Mis Alumnos

Just a quick note about my students. I finally remembered to take my camera to school and asked the Basic guys to take a picture and they tried to charge me. I immediately heard moans and groans of irritation about a photo request, but obviously they obliged. Contrastingly, before I even asked to take the picture of my Intermediates, I had two or three students leaning into one another, ready to pose at the sheer sight of my camera case. It was cute. Cuter was the way they fluffed their hair, straightened their coats/scarves and arranged themselves like pros for the perfect picture. Silly silly folks. They are still my favorites though- the class where I was asked about getting ass. I'll be taking more pictures of my other classes soon, so you can see the object of my "Mary Kay Laterno" interest. . .

Dramarama on the Alameda

Right now, I’m enjoying my Nescafe (yes, taste buds can be trained), checking emails and listening to BBC World News. A few minutes ago, it occurred to me that I better send out notification of my livelihood to my folks in the event that they get wind of the student protests that went on yesterday right in front of my campus. With these things, I usually laugh it all off, like when she was concerned about me being ashed on, despite being more than a thousand KM from Chaiten. HOWEVER, yesterday’s protests were literally at the doorstep of my campus in barrio Universitario. I had no idea it was going on, until I stepped out from the metro and was stung with an unknown substance. My sinuses were burning and my lungs were killing me. I’ve been pretty sick, so I thought I might just be sensitive to the poorer air quality in that part of town (ha ha ha, I’m a Providencia snob! My neighborhood has trees, yours has protests!!) , but the closer I got to my building, the stronger it got and I realized something was off. When I rounded the corner to the entrance, the metal grates were pulled closed, with only about 5 feet open to allow Duoc students/faculty to pass through. As I walked inside, I noticed all the students were plugging their noses or holding their scarves over their faces, so it definitely wasn’t my flu-ridden sinuses just being sensitive to El Centro pollution. I got upstairs to the computer lounge and Megan confirmed that it was residual tear gas from some rowdy protests. I’d just missed them as well as the tanks rolling down the Alameda, with police tossing tear gas. GREAT! This brings me to BBC news, from which I got the full details, after the fact. It looked like an ugly scene, but no reports of anything really crazy. All my students are fine and my profe friends are too. Although, if any of you saw it, you might have caught a glimpse of my school and my metro stop- REPUBLICA- or unknowingly, one of my hottie McHottie students. And if that’s not enough dram for you, just hold your horses. I was on campus for a long time yesterday, since I have a three hour break between my classes, so I was hanging out in the teacher’s lounge trying to get ahead on lesson plans. During a potty break, I overheard some Chilenas talking about a “bomba” on campus. AGAIN?? (In case you didn’t hear about it, about a month ago, one of my classes was terminated because of a bomb threat) They continued to apply their eyeliner and fix their hair, so I wasn’t taking it too seriously. When I went back to the lounge, I was told to pack my bags and wait outside until further notice. The Carabineros were already inspecting the building as I walked downstairs and some of my students were coming to my aide to ensure I understood what was going on. They told me “profe, no worry to the bomba! Eeezajoke. Some students look now at the futbol game. They don’t want to make test today in the night.” They are so sweet. Indeed, the theory was a common one, that some students pulled a prank to get out of midterms while they enjoyed the big Colo Colo match. After waiting about 10 minutes, I was just about to follow the suggestion of another english teacher to just go home if I could find one of my 7 O’clock students to pass the word of class being canceled, when a megaphone announcement was made that classes were to resume promptly. DAMN! If ever there’s an excuse to enjoy a sopaipilla when you’re supposed to be back on the wagon. It’s impossible for me to ignore two fry stands within a 40 foot radius, if I’m standing still. The smell gets to me. So, of course I waited the threat out with a sopaipilla and some choppy English with a couple of my star students.

How many pesos does it take. . .

