No Yelling on the Bus

I finally bought a Spanish novel, Gabriel Garcia Marquez's 100 Years of Solitude, or rather, Cien Años de Soledad. It's gonna be intense, and possibly take me the rest of the year to read, but by golly, I'm going to do it.

I don't understand the funky mullet look that guys are sporting right now. It's a sort of faux hawk, minus mohawk, add longer wisps of hair in the back. In doing an image search to explain this phenomenon, all I can find are photos of good-looking soccer players who actually pull it off, which I believe gives me an explanation of what these guys are going for.

I went on a date on Wednesday night, like a proper date, in Spanish, with a guy from Santiago, who made me feel like I was the only woman on the planet, and that every word out of my mouth was the most interesting thing he had ever heard. It was really nice. Dad – though I got an informal marriage proposal on said date, still nothing to worry about at this point, but free meals from handsome Spanish-speaking men are hard to pass up.

Against my better judgement, I signed up for a tour bus of sorts to transport me further south in Chile. I was hesitant for fear of group think, and not having a choice in everything I do on a daily basis. I was unsure how to make the most of my time traveling south. Enter Pachamama. It's a bus company that does driving tours of either northern or southern Chile, offering the option to jump off and on the bus, giving you the flexibility you desire. In hindsight, it turns out they're also really good at overselling something for what it's not. But I made the decision to jump on, and though I wouldn't do it again, have decided to go with the flow, and try not to let my frustrations get the best of me.

We left early Thursday morning, bound for Pichilemu, a small surf town. We made two stops not worth mentioning as it seems their idea of exciting sights worth stopping for is different than mine. Once settled in a 5-bed, two-story summer camp-esque room, I hit the beach with my new friends Amy and Natasha. Just as we were settling into the volcanic black sand beach, a heavy wind picked up, blinding us with dark grains of sand, which stuck to every part of our bodies and lodged in our bags, towels, and clothing. Realizing this was not what we were looking for, we headed back to the hotel for a nap. At 7pm we all loaded back on the bus to head for Punto Lobos, an extreme surfing spot nearby, for sunset. The winding road, lined with surfing ads and empty cars abandoned by hundreds of wave-hungry surfers, ended at a rocky point high above the ocean. We sat there chatting, watching surfer dudes and dudettes catching waves, and admiring the sunset. Once the sun took its leave we headed back to the hotel for a delicious shark dinner. 

Friday we began what felt like the longest day of my life in transit to Pucon, stopping briefly in Santa Cruz, then every two hours at gas stations that all looked the same. Finally at 9pm we arrived in Pucon, and my aggravation level was through the roof. You see, there is one girl on the bus who NEVER STOPS TALKING in a very loud, look-at-me voice. Thankfully I had my iPod, and also have had several past experiences which have allowed me to perfect my tuning out skills. I opted out of the group dinner in favor of some Kelly time. I got a good night sleep, and decided I would wake up with an attitude adjustment on Saturday. 

After a yoga and coffee-filled solitary morning, I met up with Tash and Amy, in search of white water rafting adventure. We climbed into a white van and excitedly rode to the river where we stripped down to our swim suits, trading our street clothes for thick wet suits, booties, oversized jackets, shorts, and life jackets, transforming into fat raft-ready paddlers. We stood in a semi-circle, paddles in hand for our safety briefing before pushing the rafts into the water. Listening to the guide commands, paddling furiously, and giggling, we had a blast, tipping over only after he had us all stand through a rapid, balancing on the sides of the raft, then rocked it over. 

We spent the rest of the afternoon at the beach, jamming out to pop tunes pouring out of oversized club speakers. Last night we reached total relaxation at the natural hot springs outside of town, and upon return to the hostel my eyes were heavy with exhaustion. Today the bus went on, but I opted to stay in Pucon a few days longer, drawn in by the possibility of more extreme adventure and the outdoor action here. 

a surfer dude checking out the surf action

view from punto lobos

beginning of sunset 

our guide, Danny, Natasha, Amy, and I

sunset

delicious pachamama family shark dinner

our bus - unloading at the museum in Santa Cruz

geared up for some rafting

me - paying very close attention to the safety instructions

our not-so-slimming rafting outfits

cowabunga

we mastered the rapids

the beach in Pucon

Fire and Rain...Or Sea

It’s settled. I am hopelessly and completely in love with Valparaiso. This is a place I will definitely return to some day, hopefully for an extended stay.

I haven't spoken a word of English in three days. My only interaction with it has been my obsessive reading and writing in my journal. And the two days before that, only to talk to my friend Gabrielle. I'm becoming a badass, and beginning to understand a lot more of what I hear from both the Chileans and the Argentinians.

