Mike's Adventures

Patagonia

2008-12-17T05:29:00.007-03:00

I really wish I knew what to write about Patagonia. I can’t tell you all how many times I have tried to form the words in my head to describe it. But they all fall short.

Quite simply said, I’ve never seen anything like it. Emerald lakes, soaring mountains, endless pampas, and cold (I can’t even think of a good adjective for them) glaciers. In this post, I’ll try to let the pictures do most of the talking that I can’t do. However, my disclaimer must be stated: these pictures do not come anywhere near the real thing. It is a place I hope everyone has a chance to see in person. You can’t appreciate the viewpoints (miradores) unless you’ve fought to get there. It just makes it all worthwhile. I hope you enjoy:

Day 1: Punta Arenas, Chile

Punta Arenas is famous for being a colorful city at the end of the world. It's also famous for it's impressive cemetery, holding the remains of 100s of travelers who died attempting to cross the Strait of Magellan.

Day 2: Puerto Natales, Chile

Puerto Natales is really just the gateway into Torres del Paine, but it is a cool little town. The Seno de la Última Esperanza (Last Hope Sound) provides just a taste of what you're about to see by entering the park.

Day 3: Parque Nacional Torres del Paine

Today we faced a 34 kilometer hike to Laguna Verde and Mirador Toro. It offered our first glimpse of the famous Torres--the towers of granite that dominate the area.

Day 4: Parque Nacional Torres del Paine

On this day, we managed to hitchhike to our first stop before hiking up Mirador Cóndor. We continued on to Salto Grande and Mirador las Torres. By the end, we could barely walk. Luckily, we were saved by a kind German couple in a rented pick-up truck. Their hospitality has inspired me to find some way to get to northern Germany in the future. They were some of the nicest people I have ever met.

Day 5: Parque Nacional Torres del Paine

We hitchhiked to Lago Grey to see Glacier Grey. Sadly, the boats to the glacier were well out of the budget of two college students. We settled for the view from afar. I'm not complaining at all.

Day 6: Parque Nacional Torres del Paine, Puerto Natales, and Punta Arenas

We were unable to move. Seriously. We had walked about 80 kilometers over 3 days. And it was all worth it.

Day 7: Return to Santiago

This was an incredible trip. If you need any motivation to go to Patagonia, talk to me about it. I’ll convince you. Not kidding. I also freely offer my services as a translator. I will accept payment in the form of food and an airline ticket. I also take great pictures of couples and families. I'd do just about anything to go back there someday. But I think my feet will appreciate a little break.

Chao.

A Crazy Few Weeks and a Final 'Thank You'

2008-12-17T04:53:00.003-03:00

So it's done. I'm amazed. I arrived safely home yesterday, coming from a sweltering, humid jungle in Peru to 3 inches of snow and ice in Portland. Shocking? Yeah, you could say that.

I had some pretty incredible final 3 weeks, punctuated by some really difficult "goodbye's" and two absolutely fantastic adventures. I also had some time (7 hours) to think in the Starbucks of the Lima airport as I waited for my flight home, so I wrote a bit about how I was feeling. It's still hard to explain what exactly has changed within me, but I know that I have seen some changes--and I've only been home for a day.

In any case, I look forward to seeing you all at some point. I really appreciate your interest and your support as I undertook this not-so little adventure. Although it has come to a close, I can't tell you all how nice it is to know that I have family and friends interested in my life and supporting me with every large and small step.

One final story: my guide through the Peruvian jungle, who you'll read about later, had an endless amount of stories and anecdotes to tell us about Peru. One of them that has stuck with me was his explanation of retribution between people. This isn't retribution in the violent, eye for an eye sense. Quite the opposite. He says that most Peruvians who farm the steep slopes of the Andes always carry 3 leaves of coca with them. When they come upon another person in the road, they present these 3 leaves to the other person and receive a different 3 leaves in return. It could be to ask for help, to start a conversation, or to just to show some manner of fraternity with their fellow man. The great thing is that they always have something to offer because they always give and receive in return.

Unfortunately, I don't think this cultural action is destined for the US; however, I'll offer my own. You have all shown me your support just by reading my blog, sending me e-mails, or communicating with me in some way during the last few months. I'd like to return the favor in any way that I can. If you would ever like travel advice for South America; if you would ever like to know what a Spanish word means and don't want to look it up; if you would ever just like to talk about life or reignite an old connection, please feel free to contact me. And PLEASE, if you ever travel somewhere new and interesting (even if it's just on a cool, hidden hike outside of Portland or some other city), let me know about it.

Our world begs to be explored. I've done my exploring from afar for awhile. Maybe it's time for me to stay a bit closer to home. At least for now. . .

Chao.

Chilean Oktoberfest

2008-11-11T23:07:00.002-03:00

There have been various moments that have caused my friends and I to say, "Only in Chile." This place is just that unique, eccentric, and fantastic that it requires such a thought. Last Thursday, we had another incident that really could only have happened the way it did in Chile.

A heat wave has meandered into Santiago in the past week or so, and what better way to fight the heat than with a frosty, delicious beverage. That beverage, of course, would be beer. Cerveza, if you will (or even better, "schop" as they say in Chile). Well, it just so happened that for the past 2 weeks a festival has been going on celebrating beer a few kilometers outside of Santiago. My friend Nate and I decided we better investigate. We had missed out on the actual Oktoberfest by choosing to study in South America, so this would have to be our substitute.

A quick history lesson: in the late 1800s, southern Chile was unpopulated for the most part and, in fact, ruled by the native people. It's cold and rainy, but it has pretty fertile farmland. The Chilean government at the time wanted to start to take advantage of the land in the south. They thought, who would want to live there with the rain and nastiness? The answer: Germans. Obviously, right? The Chilean government initiated a relationship with the German government and began to attract Germans with the promise of land and citizenship. And the Germans came, bringing with them their own culture and recipes. See where this is going?

Back to the present: southern Chile is home to some of the best breweries in South America. I've only sampled a few kinds, and this little excursion offered a great opportunity to sample some more. So off we went. Nate, his friend Kyla, and I met in a Metro station and headed to the central bus station to catch a rural bus. We didn't really know how far out the festival was located, but we had pretty reliable directions. The very friendly bus driver told us not to worry, he'd tell us when to get off. And off we went.

We arrived at the festival around 10:30 at night, after a 45 minute bus ride. There weren't a lot of cars, but we heard German music and saw lots of lights. We walked in and followed signs to the ticket booth. We somehow ended up right in front of the gates of the main entrance where a man was taking tickets. What followed was one of the oddest exchanges I've had in Chile (it was all in Spanish, but I'll write it in English):

Me: Hi, we're looking for the ticket booth.
Ticket Man: Oh, the ticket booth is closed.
Me: Oh no, so we can't buy tickets?
Ticket Man: No, you can. At the ticket booth, but it's closed.
Me: Right, is there any way we can get in though?
Ticket Man: Yeah, but you need an invitation.
Nate: The website says we can just buy tickets and get in. There wasn't anything about an invitation.
Ticket Man: You can buy tickets. At the ticket booth. But it's--
Me: We understand. It's closed. But is there anyway we can get in now?
Ticket Man: Yeah, of course. You just need one of these. (He pulls out a wad of folded pieces of paper from his pocket.)
Me: Ok, are those the invitations?
Ticket Man: No, these are the tickets.
Kyla: Ok. . .so we can get those from you?
Ticket Man: Yeah. Keep this end with you in case someone asks to see your ticket. (He hands us all a ticket, rips off a stub, and looks at us. Kyla just walks in. I pull out my wallet to put it away.)
Ticket Man: Oh, that's $2.
Me: . . .ok. (Nate and I both confusedly hand him the money.)
Ticket Man: Have fun!