I just checked my bank statement and discovered a $15.00 international transaction fee. As you can imagine, I’m horrified, considering how many of these I might have racked up without being careful. There is one bank in Santiago where I don’t get charged the fee, but I must have had too much red wine one night when I went to the wrong ATM. I’ve been trying really hard to live on my meager teacher’s salary but last month I took a trip to Argentina, circumstances under which no financial rules apply- vacation, so, I dipped into the ol’ savings for that and vowed when I came back to not touch it until the next big trip. I’ve been budgeting splendidly - - I know my dad would be impressed. However, when I received my newly purchased and lost glasses from Susan, I was slapped with a $35,000 peso charge. That’s almost 90 bucks. On my salary, it’s a big fat slap in the pocket. So, I’ve been EXTRA careful in choosing the cheapest food if I ate out, but mostly I’ve been cooking at home, since- as I’ve mentioned before- the food ain’t great here. Well, I splurged on a Lomo Italiano yesterday in the “Casino” (cafeteria) at Duoc and am down to my last $4610 pesos (roughly $10US) - in coin form. No paper money left. I spent the last 15 minutes scrounging through my backpack, purse, coat pockets and all to see how much I might pull together. I even dipped into my “sopaipilla fund” (the 10-peso coin collection accumulated in the front pocket of my black purse) and counted up 46 coins. That’s 5.75 sopaipillas, if I go to the friendly guy across the street who sells them at a bargain 80 pesos compared to the 100 pesos-charge directly in front of the school. I’ve been off the sopaipillas for about a week now, but it was nice to know I could treat myself whenever I wanted, as long as that purse pocket was full. I know that having money to recharge my BIP card for the metro, this week, is mas importante, but the wanting-what-i-can’t-have is going turn me into a sopaipilla fiend. My students will wonder what happened to “meez carol”, watching me walk sketchily by the fryer stand, waiting for a moment to grab and dash or scrounging for coins on the sidewalk in front of Duoc. That’s great. I shouldn’t joke about it, because food really is like crack to me. ILOVEITINEEDITILOVEIT! Mom, if you’re reading this, don’t worry- I won’t get myself arrested over an 80-peso fried snack. I will definitely pay the ATM fee before resorting to petty crime in order to indulge my fried-food cravings.
The challenge I pose to myself is to see how long it can last me. I have a well-stocked kitchen, so food isn’t an issue, but transportation does take a chunk of my budget. As does socializing. I think I mentioned before that the old social butterfly of Carol is back. Only two weekends have been spent at home since I got here and the last one was only due to a terrible flu. Anyhow, payday is technically on the first of June, which falls on a Sunday, so I might be a weekend without cash. This shall be interesting. It’s during times like this I’m so happy it’s cheaper to eat healthy than junk food in Chile. No creative Top Ramen cooking in my kitchen!

Santiago Showers

We had a two day break from the rain, but it’s back and in full swing. I’m totally remembering the winter of 2006- specifically that )#(@)(*@&ing November when it rained- no, poured- for the WHOLE month without rest. As many of you know, I packed terribly. My friend Renee, who I’ve gone on a couple trips with, teases me that I pack “everything but what I need”. It’s totally true and embarrassing since I usually wear the same 5-6 outfits in any given month. Yet I still cannot pack. Anywho, the point of telling that is not to make myself look bad, but to point out that I left my Gore-Tex jacket in Seattle (along with all my other coats!) and was getting a little soaked until I got an umbrella today. Other Chileans are not as underprepared. In fact, they put Seattleites to shame when it comes to all-weather gear. Sure, we have REI and Gore-Tex to outfit us in the Northwest, but do we dare wear moonboots or snowboarding pants to English class when it’s raining cats and dogs? Definitely not. My students, and many passersby in other public places, are sporting the crap out of them though and it’s super amusing to me. ESPECIALLY when I see the Mariah Carey wannabes, with their all white snow-fits on; wedge-heel, faux-fur-trimmed moon boots and a flowery umbrella. Sans the wedge-heel boots, the snowsuits wouldn’t look so ridiculous if geared up for more heavy-duty outdoor activities, but for god’s sake to protect you from. . . RAIN??? Too, too funny. I guess if they (the Mariah Carey wannabes and others with full snowsuits) had been at the bus stop the other day, they’d be dry and laughing at me with my wet ass, so who’s to judge. Either way, it’s been a great point of amusement for me . . . being all tough and desensitized to the rain.

