Hello all,
The title of this post seems to be the most common phrase uttered from the mouths of youths everywhere in Chile. It means "Are you going out tonight?" and the answer had better be yes.
Yesterday was the last day of my intensive language class, so we wanted to celebrate the start of our winter vacation (Winter in July? Sounds strange, I know)
My friend's host sister offered to take us out to a discoteca and since she a) has a car and b) is familiar with clubbing in this country, we couldn't pass up the offer. She took us to a club located about halfway up Cerro San Cristobal, we swerved around winding roads for about fifteen minutes until we finally arrived at what appeared to be a mansion. At this point, she informed us that the club was for people 25 years+ (She's 27). However, it became apparent that this was a rather loose rule since the bouncers welcomed us in with open arms sans ID check. Kind of like in the US?
The late night hours:
Let me just say, the club was absolutely gorgeous and HUGE. When we arrived, we were faced with a huge marble dance floor with a flowing fountain in the middle and two bars, equally flowing with alcohol. But the place was completely empty! It was midnight (I thought this was late) and there were probably twenty people there total, including the DJs and bartenders. For those of you who are unaware of my going out habits, I usually go out a) one night per weekend, b) arrive at approximately 11:30 to a party which starts at 10pm, so there is a decent crowd and c) am in my bed asleep by 2:30am. Now, however, this seems like a pipe dream because the club wasn't hoppin' until roughly 2am! We were among the first to leave at approximately 3:15am and I got into bed just past 4am, the latest I have EVER gone to sleep after a night out
The dancing:
After arriving, we bought drinks and sat down and chilled for about an hour. At first the music was pretty iffy but once I heard synchronized voices of the backstreet boys, I knew that we had picked an excellent establishment. After singing every word of "Everybody (Backstreet's Back) our ears were also graced with "If you wanna be my lover" by the Spice Girls. (At this point, my friend's sister and her pololo (boyfriend) asked us how old we were when this song came out. Answer: 8 years old, this was my first CD!) Clearly we were all pleased with the song choice and as the night continued, we were accompanied by Kanye West, Jay-Z, Beyonce and "Paper Planes" by MIA. However, when we all began to do the "shooting dance" to the latter, our company thought we were insane and looked embarrassed to be seen with us.
When more people arrived we ventured forth to the dance floor. Let me reiterate that is is WINTER here, so we all were wearing jackets, scarfs, gloves, etc. Rather than using a coat check, it seems the normal thing to do is to put your coats in a pile on the floor next to you while dancing, everyone encircling the pile in rhythm, as though it is some sort of tribal ritual (credit to Karen Perille for this reference, absolutely spot on). Yet after a whole night of people "accidentally" stepping on our coats and putting out their cigarette butts on the marble floor, today I readily put my fleece in the laundry for a much needing washing.
While they played a lot of American music (we were dead give aways as extranjeros (foreigners) since we sang along LOUDLY to all of these songs in ENGLISH) there was also a fair amount latin-flavored music, such as salsa and meringue. At this point, none of us had any idea as to what to do with our bodies, so we just kind of stiffly walked forward and backward to the beat. (Thankfully, sunday we are going to a salsa club to take lessons so next time we won't be so awkward. ) Some 80's pop wove in and out through out the night and as we were leaving, Michael Jackson's "Billy Jean" was blasting from the speakers with the crowd singing along, but in slurred/hummed/murmurred/drunken English.
The people:
At times during the night, we just stopped dancing and looked around at our fellow clubbers. Let me just say that much of the style here stems from 80's fabulous, complete with acid wash jeans, leotards and most importantly MULLETS (business in the front, party in the back?). Besides the slight flair for 80's fashion, the appearance and comportment of the gente (people) was similar to that of an American club/party. People meet, drink, dance, drink, make out, regret, drink, etc. One main difference though was that it was abundantly clear that men are the seekers of women and NEVER the other way around. It seemed kind of like a prey-predator process, many of the men stood in groups surrounding the dance floor on an elevated platform, clearly better for staking out the best meat. When they spot their target, they leap forth, stealthfully slinking through the crowd until they capture their intended prey.
Yet overall, a very positive experience, it was fun to go out and just dance and let loose a bit at the start of our long weekend! Monday we have an orientation for the university during the day and then at night, we are hopping on a plane and heading to Buenos Aires for the week! I couldn't be more excited, expect a long and picture-narrated post upon my return!
Shout-out goes to Jess Woll, who I'll be seeing during my trip to Argentina, can't wait to see you and welcome you to life on this southern continent!
Besos,
Abby
Friday, July 16, 2010
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
La Nana
Dearest all,
Although I feel I have settled in surprisingly well in this country, there are some cultural differences which stick out a bit more than others. One of these is the daily presence of la nana, or a maid in the house. She cooks, cleans, does the laundry, everything. I make an effort to make my bed in the morning but when I return in the afternoon, I find that she has remade what I thought was a perfectly well made bed. Many of the other host families have maids as well; it seems these women are a common aspect of middle-upper class home. Last week in my intensive language class, we watched a film entitled La Nana which depicts a woman who works as a live-in maid for an upper class family in Chile. Afterwards we discussed the presence of this type of work and what it means for the economic society as well as its effect on the class system. Here are a few of my complied thoughts.