Sunday I met up with Tanya and her friend Camilla from Brazil. We hit up the empanada spot and found a nice bench where we could enjoy them before setting off uphill to Pablo Neruda’s house. I, in an effort to practice more listening skills, took the audio tour in Spanish, and understood quite well. I want a house like Pablo. I want a big fluffy lazy chair dubbed the Cloud, and I want to sit there overlooking colorful Valparaiso and the sea, reading and drinking red Chilean wine. I want a desk that looks over the same thing, constantly giving me creative energy to write beautiful poems. I want to have parties with all my friends, and laugh at them as they enter my bathroom with see-through doors. I want it all.

After descending the hill, the girls went to the beach and I went to greedily finish my book in my new reading spot in front of my new house. (Yes, I’m calling it mine, because I have felt so much at home here). I made dinner and chatted with Gabrielle, my roommate in the dorm. We were like little kids laying in our respective bottom bunks telling stories about boys and giggling endlessly until sleep conquered us.

The great thing about the weather in Valparaiso is that it’s overcast and cooler in the morning. I don’t feel even a tad bit guilty about luxuriously lazy mornings, not that I would otherwise. At 1 or 2 pm every day, as if there is a switch, the clouds disappear, and the sun and all its warmth fill the sky until about 8:30pm. It’s a weather pattern I haven’t had the slightest bit of trouble getting used to. I read two books there in four days. Someone give me a reading prize or a free trip to Pizza Hut like Mr. K did in 4^th grade please.

Monday afternoon Gabrielle and I headed to the beach to meet Tanya and her friend Lina, which we found is an incredibly difficult name for Chilean men to get right. We walked from the train to the beach in twos, Lina and I chatting on about Patagonia, and Tanya and Gabrielle catching up on London and Buenos Aires. As we neared the water, we ran across the sand so as not to burn our feet on the baking, scalding hot beach. An hour later, dripping with sweat, Tanya, Gabrielle, and I stood at the edge of the surf, contemplating the biggest waves I’ve ever seen. The water was freezing to put it mildly, and after shrieking every time a wave came in, I finally went for it, sprinting through the knee-deep water to dive into the next wave. My swimsuit bottoms and I were shocked at how scarily strong the undertow was, and took a moment to get readjusted so as not to share my girl parts with all of Vina del Mar.

Later, after heading back to Valparaiso and reading more, I went with a guy from Santiago to a tango bar that had no tango since it was Monday night. We were a bit of an awkward duo, obviously having little in common, and when we ran out of things to talk about, and I knew the night was over, I sat through a personal 30-minute slide show of his experience hiking some glacial area with a lot of rocks. I sat rolling my eyes as I watched different angles of the same photo zip by, each one with much too long an explanation. Finally, by2am, I was in bed fast asleep.

Yesterday my camera was out of commission as well as all my other chargeable electronics. You see, the converter that I’ve been dragging around is somewhat old and frankly a piece of crap. That coupled with the old outlets in the house was not a match made in heaven. Earlier that morning when I had used my computer I smelled a burning smell, and unplugged the apparatus only to burn myself and realize that the heat from the outlet was melting the plastic off the converter. Oops. Good thing I hadn’t left it there and and set the beautiful home on fire. Not knowing any of the technical Spanish words, and using my creative resources, I was finally able to tell a sales girl what I needed, and now all my stuff has power again.

I spent the rest of the day wandering the hills admiring the graffiti art, throwing my hands up over my head in a double-thumbs-up gesture every time a construction worker felt it necessary to yell me how beautiful I am and how much he loves me.

I chatted with some handsome Argentinian boys before calling it a night, got up early this morning, saw my beautiful Kristina’s face on Skype, then left, hugging and thanking Marcella for everything. I shall return. Luckily I got a nice bus driver on the way to the bus station. For when I didn’t have change, he didn’t kick me off the bus, but instead smiled giving me a free ride. I caught a charter bus 5 minutes later, and am now safely back in Santiago. I leave tomorrow to head south toward Patagonia, and I’m beyond excited.

Sometimes kids are cute. Sometimes they are not. Right now I am at the “not” phase as I dumbly left my camera out and a 4-year-old is just screaming at the top of her lungs for everyone to look at her so she can take a photo, and it’s bothering me. She just knocked my bag upside down on the floor, and is now kicking me like a free-style flutter kick, which is only acceptable in the pool. Only we’re not in the pool, and I am not amused. I’m trying to get stuff done so I can go to the pool. Argh. I know, tough life, right? You know when you were a kid and you would say things like, “na na na na boo boo” to annoy people. I would imagine that even though adults pretend these things don’t bother them, they are fooling themselves. It’s obnoxious, English or Spanish.

our guard dogs who followed us around the city all day

Tanya, Camillia, me, empanadas

Valparaiso

this reminded me of when we used to drink "crunk juice" with the NOB boys

my house

Rags to Riches, Hate to Love

While traveling in Guatemala, I got most of my perspective from the lower end of the economic scale, staying with families who had little. My experience visiting Dominique's family in Santiago was quite the opposite. On Thursday afternoon, Aunt Patricia, a fiery 70-year-young woman in oversized black sunglasses, dressed to the nines, and Chauffeur Alfredo picked me up at the hostel. We drove through the city center as Patricia explained points of interest, giving me her personal history and some of that of Santiago. I hope I look that good and have a similar zest for life when I'm 70. 