It may not sound that weird, but add a foreign language and a lot of awkward pauses and you'll get the idea. In any case, we got in and went straight for the nearest booth, bought a half liter each, and began to wander. There were the standard tents, decorated with ribbon and filled with long tables, as well as a stage and about 30 booths representing different Chilean breweries. (Sorry, no camera for this adventure.) We found out that they would stop selling beer at 11pm, so we agreed to spread out and return with different beers to last us the night. We met inside a tent and began to enjoy. Honestly, it was some of the best beer I've ever had. There was only one other table occupied in the tent, so we began to play some innocent drinking games quietly.

By 12:30, the other table had left and we were alone inside of Chilean Oktoberfest. Soon enough, a security guard came up and told us it was time to leave. We packed up, although Nate and Kyla still had a cup each, and followed him out. On our way out, he turned around and asked us if we had a car to get home. I answered, no, but we'll be fine taking the bus. Our bus driver had told us that the buses run through the night. The guard looked at me confused and said, there aren't any more buses. They don't run here past 11. I told him once again that our bus driver told us there would be a bus. He looked concerned and very clearly said there are no more buses. I live here. I know.

Nate, Kyla, and I looked at each other. He said, ok, hang on. I'll go talk to the owner and see if he'll give you a ride in his truck. He came back a few minutes later and asked us to follow him. We went inside and met the owner who asked us where we were going. We named off all of the neighborhoods we knew of where we could catch a public bus to our houses. He thought for a minute and said no, I don't really want to drive that far. (In his defense, it really was a long way.) We went back outside and did a money check--we only had about $20 between the 3 of us. We found out in the next few minutes that a taxi could cost between $30 and $60, the buses begin running at 5am, and there's a town nearby that might have some way to get us back.

All of the people there were incredibly nice. They didn't care that we were stupid and unprepared and foreign. One man even offered to drive us as far as the next town, where we might have better luck. We crammed into his 5 seat car (3 of us plus 4 more from his family) and off we went. As we turned out of the parking lot, we all saw a lone taxi waiting at the entrance. He rolled up to it and talked with the driver. It would be $30 to take us into the city. We offered our $20, hoping the taxi driver would be as nice as the others.

And he was. We got out of the car, thanked the man profusely, and got in the taxi. 45 minutes later, we were back in Santiago. Like I said, only in Chile--the events, the incredibly kind people, the beer--you just can't find some things anywhere else.

Chao.

Valparaiso one more time

2008-11-08T16:33:00.005-03:00

I find myself with just 5 weeks left in South America. Crazy. Just thought everyone should know.

However, my adventures continue for the time being. Last weekend, I went back to Valparaiso for one last time. I feel incredibly drawn to that city. It's a really fascinating mix of so many parts of Chilean culture and cultures from around the world. You can clearly tell that, at one time, it was a busy port. However, times change. Today, it's more of a college town than a port city. It seems that although it has slowed significantly, everyone who passed through it in the past has left a little something--whether that be graffiti, a carving in a bench, a colorfully painted house, or an eccentric little restaurant. I could spend many more days exploring the hills of Valparaiso, but that will have to wait for my next trip to South America. And, yes, there definitely will be another trip someday.

In this little adventure, I traveled with my friend Pat with the goal of seeing a free concert that night. We left the day after Halloween and arrived late in the afternoon. Our exploring began immediately. I took him to one of my favorite places--in Valparaiso and in South America, I think--Cerro Alegre. We took an ascensor to the top and I made the mistake of glancing at the informational plaque on the wall. I read something about a 45 degree angle, built in 1910, and a 500 kilo weight limit. Needless to say, I didn't attempt the math as 6 other people and I crammed into the little car.

We wandered around the hill, talking about the things we have seen in Chile and our hopes for the election that had yet to happen at the time. We turned at random and walked aimlessly for awhile before we ended up at the base of the hill again.

From there, my guide book suggested an "outdoor museum" of murals that was a few blocks away. We headed there and were surprised to find that our favorite mural wasn't even a part of this "museum." That seems fitting, I suppose. The picture is below.

The things written roughly translate as:

"Sooner rather than later, Spring will break out."

"Without you, I am everything."

"Look where everyone looks and see what no one else sees."

By that time, it was getting close to the time for the concert, so we headed to the theater. We grabbed food in a little sandwich shop and found our way into the concert. We found ourselves in the middle of the big crowd, but thanks to our height, had a great view. The concert was really simple, but really cool. Three different guys took the stage at the same time and sat down side-by-side with their guitars. They took turns for the next 2 hours singing one song at a time. It was really cool because they all played a different type of music and sang in really unique ways. While one sang, the other two would tune their guitars or nod along to the beat, and they all seemed to have fun.

After the concert, we met up with some Chilean friends and some of our friends to go to a jazz bar. We relaxed there and went to one more bar before we decided to leave at 4am. However, when we got to the bus station to go to Vina del Mar--the neighboring town where we were crashing on the floor of a mutual friend--one of the Chilean girls we were with suggested that we walk to Vina. Neighboring town is a bit of a relative term. It was at least 8 or 10 kilometers. But off we went at 4am. By 6:30, we were there. And our friend was asleep...before we had asked him for directions. Pat and I just decided to take an early bus back to Santiago. At 7:30, we left Vina for Santiago. I'd say my time in Valparaiso was well-spent, especially considering that each time I've been there, I haven't slept.

Chao.

Mendoza, Argentina

2008-10-26T21:03:00.004-03:00

Mendoza, Argentina is one of the mainstays on the travel itinerary for a student studying in Santiago. It lies about 3 hours beyond the border of Chile and Argentina, almost directly west of Santiago, in the wine country of Argentina. I'd heard a lot of mixed reports about it, so my friends and I decided to investigate for a weekend.

The best way--make that the cheapest way--to get to Mendoza is a brutal bus ride over through the Andes mountains with hairpin turns and sheer cliffs to enjoy on the 6 to 10 hour ride (depending on how long you're delayed in customs). We, being Pat, Nate, John, Monica, Emily, and myself, decided to figure out our transportation separately. It resulted in varying bus companies and times, but an interesting travel experience for all. I left around 10:30 pm on Thursday night, and ended up sitting next to a very friendly Australian named Kent. We chatted for awhile--he and his girlfriend were on a 2 month tour of South and Central America--before we attempted to sleep. Easier said than done, to be sure. We arrived at Customs at around 1:30 am . . . 4 hours later, after a long, freezing wait in line, we continued into Argentina.

