Lección de Lengua

peinando las muñecas= brushing dolls= they're crazy

se peinan las muñecas= the dolls are brushing themselves= nonsense, something that doesn't make sense

pasé Agosto= I passed August= I lived through another winter, so I'm not going to die

estar entre las patas del caballo= to be between the horse's hooves= to be in a pickle

acostarse con las gallinas= to go to bed with the hens = to go to bed early

Dar jugo= to give juice= to blabber, to talk too much and stupidly

tocando la pianola = playing the little piano= another way to say someone is crazy

Calzones rotos= broken/worn underwear = typical Chilean doughnut (this one makes me giggle. Also, my host mom has promised to teach me how to make them! :D)

Manos de wawa= baby hands= you hold your money in a fist, you're cheap/thrifty

a precio de huevos= at the price of eggs= for a really low price

rascarse con tus propias uñas= to scratch yourself with your own fingernails= to rely on yourself (no scratching each others backs)

estar batuda= to be bigfooted= to be stepping on someone's toes, crossing a line

calentarse la cabeza= to heat the head= to get mad

Hacerse la América= to make for the self America= to get rich quick (take a moment to think on what that says about the conquest...)

Trabaja como chino= works like a chinese person= they work really really hard

ser un plato= to be a plate= to be different, a little weird

ser un pastel= to be a cake= to be useless (think living in Mom's basement playing video games), aka : chancha

creerse la olla del queque= to believe yourself to be the hole of the cake= to think you are the center of the world, to think a lot of yourself

Chiloé

What do college students on foreign exchange do with a week off of school? Travel, claro!

Thus, Mollie, Eric, Emily and I all went south to the border of Patagonia for a week, to the archipelago of Chiloé, to be exact (this is the first time in my life that archipelago isn’t just a setting on Age of Empires). Here’s the breakdown of our journey.

Sunday evening we climbed into a massive double-decker bus and took up our seats right in front, staring down at the pedestrians and teeny cars it looked like the driver was about to squish at every corner. We munched on oatmeal –chocolate cookies that Mollie made, carrots, bananas, and a few sandwiches, and when we awoke at 5 am to start dropping people off we dug into our provisions of chocolate milk and more cookies. We enjoyed 3 movies with Spanish subtitles and faint English, yay for Tom Cruise and sci-fi. Overall, the 16 hour trip was actually more enjoyable than a plane flight, mostly because the seats were better.

Monday morning we shook out the kinks in our legs and decided we loved buses so much that we would take a bus tour of the lake region surrounding Puerto Montt (which is still on the mainland). We girls piled into the very back seat of a 15 passenger van with our backpacks atop of us and stared out the windows at the town, the lakes, and finally the volcano. Our first stop was lago Llanquihue, near Puerto Varas. Across the blue water we could see the peak of Volcan Osorno and some other white-capped mountains. After living in urban, bustling, crowded Valpo and Viña, it was especially breathtaking. It felt like Alaska. Next we stopped to take a boat ride. We saw a little island upon which there used to be a café, until an earthquake took it out. I felt like we were in the Amazon or an 18^th century painting of the wilds.

Arguably the best stop, Saltas de Petrohue, reminded me a lot of Hatcher Pass with a higher concentration of waterfalls. The water was a fantastic turquoise, and the waters roared over rocks in great torrents. Our cameras simply weren’t effective. Our final wow moment was getting up the volcano itself – the van ground its way back and forth over the switchbacks and we stared down at lake Llanquihue. At the top, we checked out the ski lodge as well as the skiers who were enjoying the last of the year’s snow. We gathered some igneous rocks, and basically marveled. I stupidly put some of the rocks in my pocket with my other belongings, so now my camera and phone have ancient lava scars. It sounds better that way. The bus driver had promised to get us back by our next bus at 7:30 to Ancud, and he was good to his word – with 6 minutes to spare. His driving was impressively aggressive in rush-hour Puerto Montt, and we dashed into our bus with only minimal regrets that there would be no dinner. We took our first ferry in the night, watching the lights hit the water as we crossed to Chiloe.

When we arrived in Ancud, around 10 pm we discovered that there were 2 bus stations in town…so the description of our hostel ‘as right across from the bus station’ still meant that it was on the other side of town for us. We asked around and got the general direction. After 8 or so blocks, we stopped in at Willy’s Botilleria to find out where to go next. Willy turned out to have trusty friends, who told us just where to go. We ended the day in the nicest hostel I have ever stayed at (as well as one of the cheapest), snuggled under velvety blankets and luxuriated in the central heating system. As the member responsible for hostel-booking, I was relieved and content.