She explained that we would be lunching at her sister, Monica's house, up in the hills in a more affluent part of Santiago. We wound up through the beautifully landscaped hills, through a toll gate of sorts and arrived outside an automatic black wrought-iron gate leading to the house. Nothing could have prepared me for the house awaited me. It's as if a huge villa from Italy was picked up and dropped it into the hills of Santiago. With floor to ceiling windows and a fabulous panoramic view of the city, it's a place I wouldn't mind calling home. 

As Patricia was giving me a tour and the lay of the land, we caught sight of Monica across the house, and she summoned us downstairs for lunch. After discussing my travel plans, and receiving their best route suggestions, and an invitation to come stay at their farm, we moved on to the dining room, where Monica closed the enormous, heavy wood doors behind us. The large wooden table would seat 12 people comfortably, and we sat concentrated at one end, Monica at the head. Lunch was served (literally served) on a silver platter by a woman who has been with the family for some time. It was one of the best meals I've had while traveling, and I am so thankful to Dominique and her family for taking me in and showing me the ropes in Chile. Monica and Patricia told me of their travels throughout Chile, Argentina, and Brazil, and expressed excitement for me for what lies ahead. After lunch, Patricia and Alfredo took me back to the hostel, and Monica told me to let her know when to expect me at the farm. I can't wait to see the farm in the south as Dominique has told me it's one of her favorite places in the world. And she's been all over the world.

That night, I went to a 2-hour salsa class with Vanessa, from Sao Paulo, Brazil. Vanessa speaks only Portuguese and Spanish, so it was a chance for immersion, and I held my own for several hours. The class was really fun, and I learned some more Salsa as well as Bachata. Bachata is another level for me. The instructor kept directing us to listen to the words of the songs (none of which I could understand), and that we must get to know and love our partners, and to have no fear of dancing so closely and intimately. At first I was out of my comfort box as I had to let go of thinking and remember that it's only a dance, and that personal space is nonexistent.  I had a blast. When we got home my head was spinning from all the Spanish. But those are the types of experiences I'm looking for. Slightly uncomfortable situations where Spanish is the only option. It's a different thing to be out of a classroom setting where I can't ask anything in English. With every new situation I learn a little bit more.

Yesterday I took a 10 am bus heading to Valparaiso, arriving at noon. Despite my decision to bring a smaller pack, and my newly acquired super-packing skills, I inflicted bodily pain lugging it around for an hour, first getting lost, then hiking up San Francisco-esque hills to my destination. I got a great workout, but my body was screaming for some yoga this morning. Getting lost left me frustrated, and carrying around my pack attracted all sorts of unwanted attention. Might as well get a flashing neon sign over my head that says GRINGA. A drunkard decided to follow me muttering in slurred Spanish until I finally let him have it, surprising not only him, but myself as my ability to speak eloquently in uncomfortable situations often fails me. He left me alone and I finally reached my destination.

Though I got many hostel recommendations, I decided to reserve a place at a family-run house I read about. There are two houses, run by a local Chilean family. The good news for this is that unlike a hostel, they speak only Spanish and 95% of the guests do as well. I spent the day wandering the narrow streets up and down the hills admiring art galleries, shops, and an abundance of street art and graffiti. Everything is quaint, and every time I catch a glimpse of the water or a colorful house, I can't help but think how much my mom would LOVE it here. 

While wandering around I stumbled into a dress shop where I fell in love with a beautiful green summer dress. I was wavering about spending the money, and set it back on the rack to ponder the decision. When I turned around another girl snagged it and I watched with irrational anger as she purchased it. I felt like I was bonking because really, I'm going to spend my time in this beautiful place being angry at some stranger because she's smarter than me? No. I moved on.

Later, upon returning to the guest house, I met the acquaintance of a quartet of weekenders from Santiago. They invited me to join them for dinner, and I spent most of the time dizzy trying to understand their rapid Chilean slang. One of them, Christian, continued to slow down and explain to me what was happening. I later realized that he fancied me, and when he very forwardly propositioned me, I declined, in my most polite manner, not sure I understood everything he said, but understanding the main point. Marcos was right, Latin men are much more forward that what I'm used to. 