I arrived in Mendoza around 8:30 am and headed for our hostel--our meeting place once everyone arrived. Nate and Monica--who had chosen a rather sketchy-looking but cheaper mini-bus company--were passed out on the couches already. We talked about our respective experiences crossing the border as our other friends checked-in. Lethargically, we made plans for the day.

We began by doing a simple exploration of the city. It holds about 1 million people, but you wouldn't really know it if not for the expansive bus system. All of the streets are lined with trees whose branches hang over the roads, seemingly creating a system of tunnels through the city. It creates a beautiful, although misleading sensation that you're in a small Argentinean town. Plaza Independencia is the city center with its pair of impressive fountains, and it is surrounded by 4 smaller plazas. Finally, the city gives way to an expansive public park with a man-made lake, public athletic courts, and a maze of roads that connect various fountains and statues throughout the park. We explored the park for a few hours until Pat and John decided to head off for a canopy tour in a canyon nearby. Our energy level definitely couldn't be sustained for the rest of the day, so we found some lunch and headed back to the hostel for a nap.

Four hours later we woke up, found some dinner, and proceeded to drink the night away with the Europeans that were staying in the hostel as well. I slept on a bunk bed in a musty-smelling basement room, but for $10 per night, it served its purpose.

We woke up around 10 to be sure we could find our way to a bike rental agency that provides bikes, water, and a map of the wine country. Our plan was to have a leisurely bike ride through the Argentinean wine country and stop on occasion to expand our knowledge of fine wine. However, our plan was delayed due to the mistake of our taxi drivers who dropped us off not only at the wrong plaza, but in the wrong town too. I don't know how it happened, but after an hour of wandering and asking directions, we were on a bus for the right plaza in the right town.

We rented bikes from one of the most interesting Argentineans I have met--a kind, older man with a big smile and a strong love for wine named Mr. Hugo. He sent us on our way with a map and a list of artisan wine cellars. Our first stop was a factory vineyard, but they were on a break for lunch. We decided not to wait and continued on our way. We ended up at a vineyard about 10 kilometers south called Familia di Tommaso. I risk a cliche by saying it was charming, but it really was. It remains family-owned, has its headquarters in a federally protected historic building, and offers some fantastic wines. We had a pleasant lunch overlooking the vineyards, followed by a tasting and tour. Needless to say, we were hesitant to leave.

However, the time came. We mounted our bikes to head off to our next bodega (wine cellar), but when I tried to pedal, I realized that my back tire wouldn't move. My trusty bike had nearly separated itself from the back tire. The tire was barely attached to the frame, but it remained attached at such an angle that caused the tire to be jammed against the frame. Basically, it was not going anywhere unless it was carried. Our tour guide at the winery offered to call our rental company and have a bike dropped off at our next destination 4 or 5 kilometers away. What followed was a hilarious, although painful, experimentation process that involved me balancing in different ways on the back of Nate's bike. Our guide offered advice at times, but mostly, she just laughed. Eventually, I just volunteered to jog alongside my friends as we traveled to the next vineyard.

When we arrived, we shared a bottle of Torrontes--Argentina's version of white wine. It wasn't great, but Mr. Hugo arrived to save the day and give me a new bike. We left soon after and in more-or-less of a straight line (we had drank a fair amount of wine by this point), we headed to a chocolate and liquor manufacturer. We sampled some liquors and some fantastic chocolate before we headed back to Mr. Hugo's headquarters.

Once we arrived, he invited us to take a seat and placed some glasses and a bottle of wine in front of us. We happily helped ourselves. 5 bottles later, it was getting a bit late in the day. Nate and I looked at each other, and he asked me, "Are you feeling drunk?" Honestly, I answered, ...No. "Me either" he said. He leaned back and looked into Mr. Hugo's kitchen. He smiled and told us that Mr. Hugo took a half-full bottle of wine, put a funnel in it, and filled the rest up with water. Although Mr. Hugo lost a bit of credibility with that move, it certainly adds to his odd character. As we left, he thanked us and wished us luck in our travels and studies before waving us goodbye as we got on the bus.

We got back and I immediately had to take off running for the bus station. My bus left at 10:50 and I got there 4 minutes before. I settled down for another long ride through the Andes, but the wine, even if it was watered-down, made my return trip a lot more enjoyable.

Chao.

Pichilemu

2008-10-20T23:01:00.004-03:00

As I have come to find, living in a big city can really come to wear on a person. These past few weeks have been particularly difficult, especially given the fact that I haven't had the time to leave Santiago until this past weekend. In the weeks before, I suffered through midterms--as we all do--but midterms in a foreign language, foreign format, and foreign grading system add a special "feel" to an already difficult task. Needless to say, the past two weeks were not my favorite here. However, this past weekend, I made up for lost time.

My friend, Analiese, organized a trip to a little beach town called Pichilemu, so I got together with Pat--a frequent comrade on my adventures--and we bought a $15 2-man tent to share for the weekend. Tent adventures would follow, but first we had to get there. Analiese did all of the planning and reserved us a campsite that was supposedly 20 minutes from the beach. However, taking the Chilean concept of time into account, it turned out to be a 30 to 40 minute walk. However, it had a great view of the town and the hills around it.

After our 3 hour bus ride from Santiago, we set up camp and headed down to look around the town and check out the beach. It's odd how similar it is to the Oregon coast with big green, forested hills sloping down to a wide beach with a barrier of grass-covered dunes in between. And, of course, the Pacific remains the Pacific. We stayed on the beach for a few hours before heading to a market to buy some supplies--also known as cheap beer--and returning to our campsite.

That night, we cooked and sat around talking. Our fire died, but we kept sitting, watching headlights come over the coastal mountains and wind down the road into the town. When the moon rose over the mountains, our poetic night was rather complete.

Pichilemu is more famous for its waves than its beach. The cove it is built around is positioned at an angle that catches the force of the wind coming from the south. It makes for a bad place for boats, but a great place for big waves. Cassiel and Analiese decided to take surf lessons while Pat and I decided to explore the town and return to laugh as they repeatedly crashed into the water. Pat and I were rewarded with our little exploration with some really cool photo ops and burritos! It sounds weird, I know, but Mexican food is kind of exotic in Chile. Within Santiago, it's one of the most expensive types of food, so when we saw the cheap burrito sign, you can imagine how excited we were.

We returned to find the girls still surfing. And falling. How can you not laugh when something like this happens?

When they tired of surfing, we found a taxi and headed to Punta de Lobos a few kilometers south. It's supposedly the best surfing spot in Chile. The waves are definitely big. But we were content with taking a nap on the beach. Call us what you will: lazy, scared, ...normal. You'd probably be right.

We were going to stay and watch the sun set from the top of the bluff by the beach but caught a ride with the girls' surf instructor who had gone to Punta de Lobos after the lesson. We all piled into his old VW van for a bumpy ride home. We returned to our campsite to find that 18 other people had set up camp as well. We were lucky to have the first night alone, but this turned out to be an interesting cultural experience, to say the least. They were all workers in a bread factory in Santiago, and the company had sponsored their trip to the beach. They were all extremely nice. Whether it was South American hospitality, their high level of inebriation, or a combination of the two, I don't know. What is important is that they gave us Chilean Twinkies, which I sadly report are nowhere near as good as US Twinkies. However, they did invite us to sit, talk, and dance. And so it went that we partied the night away with the Chilean bread makers.