The Film:
In the film, la nana (Raquel) lives with the family for which she works, yet despite her constant proximity to them, she is never really a part of the family. When they eat dinner in the dining room, she eats alone in the kitchen and may only enter their space if she is summoned by the ringing of a bell. Raquel rarely leaves the house and on the few occassions she does, it is apparent that she has no life outside of the family or her work and this fact has impeded her from maturing into an adult woman (at the beginning of the film, she celebrates her 41st birthday).
The Reality:
There are maids who live in the home (puertas adentro) and maids who travel to the home each day (puertas afuera). A law was recently passed which prohibits las patronas (people who employ maids) from making las nanas work on sundays or holidays. Yet many of these women are paid the very minimum salary the law states which is barely enough to afford the daily commute they make. Often times the job of la nana is outsourced to Peruvian women because of the comida rica (rich food) they cook and the fact that they are immigrants means the minimum salary does not apply.
The Reality in my host family:
There is a woman who comes to the house everyday to attend to the cooking, cleaning and laundry. She is delightful, we've had many nice conversations over lunch (please note that at these times, I am the only one eating and I am consuming food she has prepared for me). She told me that she commutes two hours to the house each way and she arrives around 9AM and leaves about 6PM, both of which coincide with rush hour for the metro and bus system. Sometimes she comes on Saturdays as well and when we are all eating lunch in the dining room, she stays in the kitchen attending to different chores, always with the connecting door shut.
Personally, it has been difficult for me to get used to her presence. She is a lovely person, but I am uncomfortable with the hierarchy which her presence represents. In my real family, if I'm the only one eating, I prepare my own food. If I don't make my bed in the morning, it doesn't get made and the same with my laundry. From my background, it's easy for me to quickly judge this lifestyle as being wrong and demeaning and I've definitely had those thoughts, yet I'm not Chilean and I don't understand completely where this inequality comes from. In addition, if the role of nana were suddenly outlawed, would there be other jobs available to these women? From another viewpoint, women in the US who work full time and don't have hired help are often tired and overworked from their "second shift" at home as mother and housekeeper. Perhaps the nanas are keeping women like my host mom sane. But then again, who helps la nana do her chores or take care of her children?
Thoughts to think on. Shout-out goes to Mary Vasquez for always being able to cheer me up. Hope you're having a better week this week!
Abrazos y besos,
Abby
Although I feel I have settled in surprisingly well in this country, there are some cultural differences which stick out a bit more than others. One of these is the daily presence of la nana, or a maid in the house. She cooks, cleans, does the laundry, everything. I make an effort to make my bed in the morning but when I return in the afternoon, I find that she has remade what I thought was a perfectly well made bed. Many of the other host families have maids as well; it seems these women are a common aspect of middle-upper class home. Last week in my intensive language class, we watched a film entitled La Nana which depicts a woman who works as a live-in maid for an upper class family in Chile. Afterwards we discussed the presence of this type of work and what it means for the economic society as well as its effect on the class system. Here are a few of my complied thoughts.
The Film:
In the film, la nana (Raquel) lives with the family for which she works, yet despite her constant proximity to them, she is never really a part of the family. When they eat dinner in the dining room, she eats alone in the kitchen and may only enter their space if she is summoned by the ringing of a bell. Raquel rarely leaves the house and on the few occassions she does, it is apparent that she has no life outside of the family or her work and this fact has impeded her from maturing into an adult woman (at the beginning of the film, she celebrates her 41st birthday).
The Reality:
There are maids who live in the home (puertas adentro) and maids who travel to the home each day (puertas afuera). A law was recently passed which prohibits las patronas (people who employ maids) from making las nanas work on sundays or holidays. Yet many of these women are paid the very minimum salary the law states which is barely enough to afford the daily commute they make. Often times the job of la nana is outsourced to Peruvian women because of the comida rica (rich food) they cook and the fact that they are immigrants means the minimum salary does not apply.
The Reality in my host family:
There is a woman who comes to the house everyday to attend to the cooking, cleaning and laundry. She is delightful, we've had many nice conversations over lunch (please note that at these times, I am the only one eating and I am consuming food she has prepared for me). She told me that she commutes two hours to the house each way and she arrives around 9AM and leaves about 6PM, both of which coincide with rush hour for the metro and bus system. Sometimes she comes on Saturdays as well and when we are all eating lunch in the dining room, she stays in the kitchen attending to different chores, always with the connecting door shut.
