) and then slip out the front door.
You can’t help but smell the flowers of the big purple branches that hang over the front door. Walk to the front gate, put your key in and give it 3 full turns to the right. Out the gate is Santiago life. Cars on roads and people on sidewalks. Turn your key now 3 full times to the left. Head towards the metro. The metro is another story in and of itself.

Ferris Bueller does Chile

2007-03-29T10:13:00.000-07:00

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.

2007-03-22T15:03:00.000-07:00

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...

2007-03-22T14:43:00.000-07:00

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

2007-03-03T07:16:00.000-08:00

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!

Phew!

2007-02-28T18:46:00.000-08:00

To think that a little idea, a little dream, a little something nagging at me turned into This. Finally, an adventure I can feel with all my senses. To think that today I ate real gelado, fed pigeons with Chilean toddlers in a park, wore flip flops, climbed a hill that overlooked the entire city, and saw some of the only surviving pre-Colombian pottery! But its all true, and its incredible and already I am getting ahead of myself... So let me go back to where the story really starts. Hopefully a picture is really worth a thousand words in this case. Trying to explain how all my feelings and senses were jumping at these moments may take me 1,000 words or more!

At the airport, then the drive from Santiago to Algarrobo passing the Andes, vineyards, and finally arriving within an hour to Pacific coast.
See the reflection of our bus and all of our luggage! It really caused the Chilenos who were vacationing to stare... a group of 12 US students was a bit unusual in this sleepy beach town.

Hotel Pacifico What an introduction to Chile, the kindness of the people, the tranquility, the food! oh the food! the wine, the pisco sours... the hospitality that preceeds the Chilean reputation.

The view from our room.... Sunny everyday. These colors were just part of the vibrant flavor of Algarrobo.

Visit to Pablo Neruda's house, where we wandered in awe of his vista, his collections, and the grandeur of his casa (especially for a communist!)

Neruda refered to himself as El Capitan- captain of his house here which was built to look and feel like a boat. Rooms had different themes and contained his various collections. He called himself a "cosista"- a collector of things. And things he had. I believe the tour guide told us upon entering the house something to the effect of "Neruda was a lover of wine, women, and the ocean." Thus, his house was abundant with all things womanly, winely, and oceanly.
The Group with all its surprises, reliefs, and shared feelings. The good moments we've had together already within a few short days.

Beginnings & Unknowns: Well, we are still at the beginning. This next part is just another chapter.