The next morning, we woke up, broke camp, and headed back for Santiago. Pichilemu was a much needed escape. I can't recommend a nap on the beach enough. It was perfect. Combined with the hospitality of the town--Chileans would smile and say "Hola" whenever they walked by and even offered to give us directions before we could even ask--it made for a wonderful recharge.

And our tent survived the weekend, although I have a feeling it won't survive many more.

Chao.

Please pardon the political rant...

2008-10-05T13:47:00.003-04:00

I think that we, as North Americans, sometimes forget how much our actions have an impact on the world. Small things, such as grocery shopping, have a far broader impact than I originally thought. It took an experience like this to make me realize it too. That might be the scariest part.

We are known, even in the most respected media sources of South America, as "The Empire." To be fair, this has just as much to do with our government's foreign policy as it does with unrestrained multi-national companies; in both cases, our role as consumers and voters is a large one.

As a North American abroad, no one expects me to defend my government if I disagree with it, but I am faced with repeated questions of "Why?" My honest answer, sometimes, is that I just don't know. I don't know why our country acts as it does or why certain presidents and representatives get elected. I love our country, but having a look at it from outside puts a unique perspective on it. A perspective that, at times, I'm not very proud of.

Many North Americans may think that we're on an island, that we can insulate ourselves from the world, be it with foreign policy or a 20 foot-high wall. It's easy to forget the things we don't see each day: the immigration, the foreign debt, and the reliance that our government's policy has created. We are a part of this world, whether we like it or not.

And as countries gain power, especially economic power over the failing US economy, they begin to realize that the US and its citizens are not invisible. In Chile, a policy has been implemented that charges US and some European citizens a $100+ fee to simply enter the country. In many cases, North Americans have become livid that they must pay to simply step onto Chilean soil. However, is this any different from US customs and visa fees? Hardly. As difficult as it is to swallow, it makes me smile to know that by this measure, perhaps, we will come closer to a mutual respect that has been lacking for so long.

So this is my plea: when the elections come, please vote for the candidate that you think will have the best impact on our country and on the world as a whole. As most of you have voted in a few elections before, I'm sure that you have heard it repeatedly and I hope you put it into action. But having experienced our impact and seen what our reputation has become abroad, I just need to clear my conscience. This is my first presidential election, and I don't want to live on an island anymore.

Fiestas Patrias

2008-09-23T21:35:00.004-04:00

Like I said, it was a busy week. In addition to my international travels, Chile celebrated its independence--lucky number 198 (if my math is right)--on September 18th. I always knew that Chileans are very proud of their country, their heritage, and their future, but watching the country and the people change over the course of a few days is rather remarkable.

While I'm at it, I'd just like to brag about Chile for a second. In my International Trade class, we talked about Chile's economics--you can skip over this paragraph if econ doesn't interest you like it does me. I'm a business major. That's just the way it is. Anyway, Chile's government is just so much smarter than our government! Despite the rampant partisanship, the ruling party has come to find an odd equilibrium. The party is called the "concertacion," and it's not just one party. It is a group of men and women from multiple parties who formed this new "party" to match the needs and desires of the Chilean people. They've only been in power for one term, which has had its ups and downs as expected. However, they still get along and govern wisely. With a socialist president paired with liberal and conservative ministers, they have to come to accords to get anything done. It's a fantastic, unofficial checks and balances system. Economically, Chile is a very intelligent country as well. I won't get into the details of neo-liberalism--ask me later if you're curious--but it involves heavy privatization of services and a focus on free trade. Additionally, the government has made it a requirement to save 1 to 1.5% of the country's product each year. We're talking about millions of dollars put into investments and liquid assets to protect the country in the case of a crisis. It forces the government to operate under a specified budget and creates a rainy day fund for a country that is vulnerable to international crisis because of its trade agreements. It's just very well thought out and impressively responsible. (My professor also loves to give investing advice, so if you're looking to invest well internationally, check out Peru, Chile, or Uruguay.)

Back to fiestas patrias. So Chile is a proud country. In fact, they're so proud that they celebrate their independence for an entire week. Everything changes after the 11th--I find that that that particular day is like a tantrum from a toddler; the country just needs to get all of the bad juices out in order to come together for the celebration. Rich and poor, conservative and liberal, and everyone in between comes together for this week. Chilean flags sprout from each and every house, office building, and condo tower. And then the parties begin.

Fondas--big tents or buildings--are built in public parks to hold shows, dancing, food, etc. People begin to dance the "cueca," the national dance, in clubs and bars. "Chicha"--kind of like spiked apple juice--is served everywhere. Seriously, the entire country shifts focus onto the traditional customs.

On the 18th, it's very similar to the 4th of July. Families gather together to celebrate, drink wine, and have an "asado" or barbecue. Just like in the US, the men gather outside to drink, talk (football a.k.a. soccer is usually a main topic of conversation), and watch the grill and the women gather inside to drink and talk (I don't know about what). In my homestay, friends and family gathered around 1. I think everyone was pretty well drunk by 3, and we ate at 4. Mary made a great drink with white wine and strawberries called "poncha," which I imagine is somewhat similar to Spanish sangria and I'm sure it's just as powerful, if not more. I recommend it. You can see Arturo here, hard at work at the grill. He's a good guy.

That night, I went to a fonda with some of my friends to see what it was like. I guess it's kind of similar to a state fair, without the smelly animals and creepy carnies. Everyone wanders through the artisan stands or gathers at the dance floor or sits and talks. It's a very relaxed atmosphere and everyone in Santiago seemed far more animated than usual.

On Friday, there's the military parade. What better way to unite than to marvel at the stuff your country has to blow other stuff up? Of course, it means more than that (the purpose is a tribute to those in the armed forces who have died for Chile), but thousands of people gather, drink beer, and cheer whenever jets fly over. It almost reminded me of major sporting events when they do a flyover. Except bigger!

So here are some photos. The one of me in the visor was not my doing. My friend, Sara, and I are planning on going to Patagonia together, but she got worried that I was going to get sunburned while we watched the parade. So she bought me this 20 cent visor. Humiliation ensued. But at least I didn't get sunburned. And I least I had a beer. I guess it wasn't all that bad.

On our way back, we happened to stumble across La Presidenta herself (Michelle Bachelet), rolling back to the Presidential Palace. If my camera hadn't malfunctioned, I would've gotten a picture of her waving at us. But her back is nice too. Stupid camera...

So that's about it. Viva Chile!

Chao.

Colonia del Sacramento, Uruguay

2008-09-22T22:19:00.004-04:00

To begin, this was the coolest part of my trip to Argentina . . . and it's not even in Argentina. Colonia is about an hour's ferry ride away on the southwest coast of Uruguay. It was founded in 1690 and is famous for it's Portuguese influence. Basically, it's awesome. Odd though it may sound, I recommend Colonia over any other place I have been so far. Here's why. . .

When we arrived in Buenos Aires, we actually weren't so sure that we could stay busy and happy for all 5 days. What can I say? We have short attention spans. I asked the hostel receptionist if she could recommend anything around Buenos Aires. Colonia was her immediate suggestion. We did some investigating and found out that a ferry was $60 (expensive but worth it) and entering and leaving each country was really easy. My friend Nate wasn't ready to part with his $60, but Cassiel and I decided to go for it.

