Week 12 & 13: Reminders of Why I'm in Chile

30 Sec. Update: I woke up this morning and looked at my calendar to realize that five weeks from today I will be boarding a bus to go to Santiago for the Ministry's closing program. I'm scratching my head trying to figure out how I will teach everything that I want to in the remaining six weeks. The Chilean school system hasn't made it any easier for me either. Last Tuesday teachers nationwide went on strike demanding that the government make payments it promised over a decade ago. It looks like more strikes are coming this week too. On a lighter note, I just finished reading “Three Cups of Tea” by Greg Mortenson, a former-mountaineer who has dedicated his life to building schools in rural Pakistan and Afghanistan. As a fellow educator in a developing country, his story deeply resonated with me and my own commitment to education. With the good weather I have been spending as much time outside as I can. Weekly fishing trips with my host-father, long rides on my recently acquired bicycle, and day-trips to some of the neighboring towns in our province.

Only in the “Skinny One” (Día del Profesor): Every October on the Friday after Columbus Day is National Day of the Teacher in Chile. A full day of food, drinks, ceremonies, and speeches to celebrate Chile's teachers. In the morning there was a full program of student dance performances and speeches, all of the teachers at my school went out to lunch at the nicest restaurant in town, the mayor and city council hosted a cocktail party which featured an opera singer, and a group of teachers spent the rest of the day at a nearby lake. From start to finish, I had never felt so appreciated to be a teacher.

All throughout the day, I explained to my colleagues that nothing like this exists in the United States and I was stuck trying to find an explanation as to why. People always lament in the US that teachers are underpaid and under appreciated, so why isn't there a day dedicated to the hard work of teachers. I'm not suggesting that such a day would solve the problems of high teacher turnover or make up for their low salaries but maybe an annual nationwide celebration of the sacrifices made by teachers might provide a self-esteem boost and send a different message from our government commitment to education. Start writing your congressmen...

During the morning ceremony at my host-school, all of the professors were called up in groups of five or six to be given a gift by the principal and recognized for their dedication. After my name was called, I stood up to join my colleagues. As I stepped onto the stage, every one of the over 200 students in the room starting chanting “Tio Kevin, Tio Kevin!” Smiling on that stage in front of the entire school and listening to my students call my name was my greatest moment so far in Chile. In that moment I was reminded of all the reasons why I am here and any of my doubts about my impact on my students were chased away by their shouts of praise.

Another Monday in Lebu: Two weeks ago I made a trip to Lebu to run an errand. Lebu is a large coastal town of 30,000 about thirty minutes by bus from my home. By 11 AM I had finished my errand and I decided to explore a bit. In the town's tourist kiosk I inquired about its sights and I was told about a hilltop overlook, a collection of caves along the coast, and a waterfall that was a three mile walk from the plaza. Deciding that I needed to see all three before I left Lebu that evening, I set out for another memorable adventure in Chile.

There was no well-marked route to my first destination, so I simply started walking in the direction of the hill. Following narrow cement paths between the houses that stacked up the hillside, I made my way towards the overlook. It reminded me the paths going up to Coit Tower in San Francisco. Many of the houses didn't have driveways or access to the street and I could imagine entire families walking up the same stairs returning from work and school. I made quick work up the hill and within a half hour I made it to the top to be greeted by a beautiful view of the town and the coastline. More importantly, I could see my next destination, the beach leading to the caves, which was about two miles away across a river so I set out off in that direction.

Given it was a Monday morning in the beginning of the spring, the beach was deserted. On the entire mile and a half stretch of beach, I only saw one other person and a dog. By this time it was around 1:30 PM and I was starting to get hungry, but I hadn't seen anywhere I could buy food for the last half hour. My breakfast had only been a roll of bread and a cup of coffee. Wanting to see the caves before lunch I decided to suppress my hunger and press on for the time being. A decision I knew that I would regret but I could see the caves off in the distance.