Homesick, at last

So, it’s been a tumultuous couple of weeks, having begun to experience my first bout of homesickness- well (no offense to all the grownups in my life) mostly sickness from missing nieces and nephews and regretting that I won’t meet Kathy and Dave’s baby OR little baby Willis-McInnis until December. By that time, they’ll be practically be walking and talking. Or so it feels. More than missing out on snuggles with wormy little bundles, I am sad about missing the time with my sisters. With all five of their kids, it’s always been a really special bonding time to spend with them, just hanging out and visiting with nothing at all to do, except chat, snack and hold babies. Last week was especially hard for me and I had to temporarily remove all evidence of little kids from my room/wallet because photos sent me into weeping fits and it wasn’t pretty.
I got an email from Susan telling me that Sophia requested a seventh spot be allowed for Doodoo (the endearing nickname she uses to refer to me) at her 6-guest maximum party- for her 6th birthday. Being hypersensitive to anything niece/nephew-related, I teared up in the teacher’s computer lounge on campus and was absolutely mortified. . . THANK GOD no one saw! Como se dice “emotional wreck of a gringa”? Although I couldn’t stand to look at pictures, I somehow thought I could handle a phone call with them. . . handle, yes. But without crying my eyes out? Umm, NO. I called Susan’s kids first but Sophia was already in bed, so my little Benny-bop (Daniel) chatted with me for a few. He sounded SOOOO grown up, which made me REALLY SUPER DUPER sad. They change so fast in a really short amount of time, so I was imagining all the good stuff I’d missed out on and would miss out on. When he sang me “I’ve been workin’ on the railroad” I absolutely lost it and I think my roommate was worried that someone died back home. I don’t know how to explain in Spanish that I’m a COMPLETE sucker when it comes to these kids, so I just buried my face and hoped he wasn’t watching me. Pitiful, pitiful. After that I couldn’t bear to call Ethan and Fiona since the last time I talked to them I was traumatized by how grown up they both sounded. It was fun to talk to them and always amusing when Ethan insists on story after story. I do miss the request, “carol, can you tell me a story?”. . . “umm, Carol, can you tell me another story?” and another and another and another. I’d go broke on calling cards if I told as many as I used to in Seattle, when I had 1500 minutes/month. I’m feeling stronger now, so I’ll be calling to tell some cuties a story or two this weekend.
It’s been raining the last few days and somehow I think it’s actually made me feel better. I get all blue and reclusive in Seattle, but here it hasn’t bothered me. I must be a true Seattleite now, if I’m admitting that a little rain washed away my blues. DAMN! It was really coming down, like the fall of 06. I remember getting SOAKED every day, being soaked in my classes, because some asswipe (or many) would drive through a puddle really fast, not giving a shit about me or other pedestrians. Well, with such experience as a pedestrian and living in a rainy city, I know to look ahead, and when cars come racing toward me, I tend to back off away from the curb, anticipating a splashing. Well, last night I observed some not-so-bright folks at the bus stop. I was standing and three people were sitting on the bench. The first time a car zoomed by, we all got a little splash, but not much. HOWEVER, I did take note that there was a deep puddle right in front of the stop- which hadn’t been so noticeable before, in the dark. So, when a second car came zooming towards us, I stepped away a few feet and behind a sign. EVERYONE on the bench just sat there and had the crap splashed out of them. They all cursed the driver and seemed a little dumbfounded. Well, a few minutes went by and a third car came zooming by. Do you think they thought to stand up and move, or hold their umbrellas up as shields? NO. Do you think they learned anything by the FOURTH time it happened? NO. I was curious to see if they’d sit through splashes (and I mean SPLASHES, no delicate sprinkles) a fifth time, but the damn bus came. I was thoroughly amused. I know it’s terrible to say, but for hell’s sake, the dogs here are smart enough to look both ways before crossing the street, so how couldn’t they have figured out a solution?? Either way, it made the wait more enjoyable. I shouldn’t derive too much entertainment from it, because the road side splashing karma will get me when I’m back in Seattle.