Personally, it has been difficult for me to get used to her presence. She is a lovely person, but I am uncomfortable with the hierarchy which her presence represents. In my real family, if I'm the only one eating, I prepare my own food. If I don't make my bed in the morning, it doesn't get made and the same with my laundry. From my background, it's easy for me to quickly judge this lifestyle as being wrong and demeaning and I've definitely had those thoughts, yet I'm not Chilean and I don't understand completely where this inequality comes from. In addition, if the role of nana were suddenly outlawed, would there be other jobs available to these women? From another viewpoint, women in the US who work full time and don't have hired help are often tired and overworked from their "second shift" at home as mother and housekeeper. Perhaps the nanas are keeping women like my host mom sane. But then again, who helps la nana do her chores or take care of her children?
Thoughts to think on. Shout-out goes to Mary Vasquez for always being able to cheer me up. Hope you're having a better week this week!
Abrazos y besos,
Abby
Sunday, July 11, 2010
A sunday drive
Series of events from today:
1) Woke up early to skype with my parents. It's my momma's birthday today and I am sad I'm not with her and my dad in Chicago.
2) Got ready and left the house with host mom and older host brother. Host mom had told me that on sunday we were leaving around noon for (insert place name here). Needless to say, I had no idea where we were going.
3) Got on the highway leaving Santiago. Stopped at a restaurant and ate traditional Chilean food. We ordered a pardillera to share which turns out is a heaving bucket of meat. Literally, ALL MEAT. And steaming and HUGE. Inside the GINORMOUS pile of meat is a potato. SO. MUCH. MEAT.
4) Got back on the road, drove into the countryside area, through a couple little pueblitos. Saw some buildings which had been damaged by the earthquake and still not fixed, which was really depressing. Then drove about in the cerros (hills) to a place where there was open land and for sale signs posted in the middle of fields with numbers to call. Stopped next to a field while my host brother called the number on the sign to inquire about prices. Literally, in the middle of a wide open field, calling a phone number from a sign on a wooden stake. WHAT?
5) Then went to a gated community close by. A woman was standing outside her house, we stopped the car, she got inside and we drove while she told us about the value of all the properties. I thought she was a real estate agent. Turns out she is Marisol's best friend from childhood.
6) After a short drive where I tried very hard not to fall asleep, we returned to said best friend's house and toured it as well. Outside there is a beautiful garden, pool, gazebo, huge tree with a bunny nest (hutch?) inside. She has 4 dogs, two of which were larger than I am and enjoyed smelling my butt.
7) Inside the house there are conservatively 17 plasma flat screen TVs. Ok, maybe not 17, but actually, no exaggerations, Eight flat screen plasma TVs. WHAT?? The rest of the house is beautiful, the woman's closet is the size of my room in my host house. We then sit down for onces, pronounced own-says (like tea but later at night) and I eat LOTS of toasted bread and avocado. YUMMMM
8) During onces, best friend's husband talks about prank calling emergency numbers, like nine hundred eleven in the United States. When the dumb look on my face does not disappear, he repeats this number multiple times, but I still don't get it and he thinks I'm an idiot. I don't want to be rude and tell him that it's nine one one so I just smile and down my tea.
9) Turns out, he thinks I am Chilean and did an exchange program in the US. He is confused why I can't understand him when he speaks. After the truth about my situation has been explained, he directs all questions about me to my host brother since clearly I am an illiterate idiot who is only capable of eating disgusting amounts of toasted bread and avocado.
Ok, clearly I'm a bit frustrated. Although many English words are a part of the language here, they are pronounced differently according to the sounds of the letters in the Spanish alphabet. Another example, yesterday during lunch, my youngest host brother refused to eat spinach. I teased him, saying that if he didn't like spinach, he couldn't grow up to be strong like Popeye. The table went silent, then everyone broke out into laughter because of my pronunciation of Popeye (pop-eye) when clearly the correct pronunciation is Popeye (pup-pay-yay). My host mother just shook her head and smiled. Silly gringa.
Although these types of situations are trying, it really proves the true arbitrary nature of language. Really, nothing is "correct" in English or Spanish or any other language, it's all dependent on the general concensus of the community on what sounds should correlate with certain objects or ideas. Depending on one's background, there are different interpretations of every grunt, screech or mumble that comes out of my youngest host brother's mouth (I have yet to understand a complete sentence).
As for now, I'm just breathing in deeply and trying to let my tense feelings leave with the exhale. Tomorrow's a new day.
Shout-out goes to Barb and Jack Helfrich. Today, when we were driving through the cerros, it reminded me of the lovely view from your backyard of the hills and mountains. Hope you guys are doing well!
I've decided I'm putting my host mom's friend's house on my christmas list. Including the eight flat screen TVs. One for each night of Hannukkah, how perfect!
Love,
Abby
1) Woke up early to skype with my parents. It's my momma's birthday today and I am sad I'm not with her and my dad in Chicago.
2) Got ready and left the house with host mom and older host brother. Host mom had told me that on sunday we were leaving around noon for (insert place name here). Needless to say, I had no idea where we were going.