We had originally planned on going on Saturday, but there was some miscommunication regarding whose alarm would wake everyone up. In the end, no one's alarm did. Oops! So we moved our plans to Monday.

We woke up bright and early at 7:00 to make our way to the harbor. Figuring out the ferry and going through customs was easy enough and off we went. The ferry was more like a plane ride with assigned seats, tray tables, and minimal leg room. No complaints though. We were there by 10:00 and set off. As usual, minimal planning was done beforehand. We embarked into Uruguay with Chilean and Argentinean pesos (but no Uruguayan pesos), no map, and no clue what we were actually going to do in the little town. Open-mindedness or unpreparedness? You be the judge.

We had heard that you could easily and cheaply rent a golf cart to roll around in for the day, so we made that priority #1. We walked up a street with sketchy rental dealerships, and we saw it. It was perfect. A rickety, old dune buggy. Dirty, rusty in spots, beautiful. Cassiel and I looked at each other. We decided to ask the attendant--a portly, chain-smoking Uruguayan--how much for the day. About $40 was his answer. We decided to look a bit more, but how can you put a price on fun? We walked a block before Cassiel turned to me and said, "Let's get it." She had her license, so we returned and after a thoroughly incomplete training session, we were off.

Enjoying our new found freedom, we zoomed around for a few minutes. The fun nearly ended when she began to go onto the freeway. Bad idea. Our top speed--which we obviously had to find in the first few minutes--was a respectable 60 kph, but that was definitely not freeway speed. After some frantic navigating, we began to head through the newer areas of Colonia. We spotted a tourist center and nearly went down a one way street in the wrong direction--which drew as many honks as a Santiago traffic jam--but arrived safely and found a map of the city.

The old neighborhood (called Barrio Historico) is snuggled up against the coast of the Rio de la Plata on a small peninsula. It's maybe 5 city blocks in total. But it's incredible. Rugged cobblestone streets, vine covered houses, an old lighthouse, quaint cafes, and surprisingly few tourists. To the northwest, there's a strip of beach followed by the wealthier neighborhoods and an American hotel. But this is one of the least disturbed tourist locations I've ever seen. At times, we thought we were the only ones in the town. We rolled around not-so subtly in our loud, popping dune buggy through the streets to get a feel of the town. All of the little shops retain a very Uruguayan feel--something I can't describe except to say it's not Chilean, Argentinean, or anything else I've seen. Everything is handmade, unique, and detailed. Uruguayans may just be that way. Unfortunately, we could only spend a day there. They walk around with their mate (pronounced "mah-tay," it's a dried, hollowed-out gourd) filled with yerba mate--bitter green tea, high in caffeine and tons of vitamins. It's customary to carry the mate with a thermos of hot water wherever you go in Uruguay.

However, back to our day. With a map, we were able to navigate our way through the town. As we rode through a little plaza, three dogs jumped to attention and began to chase us. They nipped at the tires and barked as we rolled past tour groups (who found our predicament hilarious) for at least 3 blocks. However, besides that encounter it's such a sleepy, little town. Nothing opened until 12. We explored a bit before we stopped at a little cafe on a quiet cobblestone street. It was the definition of quaint. And it was cheap. All in all, a fantastic lunch of a sandwich, wine, gelatto (called "helado" in South America), and coffee. This was our table. Quaint, right?

After lunch, we decided to work off some calories by climbing the lighthouse. On the top, we were rewarded with a great panoramic view of the town. Probably the best view you could ever get for the 30 cent entry fee.

We continued to explore, meandering through the streets and stopping as we pleased to ponder centuries-old buildings or look through a little handicraft shop. It was an incredible change from the concrete fortresses of Buenos Aires and Santiago.

Soon enough, the beach was calling to us. We drove the few blocks in our dune buggy--recently deemed "The Whip"--and collapsed on the beach for an hour or more. One of the reasons I suggest Uruguay is the safety. It's totally different from the rest of the cities I've been in. We were reassured by many people and left our bags and coats on the sand and walked a ways in either direction. Trust me, you don't do that anywhere else. I haven't been able to relax like that in a long time.

Time had flown by on our day, so we returned "The Whip" and set off in separate directions to explore alone on foot. I wandered down some random streets and came across this old railroad warehouse and abandoned tracks. I don't know what attracted me to it, but I still think it's just cool and old. Coupled with the vintage, abandoned cars scattered around the town, it seems as if the town just stopped moving long ago. Everything has stayed as it was at a single moment in time. I don't know how else to describe it.

Reluctantly, we boarded the ferry bound for Buenos Aires. I don't mean for it to sound as if I didn't enjoy Buenos Aires, but this little town has a special air about it. I really hope to go back one day. Time will tell.

This is one of my favorite pictures that I've taken so far. I think it adequately captures what Colonia is all about.

Chao.

Buenos Aires

2008-09-21T22:44:00.008-04:00

My apologies for the delayed update. It's been a busy week! I'll try to fill you all in on my most recent adventures.

Day 1 - Thursday
Last Thursday, I left for Buenos Aires. It was a rather odd departure. September 11th has a somewhat different significance in Chile: it's the anniversary of the "golpe de estado"--the military coup--that brought Pinochet into power. As has occurred each year since Pinochet's departure, a clash of different people, ideals, and forces comes to a head in Santiago. Although the level of rioting varies from year to year, it always has some common aspects. The universities close; the poor, persecuted, and disenchanted take to the streets; and the police fight back as best they can. According to my host mom, the police represent the system that remains in power--the system that Pinochet instituted that continues to persecute the poorest classes. A year ago, a police officer was killed in a riot near one of my university's campus. I think you get the idea. In any case, it is a day that everyone hopes will pass without incidence.

And I chose this day to fly to Argentina. We flew out around 7:00 at night, and it was odd to fly over the city knowing what was occurring below. The police took special measures this year to avoid a repeat of the past year: more than 500 arrests were made in the days before the 11th and power was cut to some of the most infamous rioting spots. All in all, Santiago looked peaceful as we flew over it, blacked-out neighborhoods and all.

However, it was on to a new adventure. Buenos Aires awaited us. Before I continue, I recommend that no one attempt the following. My friend and I had done little to no planning for our trip besides booking a plane ticket and hostel. We had a little bit of money in Argentinean pesos, our passports, and an understanding that it's not the safest city at the present time. So here we go.

We landed and were immediately presented with 3 options to enter the city (the airport is about 45 minutes outside the city center): a $30 taxi, a $13 private bus, or a 33 cent public bus. In our defense, we are college students and enjoy saving money. Obviously, we chose the public bus. Nate, my friend, was smart enough to print off some directions and the address to our hostel, but we didn't have a map or a clue where we actually were at any given time. However, we headed to the bus stop prepared for our hour and a half ride to get to the hostel. As I began to climb the bus steps, an older man motioned to me and pointed at the Argentinean bill I had in my hand. "Only coins," he said in Spanish. Fine, we thought. We'll just head into the airport and exchange a small bill. Wrong. Another piece of valuable information to know would have been that Argentina is currently in the middle of a coin shortage. That is, no one has very many coins and even less people want to share them.