I called it a night at 12:30 despite the pleas from my new friends to join them for a night out. My backpack tired body wouldn't allow it, and I couldn't comprehend any more Spanish. Being in real situations, I realize how much farther I have to go in my Spanish conquests. At some point on this journey, if I really want to become fluent I'm going to have to stay in one place for a while and acquire some Spanish-speaking friends who talk too fast for me to understand. I need to get into an immersion experience that is less accommodating than Spanish school and a family who slows it down for me. I also need to go easy on myself, because it's only been two months, and I've improved much more than I give myself credit for.

view from the porch of Monica's home

I can see myself on that lounge chair when I close my eyes

the hills of Valparaiso

street art

some day I will live in a house this colorful

or if my 1923 Trinity girls are right, I'll live in a house like this with modge-podge'd furniture inside

seafood empanada - best in Valparaiso

graffiti

stair climber workout

this photo is dedicated to ashley evans

windswept

this instrument was invented in 2000 - like a steel hand drum

old-school photography

how long do you think this would take?

so much color everywhere

Holy Mary Fisherman Blues

My last day in Flores was perfection. I met up with Stevie and Nick (Fleetwood Mac jokes abound) from Australia. We took a boat across the water, and hiked to the other side of the island to find a pristine beach all to ourselves. After jumping in the perfect water filled with swimming sardines, Nick proposed a challenge. Whoever could catch the first fish would receive free lunch. 

After trying to catch them with my hands and failing miserably, I resigned myself to sunning on the dock, incredibly entertained by the ingenuity that ensued. Stevie spent an hour weaving reeds together to create a net, which eventually failed as well. Nick attempted to trap them in Stevie's day bag. An hour or so later we were joined by three more people from the hostel who wanted in on the action. The result of the next hour was a small pool where we would let the fish come to us. Fail. 

Monday night I started what would be a 32-hour journey to Santiago. I was happy to find there was a mistake with my booking, and was upgraded to the first-class bus with fully reclining seats. I woke up in Guatemala City and headed to the airport, where I spent 8 hours waiting to board my flight. Two flights and a shuttle later, I arrived at my hostel in Santiago at 4:30 am. Below are my deepest thoughts and best experiences during the journey:

- Guatemala Airport - I was surprised to hear a man's voice as I entered the women's bathroom. Erupted into giggles when I realized a man was sitting on the toilet, pants around his ankles, in the women's restroom carrying on a gregarious conversation on his cell phone. He obviously had no idea he was in the wrong bathroom. 

- If Jeff Reed ever had sexual relations with a Latin American woman and wondered if she had a kid, the answer is yes. I saw a Guatemalan-female-child version of Reed's face at the Panama Airport. If you know Reed, close your eyes a minute and imagine it. Then giggle because you just saw a little girl with Reed's face.

- I got lost in a bottle of Burberry London perfume in the duty-free shop. I felt sorry for whoever had to sit by me on the plane because I doused myself in the luxury of it, and just kept taking long whiffs  of myself the rest of the day. Thinking of you Tash. 

- I am really bad at solitaire on my iPod, only winning maybe once every 100 times I play.

- The further south I get the less I stand out as a foreigner (upon first glance anyway).

- I still desperately want to be fluent in Spanish.

- Panama is hotter than Guatemala.

- Planes overdo it with A/C.

Now in Santiago, the theme for this week is back to budgets. South America is generally way more expensive than Guatemala, and it's time to start watching my money more closely so I don't have to come home in two months. What makes budgets hard are all the craft markets with beautifully hand-made everything that I want to buy. 

I'm happy to be in a large city again with big city energy. Yesterday was a great day spent wandering. Below were the "cultural experiences" I had. 

- I sat down in front of a church and watched a woman bathe herself (fully clothed) and her dog in a small trickling fountain. The dog was not amused. 

- I bought a kilo of cherries for $.50. I had no idea how much a kilo of cherries would be. I'll be eating cherries for days. 

- Crossing the street at a busy intersection, I tripped, and was laid out in the middle of the road. Laughing to myself, I got back up to find a skinned bloody knee. I'm fine, just a little ego bruise.

- A Chilean doctoral student stopped me to ask for a donation to her college fund. If I ever go to grad school I'm going to panhandle strangers on the street to pay my tuition. She told me to "listen to my heart", which was a bad move on her part. My heart said not to give her any money.

- I hiked 6 km to overlook the panoramic views of Santiago with my homegirl The Virgin Mary. 

My Chilean friend Dominique, who I met in New York, has set me up with her family here. I spoke with her Aunt Patricia yesterday, and today at 1pm their chauffeur will pick me up at the hostel to meet them for lunch. How luxurious does that sound? I am exited at the chance to practice some Spanish and learn a bit about Chile from a local perspective.

natural weaving

fishing with Nick's input

the beginning of the small pool

the final welcome death pool

boat ride view back to Flores

bath time

San Francisco Cathedral

graffiti in bohemian Barrio Bellavista

wax prayers for the Virgin Mary

Mary just watching over the city