3) Got on the highway leaving Santiago. Stopped at a restaurant and ate traditional Chilean food. We ordered a pardillera to share which turns out is a heaving bucket of meat. Literally, ALL MEAT. And steaming and HUGE. Inside the GINORMOUS pile of meat is a potato. SO. MUCH. MEAT.
4) Got back on the road, drove into the countryside area, through a couple little pueblitos. Saw some buildings which had been damaged by the earthquake and still not fixed, which was really depressing. Then drove about in the cerros (hills) to a place where there was open land and for sale signs posted in the middle of fields with numbers to call. Stopped next to a field while my host brother called the number on the sign to inquire about prices. Literally, in the middle of a wide open field, calling a phone number from a sign on a wooden stake. WHAT?
5) Then went to a gated community close by. A woman was standing outside her house, we stopped the car, she got inside and we drove while she told us about the value of all the properties. I thought she was a real estate agent. Turns out she is Marisol's best friend from childhood.
6) After a short drive where I tried very hard not to fall asleep, we returned to said best friend's house and toured it as well. Outside there is a beautiful garden, pool, gazebo, huge tree with a bunny nest (hutch?) inside. She has 4 dogs, two of which were larger than I am and enjoyed smelling my butt.
7) Inside the house there are conservatively 17 plasma flat screen TVs. Ok, maybe not 17, but actually, no exaggerations, Eight flat screen plasma TVs. WHAT?? The rest of the house is beautiful, the woman's closet is the size of my room in my host house. We then sit down for onces, pronounced own-says (like tea but later at night) and I eat LOTS of toasted bread and avocado. YUMMMM
8) During onces, best friend's husband talks about prank calling emergency numbers, like nine hundred eleven in the United States. When the dumb look on my face does not disappear, he repeats this number multiple times, but I still don't get it and he thinks I'm an idiot. I don't want to be rude and tell him that it's nine one one so I just smile and down my tea.
9) Turns out, he thinks I am Chilean and did an exchange program in the US. He is confused why I can't understand him when he speaks. After the truth about my situation has been explained, he directs all questions about me to my host brother since clearly I am an illiterate idiot who is only capable of eating disgusting amounts of toasted bread and avocado.
Ok, clearly I'm a bit frustrated. Although many English words are a part of the language here, they are pronounced differently according to the sounds of the letters in the Spanish alphabet. Another example, yesterday during lunch, my youngest host brother refused to eat spinach. I teased him, saying that if he didn't like spinach, he couldn't grow up to be strong like Popeye. The table went silent, then everyone broke out into laughter because of my pronunciation of Popeye (pop-eye) when clearly the correct pronunciation is Popeye (pup-pay-yay). My host mother just shook her head and smiled. Silly gringa.
Although these types of situations are trying, it really proves the true arbitrary nature of language. Really, nothing is "correct" in English or Spanish or any other language, it's all dependent on the general concensus of the community on what sounds should correlate with certain objects or ideas. Depending on one's background, there are different interpretations of every grunt, screech or mumble that comes out of my youngest host brother's mouth (I have yet to understand a complete sentence).
As for now, I'm just breathing in deeply and trying to let my tense feelings leave with the exhale. Tomorrow's a new day.
Shout-out goes to Barb and Jack Helfrich. Today, when we were driving through the cerros, it reminded me of the lovely view from your backyard of the hills and mountains. Hope you guys are doing well!
I've decided I'm putting my host mom's friend's house on my christmas list. Including the eight flat screen TVs. One for each night of Hannukkah, how perfect!
Love,
Abby
Friday, July 9, 2010
Adventures in Comprehension!
Hello one and all!
So, for today's post, I've decided to describe some instances about my inability to communicate for your viewing pleasure. Enjoy!
Time: Day 2-3
Place: My host home
At some point on Saturday, my host mom told me that my older host brother was going to eat lunch early (1:30pm is early) at the tennis club in order to be back in time to watch the soccer game. This part of the conversation stuck in my brain; what didn't stick was the fact that a) he was going to do this the next day and b) we were all going with him. So when I awoke the next day in the morning, I'm sorry, I lied, the early afternoon, my host mom told me to get ready quickly because we were leaving soon, in an hour and a half. I went to shower, yet when I came out, the entire family was waiting for me on the driveway, turns out she actually said thirty minutes. I quickly put on some clothes and ran out; once we were on our way, I asked where we were going and if we were going to eat lunch.