Two hours later, we finally found a sympathetic vendor who gave us some coins after we bought a pack of gum. He was the last in the line of 15 or more kiosks, cafes, banks, and pedestrians. I've never wanted to hug a man more.

Armed with our exact change for the bus, we headed out. Entering the city was what has become commonplace in South America: first, you must travel through the rich outer suburbs followed by the poor projects and slums before you can enter the city center. Nate and I sat patiently before I went to ask the driver if he could tell us when we were near Calle Paraguay--our street. Immediately after I asked him, I became concerned. He looked at me sideways and said this bus doesn't cross Calle Paraguay. It actually doesn't really go near it. He rattled off some other bus numbers, but that wasn't going to help us much given our lack of coins.

We were faced with a decision. We could get off the bus at a random stop and grab a taxi or we could stay on the bus and peer out the window hoping to catch sight of our street. In hindsight, option 1 would have been the far better choice. However, we chose to stick it out. Maybe he was wrong.

Well, he was right. We motored through the city at 1am with no sight of Calle Paraguay. Finally, Nate and I decided to get off at the next stop. We just wanted a cab. Unfortunately, our decision was made for us. The bus headed under an overpass to a dark, dilapidated area surrounded by barbed wire and what appeared to be a car impound. The driver stopped and said, "End of the line. Everyone out." Nate and I looked at each other, said nothing, and got off the bus.

We began to walk. No time for rational thinking, except the common goal of making it to the well-lit, busy street a few blocks ahead of us. We had nearly reached it when a fight broke out between 5 men in front of us. Sharp right turn. Head for the gas station another block ahead. The fighting men began to follow us. We both swore under our breath, and Nate began to laugh. I was not pleased. However, we made it to the gas station and asked for directions. The attendant was kind but frustratingly amused with our predicament. He pointed north and said, "Muchas cuadras. No se cuantas." (Many blocks. I don't even know how many.)

Fast forward a half hour. We had found a cab, asked tentatively if the driver knew where we were going, and made it to the hostel a few kilometers later. We checked in and collapsed into our beds at 2am. We had landed a little before 10.

So that was the low point. After that, there was really nowhere to go but up. We woke up around 10 the following morning to find that our friend, Cassiel, had arrived earlier in the night and promptly had her credit card, ID, and camera stolen. Seriously, it was just a cursed night. Still, we were going to have a good trip. We were determined.

Day 2 - Friday
We decided to do the super touristy thing today. We walked from our neighborhood in the north of the city to the city center, which was about 30 blocks south. There we headed to Recoleta--the famous cemetery that houses past presidents, generals, nobles, and Evita Peron (aka "Don't cry for me Argentina"). I don't know how to explain it, but this cemetery was incredible. Many of the tombs seemed to be mini-cathedrals, others had frescoes on the ceilings, and some had a Greek monument feel to them. We wandered for a few hours, reading the epitaphs and coming across military heroes and the nobility of generations past. I began to wonder at the irony, almost the justice, of some of the tombs that had fallen into disarray and decay. Even with all of the money the people had invested, their tombs still succumb to time. Their families had either left or died away, and now there's no one to care for the monument. I found it to be a peculiar justice and a pity at the same time.

From there, we headed on to an incredible lunch at a little cafe. I would never complain about the food in Santiago, but Argentina has a serious advantage in this category. We moved on, at a much slower pace than before, to the City Center. We came across the Congreso Nacional and an impressive fountain in the center of the plaza in front of it. We noticed that there was a demonstration going on in front of the Congress, so we headed over to investigate. We soon realized that they were Bolivian demonstrators, but couldn't hear what was being said. Later, we learned the demonstration later moved in front of the American embassy and turned into a bit more of a protest. (A good video of the situation in Bolivia: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/7609614.stm)

We continued down the main street, heading towards Plaza de Mayo and la Casa Rosada--the Argentinean presidential palace. Although impressive, it was a stark contrast to what we're used to in Santiago. Instead of ceremonial police and open doors into the courtyard of the Chilean presidential palace, we were faced with heavily-armed riot police and a 10 foot high fence. After we were satisfied, we took the Metro--called the Subte--back to our hostel. We relaxed for the night and headed to a chill bar for dinner.

Day 3 - Saturday
We attempted to wake up early, but it just didn't happen. We got moving around 11 and decided to go to the Boca district. At one time, it was similar to Little Italy in New York, where the new Italian immigrants gathered to live and work. Since then, it has degraded to the point of being a place no one goes at night. However, during the day, it is a hot-spot for activity--especially for tourists. We took the Metro and walked through a vendor fair in a little park on the way before continuing into La Boca. We went to the famous soccer stadium of Boca Juniors--the most famous Argentinean soccer team--and found an odd little restaurant immediately across the street.

It was called Don Carlito, and we decided to try it out. We walked in, sat down, and our waiter asked if we knew the place. No, we answered. And he motioned for another man to come over. The new man asked if we spoke Spanish, then introduced himself as Carlito. He was kind of intense and spoke very abruptly. After talking with us a little, he said in broken English, "Ok, you eat what I want you to eat. That's how this works." We nodded. What followed was 8 courses of empanadas, pizza, meats, salads, and some of the most incredible desserts I've ever had. If you ever go to Buenos Aires, you need to go to this restaurant.

We waddled out 2 hours later and sleepily made our way to Caminito--the center of tourist activity. It used to be the red light district, but has been converted into an area for over-priced tango shows and vendors. We spent a little time walking past the brightly colored houses and buildings and avoiding the numerous people trying to attract us into their restaurants before we headed back.

That night, we decided to head out to a club. I think it's best if I leave Argentinean night life to your imagination. It was fun and I didn't do anything illegal.

Day 4 - Sunday

No attempt to wake up early was made, so we all woke up at 2. The day's plan was to go to the Mercado San Telmo--a famous antique market in the south of the city. It's filled with wonderfully eccentric people and even more eccentric things to buy. We had lunch in a nice little cafe that over-looked a man that had an odd similarity to Kurt Vonnegut across from a young guy having lunch with his dog in the chair next to him. The guy and dog shared a meal while the older man smoked his pipe and contemplated them. I'm telling you, eccentric.

The market was awesome though. I found a great CD from a jazz duo playing on the street which I think everyone should listen to when I'm back, along with some other random items. We deemed the Mercado a success and headed back to the hostel. There were no activities that night, and we headed to sleep early.

Day 5 - Monday
Uruguay! I'll have to make a separate post for this. It would take too long for this already lengthy post.

Day 6 - Tuesday
This was our day to do anything that we had forgotten to do. I headed to the Obelisco and Plaza de la Republica--like the Times Square of Buenos Aires. Soon after, Nate and I met at a restaurant called "Siga la Vaca"--Follow the Cow--to try Argentinean parrilla (barbecue). It's buffet style, so you go up to the parrilla (grill) and ask for a certain cut of meat. You gorge and repeat. Although I didn't think it was possible, I'm quite sure Nate and I got drunk on meat. We left an hour and a half later and had trouble walking. Clogged arteries and all, I made my way back to the hostel and met up with my friend from Santa Clara one last time before I left.

