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.

Week 10 & 11: Highs and Lows

30 Sec. Update: How time flies! I have huge backlog of things to write on my blog yet it feels that I barely find the moments to write at all. Fiestas Patrias which were back in mid-September can't go without mentioning. Imagine 4^th of July on steroids. An entire week of non-stop parades, barbecues, parties, and visits to the beach. It was a great time to be in Chile. I am posting more teaching videos this week. They are from a lesson on the weather complete with students dressing up in a tie and sunglasses to give the weekly weather forecast. Speaking of the weather, it is finally turning for the better in Chile. Sunshine is now the norm and I have been spending more and more time outdoors. Last weekend I visited the Parque Nacional Nahuelbuta to see the enormous thousand year old Arucaria which seem to belong to a prehistoric age. There is just too much to do and nowhere nearly enough time to do it all!

4^th of July on Steroids: The 18^th of September is Chile's official independence day, but give Chileans some extra time off from work and a chance to party, and they will turn one day of celebrations into an entire week. Chileans don't even call it independence day, they more appropriately call the week of festivities Fiestas Patrias. Never before have I consumed so much steak, empanadas, and wine. Everywhere I went for the entire week of September 14^th I was surrounded by good drink and good eats.

At the center of all the festivities is “el asado,” a.k.a. the barbecue. For weeks on the evening news, reporters offered tips on where to buy the best meat and which time-honored techniques ensured the perfect steak. My host father however didn't need any advice though, he should have been the one giving it. Many hours of my Fiestas Patrias were spent silently watching him prepare the coals to just the right temperature, trim & season the meat, and then carefully guide the steaks to the perfect level of temperature and tenderness. I have never tasted steak so good. After a week of late nights of dancing, mid-day hangovers, firework shows, trips to the beach, and eating my fill of rich food, I was ready to catch my breath and enter a deep sleep before I began another week of life in Chile.

Only in the Skinny One (“La Cueca”): Every week-long independence celebration has to have a national dance to go along with it. In Chile that dance is “La Cueca.” Combine Chilean folk-music and square dancing and you more or less have the Cueca. The dance celebrates Chile's rural roots in “el campo” and is a courtship between a Huaso (a Chilean cowboy) and a maiden. As early as pre-school Chilean children began learning to dance the Cueca in their classes and they continue learning it up through high school.

The Cueca is much more than America's version of the line dance. In the weeks prior to Fiestas Patrias Chile is gripped with Cueca fever. All across the country there are competitions on the communal, provincial, and regional level culminating in the national competition in Santiago. Overnight children became national celebrities based on their ability to dance Cueca.

I had been hearing the music and seeing the dance practiced at my school since the day I arrived in Los Alamos and my host-teacher and a group of my students made it their mission to teach me to dance the Cueca. Two days a week leading up to Fiestas Patrias, my students came to my class at the end of the day to coach me through the Cueca. It was a surprisingly difficult dance to learn despite its simple appearance. Each time I learned a new step, I found that there was much more attention to detail than I initially though. Nevertheless, I was a good student and after four classes I was dancing a basic version of La Cueca.

My failed quest for Cuenta RUT: Most of my posts have been overwhelmingly positive up until this point, so it is overdue to express some of my frustrations.

The Ministry of Education requires that their volunteers open Cuenta RUT (a basic checking account) in order to receive our stipends. A process that would seem relatively easy on the surface but has actually provided me with a first-hand look into all of the bureaucracy that engulfs the Chilean government. As a foreigner, a recent immigrant, and a resident in a rural town, this seemingly easy task has taken entire days of my time and I was left to figure out this entire process by myself.

Upon going to my local bank (Banco Estado) back in August to inquire about opening a Cuenta RUT, I was told that I would first need a government-issued ID card. Another seemingly simple process, but alas! After discussing this my host-family, I went to my town's registrar to apply for a ID card. BUT apparently in order to get an ID card for a foreigner, I would need to travel thirty minutes by bus to another town (Lebu) because my town's registrar was not equipped to issue ID cards to foreigners. A trip that I would have to wait another two weeks for because I that Lebu's registrar is only open 10 AM to 2 PM Monday through Friday.

Fast-forward two weeks, I arrived in Lebu ready to apply for my ID card. I went to the registrar's office to find out that before I can apply for my ID card, I needed to get my visa certified by the Policia de Investigaciones (Chile's FBI). At the PDI station, the sole person in charge of certifying visas was not in the office yet and I was told to return in two hours. Two hours later, I was sitting in an office filling out forms to get my Visa certified. After 45 minutes of this, I finally got the signatures I needed to proceed to the registrar. Another hour of filling out more forms, getting my fingerprints taken, getting asked about my organ-donor status, and paying $10, I received a small slip of paper saying that my ID card would be ready to be picked up in three weeks at my town's registrar.

Fast-forward three more weeks. Thankfully, my ID card arrived on the date promised and that same day I went to the bank to open my Cuenta RUT. Having been in Chile for 6 weeks at this point in time, I could have really used my stipend money. I go to the bank, wait in line, fill out more forms and was told that my Cuenta RUT card and number will arrive at the post-office in 15-20 days. Man this was taking a long time.

Fast-forward 15-20 days. For three weeks straight I religiously went to the post office to inquire about the arrival of my Cuenta RUT. Everyday the same disappointment: no Cuenta RUT. The municipal post office which receives all the mail in our town is only open M-F 10 AM to 2 PM and I have classes during this time Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday. Day 20 came and went, still without any Cuenta RUT.

Fast-forward to today (28 days after I applied for my Cuenta RUT). I found out this morning when I went to the post office that you only have 4 days to pick up your Cuenta RUT card from the post office. My fourth day was yesterday. The post office sent back my Cuenta RUT to the bank, voiding my account. The bank never told me any of this when I applied for my Cuenta RUT.

Yesterday, instead of picking up my Cuenta RUT at the post-office I was back at the registrar's office in Lebu applying for a new ID Card because I lost my original (this is the same ID card that prevented me from crossing the border into Argentina). So now if I have to wait another 3 weeks for my ID card to arrive, reapply for my Cuenta RUT, and then wait another 4 weeks for my Cuenta RUT to arrive. And by that time, I will no longer be in Los Alamos. This is a ridiculous system. Here I am at the beginning of October without any sign of a Cuenta RUT.

Tio Kevin, Tio Kevin: These videos were shot during a class that I taught last week on "What's the weather like?"