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