Hola Mendoza!

God bless the long weekends here. These Chileans know how to work a federal holiday- when it lands on a Thursday, squeeze Friday right on in with it. I love it. With my 5 day weekend, I took to bus riding over to Mendoza, Argentina with Renee. What was going to be a 3 days/nights trip ended up being much less thanks to an Andean traffic jam and a painfully long wait at the Chile-Argentina border. Try five hours. In freezing cold weather . . . in Crocs.
We left Santiago around 1:30 and as soon as we were out of the immediate vicinity of Santiago, I was reminded of just how beautiful this area is. Sometimes I forget that clean air still exists. Even more impressive were the views as we began our ascent through the Andes. I’d heard from people who traveled to Mendoza a few weeks ago that the ride itself was one of the best parts of their trip, but I was not really prepared for how surreal and beautiful it was. The switchbacks were a bit daunting, though, especially considering that our driver was taking corners a bit faster than I would’ve in a 16-foot high vehicle, but we made it unscathed. The traffic jam was terrible. We were in stop and go motions for about 2 hours- meaning, stop for 30 minutes, then go for about three. The view was pacifying me for a good while until the sun set and it was really cold and my seat uncomfortable so all I could think about was getting the hell to Mendoza. We made it to the border by 6:30 and were told by our driver’s very friendly co-pilot that we’d be waiting three or four hours. This was a Chilean estimate, so we figured it would probably be about four to five, but were hoping for three. With a long wait ahead of us, we ventured out to check out the “shopping” and Renee enjoyed her first real-life encounter with snow (not counting the fluff at Mountain High). Sorely underprepared with chips and cookies for the bus ride, we stood in line for food for a good 90 minutes- the whole time, not fully knowing if they’d accept our Chilean pesos or offer any food we might eat. Ok, food Renee might eat, as she’s a vegetarian and I’m well . . . not picky. We figured there was nothing else to do while we froze our asses off- and me, my feet. (Maybe I should’ve succumbed to Chilean peer pressure where Croc donning is concerned. My feet would’ve been happier) There were three little snack shacks open for several hundred people and I enjoyed the first taste of Argentine beef . . . and prices. A giant, grilled beef sandwich on fresh bread was only about a buck fifty. The border patrol seemed a bit inefficient, with only 6 booths open to filter everyone through but by 11:30, we finally boarded back on the bus and were on the final leg of the trip to Mendoza, where we arrived at 3:30 AM. Both of us were kind of stressed because from the terminal it appeared that everything was closed and the only people inside were passengers camping out on benches. We wondered just how we might get to our hostel with no map, only an address and no Taxis in sight. However, we did find transportation and made it safely to Las Legaras, where we were greeted by a very friendly and chatty young man, Fabricio. Although we’d been dying for a bed, we couldn’t sleep immediately so we got the low-down on Mendoza from Fabricio, who happens to be some kind of tourism apprentice and was more than happy to tell us about all the hot spots. Finally, we lay down in our 6-bed, dormitory style room and slept through snores and strange moans until later in the morning when the lovely maid woke us up with vacuuming. What a start, huh?
Well, when we finally made our way out for some marathon shopping (as prices, style and quality are pure shit in Santiago). Boots and coats were on the list, but we were sidetracked by bargains of other sorts. I did end up getting some nice belts at a night market, but no boots to be bargained for. Renee ultimately convinced me that shopping in Buenos Aires would be better. She only has two weeks to wait, but I have to wait until Shannon arrives in June, so it was a bit tough to give up on the quest.