Day 2 we woke up to rain. After bumming about a little in the town, we came to the conclusion that it was clearly off-season for tourists and that we should probably continue south to Castro. Plus, the bus offered a roof. In Castro we spent the day exploring – a couple markets, a cemetery, and houses on stilts (palafitos) filled the day. We also stayed in a palafito, which was pretty neat. For dinner we made avocado/cheese/turkey sandwiches and tomato soup. Emily’s mom had insisted on giving her condensed milk to take with her- we conjured up an image of her starving to death in the mountains of the south and drinking her condensed milk, thus saving her life. Condensed milk is quite a treat here, actually, people use it in coffee or on fruit for dessert. We poured it over canned peaches and added the crumbly remnants of Mollie’s cookies for dessert while we played cards.

Wednesday was the 18^th, Fiesta Patria. We took a bus to Chiloe National Park in the morning, putsying along through rolling hills dotted with cattle and sheep. It felt a bit like a James Herriot book. At the park we walked through the wet forest, admiring unusual trees and listening to a few birdcalls. One trail took us to the beach, where we saw cattle and horses grazing next to the ocean. It felt like Misty of Chincoteague. We ate some more sandwiches and carrots, one of which broke Eric’s retainer. Darn rabbit food. When we returned we checked into a B and B and met up with a French friend for the night’s festivities. We went to a fonda, or a general fiesta, that she had heard about. It was full of families, which was nice. We ate piles of little fried empanadas, and I got a chance to try vaina, a cocktail of sherry, wine, egg yolks, pisco, and cinnamon. I quite enjoyed it, and despite the band blasting deafening music, we all had a pretty good time. Mollie even danced the Cueca with a Chileno.

Thursday we met Lucille again to hit up Delcahue and then Ancao, a village with the oldest Jesuit church on Chiloe.  Well, on an island next to Chiloe (insert another ferry ride). Unfortunately the churches we visited were closed, but at least we sat on the porch companionably while waiting for rain showers to cease. We also found the only restaurant open in Ancao for lunch. We may not have been impressed by their hot chocolate (powder in water…) or their food, but we did enjoy their wood stove. Afterwards the sun came out, so we sat on the beach and watched kids flying kites (a typical thing for the 18^th) and even saw a few dolphins. Then, once again, we hit the buses to get back to Puerto Montt for our last night in a hostel (but not before I’d shared a couple James Herriot stories with the group. Mollie read some in a British accent…quite fun) It turned out to be our most eventful hostel as well. The bus was late, so we arrived around 10 pm, and our little map we had sketched from google maps proved quite inadequate in the windy, uphill route from the station towards what we hoped was our destination. We ended up taking a colectivo after trudging uphill for a while, and when the collectivo dropped us off at the first address we had written down, we paused again – it looked like a home. No signs, no bell, no light outside. We eyeballed the other address a few streets over, and after ringing the bell from an equally dubious building got no response. So we returned to the first, Mollie got the gate open, and we bravely knocked on the door. The guy who answered told us that our hostel was, in fact, in that very same building. An old lady arrived and showed us to a couple rooms in the enormous, rambling house partially filled by her family. Tired and hungry, we polished off our carrots, oranges, a cheese sandwich, and a bit of chocolate amid many delirous giggles and hit the sack.

    

Friday we enjoyed a home-style breakfast prepared on a wood stove, complete with flirtings with the grandbaby of the house. He kept asking grandma for cookies, and so she told him he was going to go home with me to the US. She asked me what my family would say if I arrived with such a baby. I told her my family would ask where the beloved Chileno was. She laughed. I was so happy to have made a joke in Spanish. The rest of the day we spent dedicated to food and friendship. We strolled along the coast, up to the mall, which was conveniently heated and with a roof. We walked by all the clothing stores, but descended upon a book shop. There’s not many here. Then we found lunch in a typical, cheap Chilean restaurant. I had blood sausages with onions and fries, we got a side order of sopapillas with pebre, and Emily and I tried Fantaschop (fanta and beer). After a comfortable hour or so we waddled out into the sunshine to explore another feria artesenia. For dinner and bus breakfast, we intended to hit up one of the supermarkets in town. To determine which was  cheaper, we split up into teams and made a race to compare prices. Eric and I lost, but it was only because our store was farther away. Unimarc turned out to be cheaper than Santa Isabel, so we returned to stock up on provisions for our bus ride. We sat in the very front again. The movies this time were oddly dubbed – the audio and subtitles were in Spanish, but in different translations. It was quite odd. Luckily it was Tom Cruise again, and Emily explained to me what happened in the other one.