A Divine Gift: The caves were an artifact leftover from when Lebu was a mining town. Blasted open in search of coal, the web of caves go straight through the seaside cliffs. Walking for hundreds of wet dimly-lit feet I made it to the other side of the caves to find another beach. On a whim, I decided to head to the top of the cliffs above the caves in order to catch another view of the town and the coastline. Crisscrossing up the cliff on a trail that didn't exist at times I made my way to the top where I discovered another breathtaking view of crashing waves and a suspicious looking grocery bag.

I have many memories as child of stumbling upon an empty soda can or candy wrapper thinking that I was about to be rewarded with a treat only to be disappointed. When I saw the grocery bag full of beer cans, I kicked it fully expecting them to be empty but I was surprised to find that there were four unopened cans of beer. Upon further investigation I discovered several pieces of fresh bread and cheese in the bag with the beer. It was 3 PM at this point, my stomach was grumbling, and here was the clearest divine signal that I have ever received. What would Jesus do? I wolfed down a piece of bread and cracked open a can of beer; I decided to pass on the cheese in case this bag had been here longer than I thought it had. As I walked away I had some qualms about whether or not I had just eaten the dinner of a homeless man or a run-away, so I tucked $1000 Chilean Pesos (about $2) into the bag and went on my way.

My next stop was the waterfall. Having satisfied my hunger, I was no longer in any rush so I took my time getting down from the cliffs hopping some barbwire fences and wandering into some nearby pasture. From the top of a small hill in the pasture, I could see the road which headed out of town and led to where I hoped to find the waterfall.

Backyard Waterfall: Not marked on any maps I received at the tourist office and going off nothing but a photo I had seen on the town's brochure, I started on walking the three miles to the waterfall. After I had been walking for about five minutes, a rusty truck with a flatbed came rumbling in my direction. I experimentally stuck my hand out to flag a ride and to my surprise the driver slowed down. I ran up to the cab and hopped in. An older man was behind the wheel and his face was kind and wrinkly so I felt comfortable placing my life in the hands of man who reminded me of my grandfather. After some introductions, I told him that I was headed to the waterfall and the man nodded as if he knew where I was going.

We had driven for about ten minutes when he began slowing down the truck indicating that I had arrived. Never having been to the waterfall before I hopped out the truck and thanked the man for the ride. It wasn't until the truck started to drive away that I was able fully take stock of my new surroundings. I was standing at a bend in the road in a wide forested valley. I could hear the sound of water, however there was no signs marking a path to the waterfall. I checked my cell phone to see if I had any service: “No Signal.”

A lone house stood on the side of the road but several barking dogs stood behind a locked gate, so I decided not to test my luck any further. I continued down the road thinking that I would find something marking the location of the waterfall. A long empty stretch of pavement was around the bend, so stumped I turned back around. For being on the cover of the town's tourist brochure, this waterfall certainly wasn't well marked. Noticing a small break in a barbwire fence, I decided to get off the road. Maybe I would catch a view of the waterfall and at least have a better idea of how to get to it.

I walked away through an empty forested pasture making sure that I walked in a straight line to prevent getting lost. The pasture rolled down into the valley, so maybe if I was to follow it downwards to the river then I could reach the waterfall. The sound of the water was getting stronger, but I still had yet to catch a glimpse of the waterfall. No longer keeping my straight path I continued down towards the valley floor. Eventually the forest got so thick and the valley so steep that I couldn't go any further. Feeling pretty tired and frustrated at this point, I decided to end this goose chase and head back to the road. Then all of sudden, through a break in the trees I made out the waterfall all the way on the other side of the valley. I had picked the wrong side of the valley.

Invigorated by this glimpse of my goal but not quite satisfied enough to go home, I headed all the walk back to the road and began scheming a new path to the waterfall. On the road again, I noticed a cement irrigation ditch which headed in the direction of the waterfall. Walking along the irrigation ditch I eventually found a well worn path which I followed all the way to the base of the waterfall. The top of the sixty foot waterfall was literally in the backyard of the lone house I had seen back at the round. Feeling content now having found the waterfall, I snapped a few pictures and started walking back towards the road leading back to the bus station. So ended another Monday in Lebu.