Learning from our previous mistake, we took a cab directly from the hostel. A few hours later, I found myself safely back in Santiago.

Despite the rough first night, I rate the trip a complete success and highly recommend Buenos Aires if you ever have the chance. I'll happily return and translate for anyone interested.

Chao.

Reality

2008-08-30T16:23:00.002-04:00

Every once in awhile, reality seems to strike in a surprise moment. I'm sure you have had these experiences. Last night, I had one as well.

My friends, Nate and Pat, and I had just parted after going to a bar for the night. I was walking down one of the most modern streets in Santiago--surrounded by multinational banks, corporate headquarters, high-rise condos, and gourmet restaurants. There were a few people out (it was past 1 am), but everyone generally keeps a good amount of space around them late at night. I walked past a young woman; she was probably in her late twenties or thirties, dressed casually, and clearly not in a rush. I would have walked right past had she not said hello and asked where I was going. I slowed down and told her the street where my bus was going to come. Her face brightened a little, and she said that was where she was going as well. We began to walk and talk together.

She introduced herself as Sandra and began to ask me the usual questions--where I am from, how old am I, am I studying at a university in Chile--among others. She commented that she was from Peru and missed her family there. I agreed and said that I missed my girlfriend as well. This seemed to grab her attention, and she asked me more questions about Christine. One of the oddest ones was if I was faithful to her. And then the light bulb went off in my head.

At this point, we had passed the street where she had said she was going, and although I continued to talk to her, I began to look for my bus stop. I got the feeling that there was more to our conversation than I had previously realized. We came to one of the stops and I politely tried to end the conversation. Before she walked away, she looked me in the eye and asked if I had ever been with an "extranjera" - a foreigner. I calmly said no and goodnight, and I turned towards the curb. She walked on down the street.

Was she a prostitute? A scared Peruvian woman? I do not pretend to know. And I'd rather not make the assumption. However, I was struck with a unique reality check. Never have I been confronted with a situation quite like this one. I still haven't decided how to feel about it--sad, scared, lucky? In Santiago, there are so many realities that I've never really opened my eyes to. Clearly, it's time to open my eyes to the good situations and the bad.

Chao.

Valparaiso

2008-08-27T23:16:00.005-04:00

$40. Clothes. ID.

I can confirm that these things are all you need to survive in Valparaiso for at least 1 day and night. I can confirm it because that's all I had this weekend. So here's the story:

My friends--Nate, Monica, Emma, and Emily--and I had decided to go to Valparaiso from Saturday morning until Sunday morning, but we really wanted to work under a tight budget since it was going to be such a short trip. To save money, we decided to avoid booking a hostel and to see where the night would take us instead. So that was the plan.

Saturday started out on an odd note. We all agreed to meet at a certain Metro stop with a bus terminal attached at 10:45. Nate, who is normally my trusty companion on adventures, went the wrong direction on the Metro...for a half hour. After much chastising of Nate, we found a bus and set out for the coast.

Once we arrived, we immediately set out a plan. Nate has a great guide book with plenty of cool little secrets that most tourists don't know about. First, we went to a plaza with an antiques market with all kinds of Chilean knick-knacks. Some of our purchases: a rusty flask, some "artistic" photographs from the 70s (more like soft-core porn), torn Pablo Neruda books, and some really cool photos from the 1920s and 30s. I'm happy to say that I only contributed the last addition. My friends are weird...

So we trekked onwards. We had heard and read about a place where one of the greatest Chilean dishes was invented. Allow me to introduce you to the chorrillana: a BIG plate of fries topped with caramelized onions mixed with a little bit of scrambled eggs and a medley of beef pieces and sausage. It sounds odd, but trust me, it's worth the risk of early death by heart attack. We had to walk down this sketchy alley to find the place, so you could say it added to the ambiance.

Valparaiso is famous for its hills. Chileans describe the city as an amphitheater because the hills rise up around the bay in a semi-circle. It makes for great pictures and even better exercise to work off the deadly amount of calories in a chorrillana. We headed up Cerro Alegre (Happy Hill) to find some really cool British-influenced houses and Chilean artisans. On top, we stopped for pictures and met some very nice girls from London. As you will later learn, Valparaiso is also a college town in addition to a port town. Adding sailors to a college town just makes for some shenanigans. However, the city is very picturesque from the top of the hills--brightly colored houses are scattered throughout the city with the big blue bay below. (I'll just add some of my favorite pictures to the bottom of this post.)

The next few hours weren't very interesting to be honest. We took a nervous ride on an "ascensor"--think a vertical railway--to go down the hill. They've worked for decades, but it doesn't mean they're structurally sound. We went up another hill, took some pictures, and got coffee. Then, the fun began.

To save money, we decided to make our own drinks. We poured pisco into some coke bottles and set off. Legal? No. Efficient? Definitely. We ran off to get dinner and set out to see the night life of Valparaiso. After two bars, we decided it was time to go to the famous club "Huevo." It's five stories of different rooms all playing different kinds of music, ranging from rock to 80s to salsa and everything in between. It was 1:00 am when we arrived at the club. It was 5:00 am when we left. Most of the crowd spilled over into a neighboring park, so we talked with some Chileans until 6. At that point, we headed back to the bus stop and caught the 6:30 bus back to Santiago.

By 9:00, I was home and in bed until 3:00 pm when Monica woke me up to work on a presentation we had to give the next day. Such is life.

It may not sound that attractive, but I highly recommend Valparaiso. It combines just about all of the aspects of Chilean life and culture and is a beautiful city on top of that. I hope you enjoy hearing about my shenanigans, even if their legality is questionable. I'm usually a very well-behaved exchange student!

Until next time...chao.

Classes

2008-08-19T22:09:00.004-04:00

This may be the last chance I have to update everyone for about a week, so I'm going to take advantage of it.

As promised, here are my classes:

- Internship Seminar and Field Work

- Chile and Regional/International Trade Organizations

- Medical Spanish

- Native (Chilean) Cultures

- Sexuality in the Context of a Changing Chilean Society - Gentlemen, wish me luck in this course.

I engineered my class schedule to avoid having classes on Fridays. Like I said, I'm "studying" here, and it really helps to have an extra day to travel on the weekends. Still, the classes are interesting and they are entirely in Spanish. The last two classes are offered at La Chile with other Chilean students as well. It's an adventure, for sure.

Today, I finalized plans to travel quite a bit in September . . . I'll actually be traveling for 3 of the next 5 weekends. This weekend, I'm going to visit Valparaiso and Vina del Mar - the port and preferred escape from Santiago. It should be a good start to the traveling since it's only about an hour outside of Santiago. I'll take a lot of pictures and report back when I can!

I had an interesting conversation about the health system within Chile today. Unfortunately, the US is not alone with its problems and faults associated with the health care system. There is a system and fund (similar to MediCare) that provides assistance to the population, although it seems to abandon people whenever a serious need arises. My host parents described the plan as a really bad friend. The plan covers everyone in Chile, whether they work or not, so that's good. It works like a regressive system in which yearly salary is the main determinant. The more you make, the higher percentage you pay for each health care visit. It goes as low as 10%, but for the majority, it's above 20%. That goes for small check-ups or for serious medical treatments. It's hard to imagine how people in poverty can even think about paying for some of these treatments, let alone common medical check-ups.