In Viña it was sunny but not hot- perfect weather. Eric and I walked back to Miraflores with high hopes of showers and our own beds. A successful college exploit on the whole.

Lucky Lentils and September 11

Chileans eat a lot of lentils, but traditionally one must eat lentils on Monday - means you'll have luck with money. And in Argentina, one must eat gnocchi on the 29th of the month for the same reason.

Chanchos=pigs...or burps. My host sister said she had chanchos at the dinner table and I was really quite puzzled.

Esposa= handcuffs...or wife. They've taken the joke a step further than in English...

The first movie in Chile was made in Valpo, in 1903. Way to be cutting edge.

Schools usually close the 11th, and perhaps the 10th of September. They won't tell you beforehand, but they want to avoid large groups of students and the riots that go with them on the anniversary of the military coup. We talked about it in film class; even though it's been 40 years, the war criminals have never been tried, bodies have never been returned, and disappearances have never been explained. And on top of all this, the country still has two polarized factions: socialist and capitalist. The socialists, as the victims of the coup, want reform in various areas (like free education), and the right still see themselves as the salvation of the country after the economy went down the drain under communist rule. It strikes me as ironic that on the same day that the US is remembering an attack on capitalism, Chile is remembering an attack backed by capitalists. I'm surprised they don't resent Americans more.

Chickens and Tigers and Bears

Thursday our Chilean culture class went next door to the engineering school to learn how to dance the Cueca, the traditional Chilean dance sure to show up during next week’s festivities.  The Cueca imitates the mating ritual of that supreme bird, the chicken, with fluttering and stomping and twirling. Handkerchiefs are essential to get the flirtation right; women hold it delicately between their fingers and use it like a fan in front of their face or over their shoulder or on their head, men grab it and swing it round and round. It really is a game that the women play; maybe they’ll let the men get close, maybe not. It’s not as suave and sensual as the tango, but I think I like flirting chickens better.

Here's a video: 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sTK9T9KMv5c

Friday I went to small group for the first time, and my Chinese friend came to youth group – it was the first time she’d ever seen a church. I think we made an ok impression. She’s coming again, at any rate. So that was fun to introduce her to something so important to me.

Yesterday Emily and I celebrated her birthday with Mexican food and trip to the zoo. We can report that Chilean Mexican food is pretty good, and that Quilpue actually has a pretty good collection of critters. I got us a little lost on the way to the zoo, but we asked around and found our way. We had prepared for a cold and rainy day, so when the sun came out we were sweating up and down the hills in our big fuzzy sweaters.  We also had our first hitchhiking experience; a lady saw us trudging along in our sweaters towards the zoo (the only thing in that direction) and offered us a lift with her and her friend. Since we were in a small town, at 2 in the afternoon, with two of us who knew where we wanted to go, and two rich-looking ladies in a nice car, I figured we were pretty safe. They chatted us up for the 5 minutes or so we had, and told us all about what critters we should expect to see and where. It just underscored what I’ve already been noticing – everyone here is super duper friendly when you need directions or information. I’ve never had anyone be gruff with me or refuse to talk to me, even with my pathetic Spanish.

We tromped all around the simple zoo, admiring the native species as well as the lions and gazelles. Chickens and cats wandered at liberty throughout the zoo, and the enclosures were surrounded with picnic benches and gardens. It felt a little like a collection from the 1800’s, and I couldn’t get the idea of Tourism and Coloniality from Ecolit class out of my head. Emily loves animals, and it was really fun to watch her chat up the geese or admonish the monkey who bonked into a metal sign and scared us half to death.

We walked back to town and bought ice cream to cool off. And at that moment I realized that I had lost my metro card, somewhere in the zoo. We went back, after hours, and the zoo keeper let us wander all over the dirt paths to see if it would turn up. We never did find it, but we did get to go the zoo twice, once for free and after hours, and we did walk off our icecream. Plus, I wasn’t much of a fan of my photo on my old card, so now I have a chance to redo it. And wouldn’t it be fun to imagine that the monkeys are going to go have a day out in Valpo with my card?

September

September is here! This is pretty exciting, since September is when stuff starts happening in Chile. The supermarkets are full of paraphernalia for Independence Day, the metros and collectivos are sporting red white and blue streamers, and everyone is starting to emerge to see the sun and make travel plans for the week’s vacation mid-month. Plus, ya know, spring and stuff.