Time: Day 10
Place: The house
I called my host mom to tell her I would be late for lunch because our program was meeting to make travel plans after class. Disclaimer: It is hard for me to understand native speakers in person, the telephone is a completely different story (When the phone rings and no one else is home, I refuse to pick it up due to multiple fears which include agreeing to buy something that I cannot afford and hanging up on my host family's friends because I think they are telemarketers). Anyways, my host mom said that was fine and that she was leaving but that when I got home there was ramble ramble murmur, salad, ramble murmur consonant vowel murmur, rolling of the "r" fruit, consonants, vowels, murmur ok ciao! When I got back to the house, I ate salad and fruit which was fine for me, but when my host mom returned, she asked why hadn't I eaten the chicken? She told me there was chicken on the phone, protein is very important, wasn't I so hungry, how about I come and eat lunch now for real? I said that I was full, I was fine, I had eaten plenty. Twenty minutes later, I ate a second lunch of salad, fruit and chicken.
Time: Day 13
Location: The Metro
During peak hours, the metro can get unbearably crowded and if you are towards the back of the car it can be difficult to squeeze through and weave around the massive jigsaw of commuters. So yesterday, as the train approached my stop, I tapped the guy in front of me on the shoulder, attempting to say the following:"Excuse me, are you getting off at the next stop? Because I am and if you aren't will you let me go in front of you so I can get off the train?" Unfortunately, I only knew how to say "Excuse me, are you getting off at the next stop? Because I am" and I believe the connotation was that I wanted him to come with me. He just stared at me, horrified, and I heard him say "mumble mumble not my stop ramble murmur mumble with you no thanks". At this, I turned every shade of red in approximately five seconds and got as far away from him as possible (approximately three feet). One minute later, the longest minute OF MY LIFE, the train stopped and I ran out of the train with my head down and my tail between my legs. Goals: Learn the rest of that sentence and only talk to women on the metro.
Hope you all had a good laugh at my expense! If you have any embarrassing travel tales, do leave them in the comments, I'd love a laugh myself: )
Shout out goes to all the Glee fans out there: Today, I heard "Total eclipse of the heart" on the radio (in English) and nearly cried remembering Rachel's gorgeous rendition of it this past season. I wonder when Glee is coming back/ if it is aired in Chile? Questions to ask.
Happy two week annivesary to Santiago and myself, it's been quite a whirlwind romance! Cheers to moving out of the awkward phase of the relationship and learning how to communicate effectively with one another.
All the love,
Abby
So, for today's post, I've decided to describe some instances about my inability to communicate for your viewing pleasure. Enjoy!
Time: Day 2-3
Place: My host home
At some point on Saturday, my host mom told me that my older host brother was going to eat lunch early (1:30pm is early) at the tennis club in order to be back in time to watch the soccer game. This part of the conversation stuck in my brain; what didn't stick was the fact that a) he was going to do this the next day and b) we were all going with him. So when I awoke the next day in the morning, I'm sorry, I lied, the early afternoon, my host mom told me to get ready quickly because we were leaving soon, in an hour and a half. I went to shower, yet when I came out, the entire family was waiting for me on the driveway, turns out she actually said thirty minutes. I quickly put on some clothes and ran out; once we were on our way, I asked where we were going and if we were going to eat lunch.
Time: Day 10
Place: The house
I called my host mom to tell her I would be late for lunch because our program was meeting to make travel plans after class. Disclaimer: It is hard for me to understand native speakers in person, the telephone is a completely different story (When the phone rings and no one else is home, I refuse to pick it up due to multiple fears which include agreeing to buy something that I cannot afford and hanging up on my host family's friends because I think they are telemarketers). Anyways, my host mom said that was fine and that she was leaving but that when I got home there was ramble ramble murmur, salad, ramble murmur consonant vowel murmur, rolling of the "r" fruit, consonants, vowels, murmur ok ciao! When I got back to the house, I ate salad and fruit which was fine for me, but when my host mom returned, she asked why hadn't I eaten the chicken? She told me there was chicken on the phone, protein is very important, wasn't I so hungry, how about I come and eat lunch now for real? I said that I was full, I was fine, I had eaten plenty. Twenty minutes later, I ate a second lunch of salad, fruit and chicken.
Time: Day 13
Location: The Metro
During peak hours, the metro can get unbearably crowded and if you are towards the back of the car it can be difficult to squeeze through and weave around the massive jigsaw of commuters. So yesterday, as the train approached my stop, I tapped the guy in front of me on the shoulder, attempting to say the following:"Excuse me, are you getting off at the next stop? Because I am and if you aren't will you let me go in front of you so I can get off the train?" Unfortunately, I only knew how to say "Excuse me, are you getting off at the next stop? Because I am" and I believe the connotation was that I wanted him to come with me. He just stared at me, horrified, and I heard him say "mumble mumble not my stop ramble murmur mumble with you no thanks". At this, I turned every shade of red in approximately five seconds and got as far away from him as possible (approximately three feet). One minute later, the longest minute OF MY LIFE, the train stopped and I ran out of the train with my head down and my tail between my legs. Goals: Learn the rest of that sentence and only talk to women on the metro.