Additionally, even with a secure job, private health care benefits provided by employers just aren't customary. My host father, Arturo, has been a solid employee with a long tenure, but he doesn't receive or have an option for any private health care benefits. Instead, he must find private plans to insure his family.

New legislation has been passed, but, as I continue to find, the implementation of such legislation is lacking. Chile is a growing country with a solid economy. I believe it is beyond the category of a "developing nation" - whatever that may mean - and is beginning to realize the needs of a more intelligent, more demanding population. There's definitely room for improvement though.

So that's depressing. . .

On the bright side, the water tastes great and hasn't bothered me at all! And that's something everyone can enjoy!

Chao.

One Month...

2008-08-17T21:55:00.006-04:00

As surprising as it is for me, this Thursday will be the end of one month in Santiago. Scary, I guess, but exciting at the same time. I've already accomplished quite a bit - getting to know the city, traveling a bit, making friends - and we have plans in the making to go to the Atacama Desert, Buenos Aires, and Valparaiso. I'm definitely not wasting time down here!

Today, my friend Nate and I climbed Cerro San Cristobal - the largest metropolitan park in Santiago. On clear days, the view from the top is pretty incredible. We had a very wet Friday - 46mm (almost 2 inches) of rain fell in a 24 hour period - so the smog was swept away. Nate and I hiked up the east side of the hill and followed some paths through the underbrush to the west side. We found some nice viewpoints (this one is facing south towards my side of the city). You can see the Rio Mapocho - the river in the foreground - and the big buildings along side of it make the Providencia comuna, which is the neighborhood where the IES center is located along with cool bars and restaurants. In the background is the Las Condes comuna, the residential neighborhood that I live in.

Even two days after the big rainstorm, the smog was starting to build up again. It's the sad reality of a city that holds 6 million people. You might be able to see the layer of gray that almost reaches the top of the hills in the background of this picture. And as you can see, the city is very spread out. The risk of earthquakes is ever-present, so few buildings are more than 30 stories tall. With shorter buildings, it's means less concentration and more transportation. It's an unfortunate reality that you can't ignore - especially when you start coughing on the side of a busy road.

Still, it was great to get some exercise outside. Sadly, this week will be spent inside - in classrooms, for the most part. I get to finalize my class schedule tomorrow, so I'll update you all on my classes for the term soon.

Chao.

Topics of Conversation

2008-08-15T18:26:00.003-04:00

Most of the good discussions I've taken part in have happened at the table with my host family. Every once in awhile, they're funny, sad, political, etc. I'll share whenever we get a good one.

Today's topic: dating. Complicated? Yes. But let's see if I can explain it. Dating is different in Chile, that's for sure. I'll try to explain it in stages.

Stage 1: Rejection. There's no colloquial Spanish for this one. The basic chronology is guy meets girl, guy gets girl's number, and guy proceeds to call girl until girl decides to pick up. I'm told this can last anywhere from 3 calls to 10 or more. If the girl really isn't interested, the guy will eventually get the picture. If she is interested, she'll pick up when she feels like it. Personally, I can't handle that much rejection. I guess I wouldn't even make it past this stage...

Stage 2: "Andando" - Literally, it means "walking" but I can best describe it as "friends with benefits." I guess it's like casual dating - nothing exclusive has been established. The guy can still check out girls on the street, the girl can still give other guys her number, but they're still thinking about dating. People in this category are frequently seen making out in all manners of public places - parks, Metro stations, buses. The more crowded, the better. Maybe it's a chauvinistic thing, but most people think it's just because Chileans live with their parents for so long that they need to express their physical affection somewhere. Some couples are just more expressive than others...

Stage 3: "Pololear" - This is a serious chilenismo. I had never heard of this word before coming here. I think it means exclusive dating, but I'm really not even sure yet. I guess it's a case-by-case basis, but it's a step and more beyond "andar." If you are in this stage, you have a pololo or polola.

Stage 4: "Novios" - The date has been set if you're in this stage. That's why I'm confused about the previous stage. A lot of ground has been covered between the two.

After this, it's on to bigger and better things. I think you can all catch the drift. However, there's kind of a darker side to this next stage. Women between the ages of 25 and 35 have a really hard time finding a job. There are no discrimination or sexual harassment laws in Chile, so most companies just won't hire women of this age - expecting them to start families and not wanting to pay maternity leave. It makes it even harder for couples to start out.

This is random, but I'm still trying to figure out classes. I'll send out an update on what classes I'm taking next week. I'm not traveling this weekend either, so sorry if this is boring! I'll travel next week and in September though!

I hope everyone is staying cool!

Chao,
Mike

Museo de Bellas Artes

2008-08-09T00:26:00.006-04:00

Today, I ventured to El Museo de Bellas Artes to take in a little bit of the more "sophisticated" culture of Santiago. The current highlight is an exhibition of Oscar Niemeyer's architecture, but as I'm continually finding, the highlight wasn't what I was most attracted to. Off of the main floor, I was surprised to find an entire wing dedicated to "Kid Art."

Organized by age, it stood as a surprising reminder of a completely different viewpoint within Chilean culture. As expected, I found some of the typical subjects: dragons and mermaids, penguins and sunsets. (I guess when you put those together, they sound odd. But honestly, they fit in the exhibit!) However, I also found something far more unexpected. Eight and ten year-olds' had painted displays of the environmental problems within the city; another showed a Chilean flag crumpled on the ground; and a six year-old had her own display for her urban photography (and she deserved it).

I suppose that I had expected to find innocence, naivete, or immaturity. Call it what you will, but I expected to find something else. What I did see was a display of awareness, maturity, and even some concern. I've felt like Santiago is a very mature city, and this experience only reinforces that belief. When schoolchildren question a country's environmental impact, urban sprawl, and even patriotism, how can you not be impressed?

At some level, I feel concerned as well. I rather fondly remember my days of innocence and naivete, when I didn't really worry about such things. These kids certainly live in a different place. But at least there are still a few dragons and mermaids floating around.

Chao.

Trying something new...

2008-08-06T23:32:00.002-04:00

Ok, so I'm going to try out the blog idea for a little while. I'm not sure if I'll update it a lot yet, but it's worth trying.

I don't think I've talked much about my host family yet, so I think they deserve some introduction. I'm staying with Arturo and Mary Meza--a very nice couple who have three grown kids. Paula and Javier have already moved out, but Matias will be going to the same university (la Universidad de Chile - "La Chile") as me.

So far, they have been nothing but welcoming and helpful. Mary makes me a nice lunch box each morning, and I almost expect to find a little note in it someday. However, she's done the same for Arturo since they were married. They are a very sweet little couple. She calls him viejo - "old man" - affectionately since he's actually 9 years older. They were married before she even graduated from high school (!) and they seem very happy. He works as an accountant while she takes care of anything that might come up - grandchildren, foreign students, etc. They've hosted a student each semester for the past 7 years, so you could say they're veterans in this little game.

Basically, I'm taken care of. I'm well-fed, well-slept, and quite pleased with my new home.

Hasta Luego.