I have made three new major acquisitions to my weekly routine: Zumba, volunteering, and a small group at church. I haven’t had the chance to actually go to small group as yet, so let’s talk about the other two. Zumba here seems a bit more intense than the version I’d seen at GU, maybe because of the teacher, but maybe also because it’s Latin America. No sé. Either way, the room is jam-packed with 40 or so people (finding a spot is a little competitive), and yelling is involved. Today I’m going with a Chinese friend, should be fun.

As for volunteering, my Gender teacher heard another girl and me talking about bothering the volunteer coordinator for information and volunteered to show us a day center literally a stone’s throw from the university that needs volunteers. Accordingly we marched over the next day to find them, and were shown a snug little building that offers showers, laundry, a kitchen, and workshops for homeless people by a very friendly and smiley volunteer coordinator. I went to work yesterday morning with another friend; it was surprisingly exhausting work to simply socialize with various participants in our wobbly Spanish. I talked with the director, and I think I am committed to leading a 2 hour improv theater workshop next week. In Spanish. I’m slightly terrified. It will be a challenge, but hopefully in a good way.

Yesterday in written Spanish class we talked about Chilean stereotypes. The stereotypical Chilean (especially in comparison with their neighbors) is serious, responsible, cold, formal, and really a drag at a party. Chileans actually like this image, according to a study, because their country has rules and things actually work like they’re supposed to. I also learned that Chile is environmentally much like an island, since the Andes, Patagonia, the Pacific, and the Atacama desert surround it. Thus the lack of terrifyingly poisonous animals or devastating diseases. Definitely not your stereotypical Latin American country. Also, bland food and cold temperatures. Very very not Mexico.

I have discovered two English words that have been adopted here with their pronunciation intact: Pie and Colgate. Only the ignorant call it Peeay or Colgahtay. I asked what a lemon pie was called and was told Lemon Pie. Got that one down.

Tourist Duties: Casa Blanca y Isla Negra

Well, I finally feel like I’m back at school: the calendar has filled up and the homework is piling on.

But that doesn’t mean that my duties as a foreigner can be ignored either. That means visiting. Today our program coordinator, Carolina, Emanuel (her bf), and Joel (our classy driver who makes me think of Higgins from Agatha Christie’s Poirot) took us to Casa Blanca, a famous wine valley about half an hour from Valpo. The first vineyard was up on a hill, so despite the clouds we had a nice view of the rows of grape vines. We had a good explanation of the harvest, fermentation, and storing of the wine (did you know good wine barrels made of French Oak coast 1,000 bucks a pop? Empty? And you can only use them 3 times? I was impressed). Then we moved onto the tasting, where we learned how to change and access the flavors of the wine by smelling, swirling, and taking in air as we drank. We tried a sauvignon blanc, a pinot noir, and a sauvignon cabernet (French is finally useful for something). I guess the cabernet is the most Chilean, but Emily and I both liked the blanc best. And now I feel ready to serve a dinner party, since I know at least 3 kinds of good wine and what kind of food they go with. Classy education.

We visited another vineyard briefly to do the same sans tasting (I think Carolina was testing stuff out to get a feel for future visits). The main building had a neat wooden and terracotta roof, and we stared a little bit at the Brazilean tourists before heading to Quisco for lunch and more adventures.

The beach town of Quisco is home to many restaurants with many seafood options. We enjoyed Abalone and clams before our main dishes. For me, I tried a crab casserole. Heavy, but quite good. With some coffee to round everything off we were ready to hit the main attraction of Quisco: Isla Negra, the home of Pablo Neruda.

As the Poetry Foundation says, Pablo Neruda is probably the most internationally famous poet that North Americans forget about. Probably because he was a communist. He also has a house in Valpo, but Isla Negra, where he spent his last days, is the more famous of the two. The stone walls of the house are the real deal, made of non-standard rocks with occasional additions of mosaics or glass bottles, and the interior is covered in beautiful wood paneling and furniture. And then there’s his collections. Whether it’s the mermaids from the prows of ships, funny-shaped bottles, shoes, hats, butterflies, Brazilian masks, or seashells, intriguing objects filled up the beautiful rooms overlooking the sea. We weren’t allowed to take pictures inside, but take a look on Google Images, it’s worth seeing. Outside we ogled the view and saw Neruda and his wife’s graves. Very cool.

On our way home we stopped to see what used to be the world’s largest swimming pool. Which, ironically, is next to the ocean…oh mankind.

The drive back through the countryside was also beautiful, what with the sunset and the high dose of urban living we have been receiving. Hills, cows, horses, trees, flowers…did my heart good.