While my style of boots weren’t really easy to find, fantastic food, coffee and wine were. Very cheaply as well. For our first meal, we enjoyed a leisurely, huge lunch. Salads, pizza, pasta bebidas and gourmet coffees- all less than $20. All of the food was great, but our first parilla was AMAZING. Renee and I were wandering, looking for a place that might accommodate my carnivorous mood and her vegetarianism when we ran into Sandra (another English teacher) and some of her friends. We ended up at a place called Caro Pepe and I will NEVER forget it. I was thinking the whole time, how much my friends and particularly my food-loving family would love it. You might’ve guessed that it’s a buffet, but with freshly grilled-to-order meat. Chicken, fish, sausage, beef, lamb . . . all cuts too, which was interesting. There were many things consumed I couldn’t identify, but enjoyed no less. On top of that, there was a pasta bar, where fresh pasta of your choice was cooked in front of you with your choice of sauce. ADDITIONALLY, can I just say that Argentina rocks salads- - especially at Pepe’s. What with produce abundant, it’s a mystery why the hell you can’t find a decent salad in Santiago for under $12 (going rate for any Caesar salad). Everything was delicious. The desert bar was fantastic as well, but rich enough that I couldn’t bear a second trip. I regretted not getting the fresh crepes with dulce de leche though. I imagined real hard though so I’ll just report that they were amazing too.
With thoughts of maids vacuuming while we slept, we opted to stay the night at the apartment that Sandra and Serra, her friend visiting from Phildelphia, were renting. Renee and I enjoyed a cozy night on the futon and were able to sleep in without disruption from any maid. It was so pleasant we decided to stay our last night there as well. Something I came to momentarily regret doing when I realized hot water wasn’t available. I’ve taken many cold showers before, but never where it was so cold it HURT. I’ve never scrubbed and rinsed so fast, but still was shivering violently for several minutes- mind you it was quite cold in Mendoza, contrary to pre-departure weather reports read in Santiago.
We went out for another parilla and I enjoyed yet more steak and salad =). Afterwards, we met up with Sandra’s bus buddy (she talks to more people than I do when I’m home), Rodrigo, and went to a discotheque with him and his friend. The place was about 15 minutes outside of Mendoza, on the side of a highway. It looked like a scene from the movie “Roadhouse”. Inside and out. Inside was ridiculously packed and fortunately I didn’t learn the hard way how long it took to travel from one side to the other- namely, from where we were dancing to the bathrooms. Seriously, crossing about 40 feet through the sea of people took a good ten minutes or more. I give Chilean men credit for only having obnoxious catcalls, but having the decency to keep their hands to themselves. I can’t say how many times my butt/arms/waist/everything were grabbed. On top of that, what was more annoying were the men who kept trying to talk to me with deafening music going on, after they clearly learned I don’t speak Spanish well enough to communicate beyond the noise. One guy thought he could speak English but he made NO sense- was either too drunk or I was really deaf- and kept following me around telling me “look me! I talk to you!”, when he spoke. This wasn’t working with my tactic for ignoring him! Most men would just walk away after I told them I couldn’t hear or understand them (in Spanish), but not Richard. Others were persistent but not to the extent that he was.
Our last morning was spent enjoying a real breakfast, with real coffee (though the pending return to Nescafe remained at the back of my mind). Breakfast at restaurants doesn’t exist in Santiago, so we were loving the eggs, coffee, toasted sandwiches and fruit salads. Since we had buses leaving at similar times, we shared a cab to the bus terminal then bid farewell. The return trip was looking more promising as soon as we boarded . . . bigger bus, wider aisle, deeper recline of the seats, less passengers and movies! Also, the bathroom was on the lower level so we didn't have to worry about stinkers wafting towards us, especially since there was a "no caca" sign on the door. Even the experience at the border was better on the return, with only two and a half hours of waiting. We got back to Santiago after only 8 hours, just in time to prepare for a busy upcoming week. Thankfully I didn’t have classes at 8:30 on Monday morning like Renee, but still plenty to do.