Hope you all had a good laugh at my expense! If you have any embarrassing travel tales, do leave them in the comments, I'd love a laugh myself: )
Shout out goes to all the Glee fans out there: Today, I heard "Total eclipse of the heart" on the radio (in English) and nearly cried remembering Rachel's gorgeous rendition of it this past season. I wonder when Glee is coming back/ if it is aired in Chile? Questions to ask.
Happy two week annivesary to Santiago and myself, it's been quite a whirlwind romance! Cheers to moving out of the awkward phase of the relationship and learning how to communicate effectively with one another.
All the love,
Abby
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
The best part of waking up?
Hello dearest ones!
What do you all think of the morning time? Good? Bad? What! That exists? Well, usually I abhor it, I stay in my bed until the last possible second and then move about my habit like a roming zombie until I am able to focus my eyes in my corrective lenses and then to use my hand-eye coordination in order to feed myself.
But I have found that I enjoy the mornings in Santiago. My mother has probably fainted from shock at this point, she who had to drag me out of bed moaning and groaning (those of you who have lived with me are familiar with my morning performances) every day until I graduated high school. But seriously, I am usually the only one awake at 8 AM and I can leisurely shower and eat breakfast at my own speed before leaving to catch the metro at 9:15AM. I was thinking these exact thoughts as I tranquilly ate breakfast this morning and continued as I walked to the bathroom to brush my teeth. However, I became distracted when I heard the sound of water from the men's bathroom (yes, in this house, like most public places, there is a bathroom for women and men. I think it is for my benefit and/or privacy but I still find it a bit odd). I thought to myself, how odd that one of my host brothers is showering with the door open (let's recall that I do not have rational thoughts in the morning time), and went on my way to brush my teeth only to return two minutes later and find the entire hallway submerged in a puddle of water. Let us recall that I am a) the only person awake and b) have only lived in this house for a week and a half. So, in a state of sheer panic thinking that I had begun to drown the entire house in completing the simple process of scrubbing my molars and after taking thirty seconds to translate the following sentence in my head, I timidly knocked on my host mother's door and said "Umm...I just brushed my teeth and now the whole hallway is covered in water. Ummm...what shoul I do?" At this exact second, my host mother bolted out of bed having heard the doorbell signaling that la nana (nanny/housekeeper) had arrived, stepped in the rapidly growing puddle and, rather than begin to scream out a list of choice words, asked me if I had eaten breakfast yet. I kid you not.
In broken spanish, I asked her if there was anything I could do to help but she told me not to worry and that I needed to be on time for class, and seriously, had I eaten enough for breakfast? Because yesterday I only ate one piece of toast instead of two and it's important to start the day off right.
With that, she bid me goodbye, pulled out a broom from the store closet and began sweeping the water out onto the patio, still clad in her high-heel patterned pajamas and rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
Needless to say, this woman is amazing. If I had been jolted awake by the idea that my house was being flooded, I would have a) said something vulgar or b) cried, only adding to the amount in the house and clearly not helping the situation. It turns out a pipe had burst at about 9AM and within a matter of ten minutes had gushed out enough water to cover half of the first floor of the house, thankfully no one has carpet in their rooms!
So, even though the experience sucked, I now have even more confidence in my host mother than before. Seriously, I'm pretty sure a volcano could erupt next to her bed and she would just calmly stand up and get the vacuum to clean up the ashes. I should try and learn from her example.
Shout-out of the day goes to all of my homeboys/girls on Pine Street. When I saw the inches of water floating down the hallway, all I could think about was our poor photo albums, files and in my case American Girl dolls which have been ruined by year after year of flooded basements.
Here's to my host mother who, inspite of water cascading from her bathroom, can enjoy a peaceful morning.
Cheers,
Abby
What do you all think of the morning time? Good? Bad? What! That exists? Well, usually I abhor it, I stay in my bed until the last possible second and then move about my habit like a roming zombie until I am able to focus my eyes in my corrective lenses and then to use my hand-eye coordination in order to feed myself.
But I have found that I enjoy the mornings in Santiago. My mother has probably fainted from shock at this point, she who had to drag me out of bed moaning and groaning (those of you who have lived with me are familiar with my morning performances) every day until I graduated high school. But seriously, I am usually the only one awake at 8 AM and I can leisurely shower and eat breakfast at my own speed before leaving to catch the metro at 9:15AM. I was thinking these exact thoughts as I tranquilly ate breakfast this morning and continued as I walked to the bathroom to brush my teeth. However, I became distracted when I heard the sound of water from the men's bathroom (yes, in this house, like most public places, there is a bathroom for women and men. I think it is for my benefit and/or privacy but I still find it a bit odd). I thought to myself, how odd that one of my host brothers is showering with the door open (let's recall that I do not have rational thoughts in the morning time), and went on my way to brush my teeth only to return two minutes later and find the entire hallway submerged in a puddle of water. Let us recall that I am a) the only person awake and b) have only lived in this house for a week and a half. So, in a state of sheer panic thinking that I had begun to drown the entire house in completing the simple process of scrubbing my molars and after taking thirty seconds to translate the following sentence in my head, I timidly knocked on my host mother's door and said "Umm...I just brushed my teeth and now the whole hallway is covered in water. Ummm...what shoul I do?" At this exact second, my host mother bolted out of bed having heard the doorbell signaling that la nana (nanny/housekeeper) had arrived, stepped in the rapidly growing puddle and, rather than begin to scream out a list of choice words, asked me if I had eaten breakfast yet. I kid you not.
In broken spanish, I asked her if there was anything I could do to help but she told me not to worry and that I needed to be on time for class, and seriously, had I eaten enough for breakfast? Because yesterday I only ate one piece of toast instead of two and it's important to start the day off right.
With that, she bid me goodbye, pulled out a broom from the store closet and began sweeping the water out onto the patio, still clad in her high-heel patterned pajamas and rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
Needless to say, this woman is amazing. If I had been jolted awake by the idea that my house was being flooded, I would have a) said something vulgar or b) cried, only adding to the amount in the house and clearly not helping the situation. It turns out a pipe had burst at about 9AM and within a matter of ten minutes had gushed out enough water to cover half of the first floor of the house, thankfully no one has carpet in their rooms!
So, even though the experience sucked, I now have even more confidence in my host mother than before. Seriously, I'm pretty sure a volcano could erupt next to her bed and she would just calmly stand up and get the vacuum to clean up the ashes. I should try and learn from her example.
Shout-out of the day goes to all of my homeboys/girls on Pine Street. When I saw the inches of water floating down the hallway, all I could think about was our poor photo albums, files and in my case American Girl dolls which have been ruined by year after year of flooded basements.
Here's to my host mother who, inspite of water cascading from her bathroom, can enjoy a peaceful morning.
Cheers,
Abby
Monday, July 5, 2010
Valparaiso and the Alcachofa
Hey all,
So, I realize that the title of my post sounds like a rousing children's story with an earnest moral. Sorry to disappoint but these are actually two separate things but both of which I believe are important to share.
First of all, yesterday, our program went on a day trip to Valparaiso, which is on the coast, about two hours from Santiago. It was just...amazing, some of the vistas (views) were just incredible. Valparaiso actual city resides at the lowest elevation but the residences are located in the hills and are painted all different colors, like below:
I was amazed, I've never seen anything like this! Most of the day was devoted to just LOOKING at the city, which was no problem for me, I couldn't get enough. In addition to all the looking, we had lunch practically on the beach which consisted of empanadas stuffed with cheese and mariscos (seafood) and some of the freshest fish I have ever tasted YUM! And already paid for through the program, Excellent!
In the afternoon, we visited one of the houses of Pablo Neruda, the famous Chilean poet. This was also very interesting, the house was five stories (WHAT?) and incredibly narrow. Unfortunately, we weren't allowed to take pictures inside but a few highlights were "la nube" (the cloud) which he named his La-Z-boy located next to a expansive window on one of the top floors of his home, a mural of a map made completely of stones and seashells which took up an entire wall and a mirror in one of the bathrooms which belonged in a funhouse at a carnival. Perhaps it just became convex with time?
I'll be posting the rest of my pictures on my facebook profile, so look out for those, BUT NOW, onto la alcachofa!
So, on Saturdays, or at least the last two Saturdays, the entire family eats lunch together. Usually we start with soup or salad but this past Saturday we started with an alcachofa (artichoke). Now, clearly I have eaten/seen artichokes before but never the WHOLE vegetable, let alone sitting on my plate waiting for me to consume it. I guess my shock and dismay must have been obvious because my older host brother called for my attention and began to instruct me as to how to eat this strange-looking food. I figured pictures would help with my narration so here is the vegetable.
As you can see, there are a few leaves peeled off already (I was in the middle of eating it when I got the idea to take pictures). Anyways, the part you are supposed to eat is the stump-like part at the bottom and each time you peel off a leaf, a bit of that portion comes with it, like so:
Then, you place the leaf in your mouth and suck out the white part at the end, like so:
Know that it is absolutely necessary to make the face I have made in this photo while consuming the alcachofa. The popping out of the eyes and raising of the eyebrows demonstrates the highest level of enjoyment in consuming the vegetable. After you have enjoyed the alcachofa, take the leaf out of your mouth (don't forget to smile for the camera) and then choose another leaf. And repeat until you have reached the end. It is a rather long process and to be honest, each leaf does not contain that much of the edible portion but I enjoyed the activity!
Shout-out today goes to my parents! A) for giving birth to me so I could eventually make my way to Chile and discover the delightfully though slightly odd alcachofa and B) because I think you guys would really like Valparaiso, perhaps we should make it a day trip when you both come visit!
Abrazos y besos,
Abby
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Reality Check
Hello all,
So, last night was our first night out as a group. We went to La Piojera, a bar on the north side of Santiago. Like always, my host mother told me to be careful but this time she was absolutely right; this bar was literally the craziest, dirtiest, sketchiest place I have ever been. The amount of people inside definitely exceeded capacity and the floor, what little of it I could see, was covered in used napkins and dirt. Yet good times were had although bad times were to follow.
The Good Times:
If any of us had low self esteem before entering the bar, we came out afterwards incredibly ego-centric. Literally, all of us were approached by at least five men who had no qualms about flirting with us mercilessly which included telling us how beautiful we are and touching our hair. As we circled around the crowded bar, one guy playfully told me I could not pass until I gave him a kiss. There was a woman there selling earrings and another guy offered to buy my friend Christina a pair or two or three even (he was extremely curado (Chilean slang for borracho, or drunk). The best by far though was the guy who approached Victoria, he asked for her name and upon answering, told her his name was Victor and offered his ID as proof. They had a short conversation and then he asked the palayo (clown, yes, there was a clown there, though I promise you it was not a children's birthday party) to make her balloons. She ended up walking away with a flower, a heart and a pink poodle. So, was it fate? Are they soulmates? It became pretty clear that this was not the case when three minutes later he asked her to come home with him...we skidaddled soon after.
The Bad Times:
Although the night started off entertaining, it ended on a rather sour note. During the course of the evening, four fist fights broke out, three of which were right in front of my face and one of which occurred on the street, complete with stray dogs jumping on top of the wrestling men. But worst of all, when we were standing outside la Piojera waiting for a taxi, my friend was robbed. One minute we were standing together and the next, this guy came out of nowhere and ripped her purse right off of her body and booked it down the street before any of us could react. Thankfully she only lost some cash and her debit card (which she then cancelled) but the experience was still traumatizing for her and the rest of us as well.
So, needless to say, we were all feeling pretty crummy after that. We went home in taxis which cost WAY too much money and tonight I don't think I'm the only one who is passing on going out. I know it is an isolated incident and won't happen everytime we go out but I think I'll wait until next weekend before I once again venture out into the night.
Well, clearly this bad situation didn't remind me of any of you so my shout-out is not related to the majority of this post. But I have been thinking of Cameron Jacoby the last few days since my host brother has become a FANATIC of the song "Down" and literally listens to it (or rather plays it loud for the entire house to hear) conservatively thirty times a day. Everytime I hear it, I have a clandestine dance party and wish you were here.
Abrazos,
Abby
So, last night was our first night out as a group. We went to La Piojera, a bar on the north side of Santiago. Like always, my host mother told me to be careful but this time she was absolutely right; this bar was literally the craziest, dirtiest, sketchiest place I have ever been. The amount of people inside definitely exceeded capacity and the floor, what little of it I could see, was covered in used napkins and dirt. Yet good times were had although bad times were to follow.
The Good Times:
If any of us had low self esteem before entering the bar, we came out afterwards incredibly ego-centric. Literally, all of us were approached by at least five men who had no qualms about flirting with us mercilessly which included telling us how beautiful we are and touching our hair. As we circled around the crowded bar, one guy playfully told me I could not pass until I gave him a kiss. There was a woman there selling earrings and another guy offered to buy my friend Christina a pair or two or three even (he was extremely curado (Chilean slang for borracho, or drunk). The best by far though was the guy who approached Victoria, he asked for her name and upon answering, told her his name was Victor and offered his ID as proof. They had a short conversation and then he asked the palayo (clown, yes, there was a clown there, though I promise you it was not a children's birthday party) to make her balloons. She ended up walking away with a flower, a heart and a pink poodle. So, was it fate? Are they soulmates? It became pretty clear that this was not the case when three minutes later he asked her to come home with him...we skidaddled soon after.
The Bad Times:
Although the night started off entertaining, it ended on a rather sour note. During the course of the evening, four fist fights broke out, three of which were right in front of my face and one of which occurred on the street, complete with stray dogs jumping on top of the wrestling men. But worst of all, when we were standing outside la Piojera waiting for a taxi, my friend was robbed. One minute we were standing together and the next, this guy came out of nowhere and ripped her purse right off of her body and booked it down the street before any of us could react. Thankfully she only lost some cash and her debit card (which she then cancelled) but the experience was still traumatizing for her and the rest of us as well.
So, needless to say, we were all feeling pretty crummy after that. We went home in taxis which cost WAY too much money and tonight I don't think I'm the only one who is passing on going out. I know it is an isolated incident and won't happen everytime we go out but I think I'll wait until next weekend before I once again venture out into the night.
Well, clearly this bad situation didn't remind me of any of you so my shout-out is not related to the majority of this post. But I have been thinking of Cameron Jacoby the last few days since my host brother has become a FANATIC of the song "Down" and literally listens to it (or rather plays it loud for the entire house to hear) conservatively thirty times a day. Everytime I hear it, I have a clandestine dance party and wish you were here.
Abrazos,
Abby
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