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?"

Week 8 and 9: Traveling to Tenaun

30 Sec. Update: The last two weeks have been two of the busiest and eventful weeks during my time in Chile and I have been struggling to find time to write. Last week I traveled south thirteen hours by bus to Chiloe, an archipelago in Northern Pagagonia that is only accessible by ferry. Because of its physical separation from Chile, for hundreds of years the island remained culturally isolated developing its own distinctive food and traditions. For three days days, I explored the archipelago sampling its unique seafood dishes and wooden architecture. Traveling to Chiloe made me acutely aware that my time in Chile is half-way over and my uncertainty about I'm going to extend my stay. I have a lot of thinking to do before my next post.

Only in the “Skinny One” (Border Hold-Up): My original plan this weekend was NOT to go to Chiloe. I had planned to go to Bariloche a beautiful lakefront town high up in the Andes on the border between Chile and Argentina, but fate had a different plan for me. At the end of a 10 hour bus journey to the border, I was pleasantly surprised to find out that having a US Passport and Chilean Visa was not enough to cross the border, but in fact I needed a Chilean government-issued ID card.

Maybe I should have just offered a bribe, but after pleading for any possible alternative and making desperate phone calls to my host-family and field director, I was abandoned at the border by the bus company. Stuck within 100 yards of Argentina gave me lots of time to think about the artificiality of national borders and who holds the right to cross them. Before this moment, I had so easily crossed borders without thinking of the privileges embodied in a passport. Yet here I held a US passport, permission and an endorsement from the wealthiest and most-powerful country in the world, and I still could not cross the border into Argentina. Eventually, I decided that larger forces were at work and I was not supposed to leave Chile yet. After another 4 hour bus ride away from the nearest bus hub, I regrouped and decided to head further south to Chiloe.

Chasing Chiloe: Despite being first colonized by Spain in 1567, due to the channel of water separating the island from the mainland and its heavy rainfall year-round, Chiloe has maintained a distinctive wood-inspired architectural style, an active folklore of witches and demons, and a lush green landscape. In modernity, the Chilean government has constructed an elaborate series of ferries and roads connecting the islands to the mainland and bringing with rapid development of the islands and tourism.

Traveling to Chiloe in early-September (at the end of Chile's winter) is the island's low-season. This was apparent everywhere I went. I only saw a half-dozen other foreigners the entire time I was traversing the islands. Every bus I rode was full of only Chilotes (the people of Chiloe) and I was often the only person staying at my hostals. I ate in world-famous restaurants and I would be the sole patron (in case you were wondering, the service still moved at a snail's pace). Traveling off-peak was a unique opportunity to see the day-to-day life in Chile before the flood of tourists in the summer months.

Most of Chiloe's food is inspired by the oceans that surrounds the islands. The most popular dish is Curanto, a seafood and meat stew that is prepared in a pit of coals in dug into the ground. I sampled Curanto at several of the towns that I visited. When served, it greets the eye as a mountain of oysters, clams, chicken, lamb, and beef with sides of potato cakes and gravy. Finishing an entire plate of Curanto is no small feat, it is customary to start eating the terrestrial meat first and then move on to the shellfish. The gravy serves as way to “re-heat” any of the meat that starts to get cold as you devour the piles of meat. Not exactly vegetarian fare.

Chiloe is most-famous for its distinctive churches with their tall narrow towers, brilliant colors, and unique wood construction techniques which utilizes wooden pegs instead of nails. Inspired by the pictures of the churches I saw in my guidebooks, my mission during my time in Chiloe was to see as many of the churches as I could. Over the course of the three days I traveled to 6 towns in 72 hours.

Tenaun, My El Dorado: Tenaun was my El Dorado during my travels to Chiloe. Having seen pictures of Tenaun's striking blue church in guidebooks, Tenaun was the place that first captured my imagination and drew me to Chiloe. A beach town of less than 500 people, Tenaun is located in a remote region of the island so naturally I had to find a way to see its iconic church.

Getting to Tenaun was a journey in itself. Despite consulting a bus driver who repeatedly assured me that the bus I was boarding was going to Tenaun, I later found out that the bus I had been riding on was in fact NOT going to Tenaun. Dropped off at a desolate intersection with nothing but my backpack, I was pointed in the direction of Tenaun by the bus driver and started walking. Standing at the intersection, I noticed a car coming down the road headed in the same direction so I hitched a ride. After about ten minutes, I was dropped off in a small landlocked town that couldn't have had more than a hundred people with no brilliant blue church in sight (i.e. NOT Tenaun).

The sun was shining and the sky was clear, so I figured that I would laugh off my situation and I continued walking towards where I hoped I would find Tenaun. Eventually after twenty minutes of walking a dusty bus came rambling down the road with a sign labeled Tenaun. This was the bus that I was supposed to catch back at the bus station. I hopped on board and completed my final leg of my journey. It had taken me two buses, a short hike, and hitched ride to get to Tenaun, but somehow I made it. The last stretch of road to Tenaun was a bumpy steep dirt pitch that came down out of the hills and I was rewarded with a stunning view of the church that I traveled so far to see.

The adventure didn't end upon my arrival though. Finding a place to stay or even a place to eat in a town of 500 people during the off-season is no easy task. After I snapped a few pictures of the church I began the walk down town's “main street” and found that all of the restaurants and hostals were closed for the season. A small corner market was open so I asked if there was any place to eat and I was given the address down the street of a residence that sometimes serves food. I knocked on the door and was promptly told that they didn't have any food to serve. After I pleaded a bit (I had practice from my experience at the Argentinian border), I was told that I could eat lunch with the family. The family seemed to like me and was interested to hear my stories about life in the United States, so I decided to push my luck a little further to ask if they had an extra bed for the night. And that is how I ended up living for a day with a family in Tenaun.

Epiphanies while Traveling: Maybe it was being abandoned by a bus driver in the middle of an intersection in rural Chiloe or views of snow-capped volcanoes driving down the Pan-American highway or maybe it is simply my growing love for an awkward looking country that I used to know nothing about, but at some moment during my recent travels I realized that I'm not ready to leave Chile any time soon. I realized that I need this country as much as much as I've lead myself to believe that my students need me.

I have approval from the Chilean government to stay a semester through the end of June but I still have a lot of thinking to do before I sign the dotted line. Would I move to another part of Chile, such as the arid Northern-most desserts or the isolated Southern-Patagonian colonies? Or would I stick with the community and the family that I love so dearly? Or maybe by November I will be ready to return to my actual family and the life waiting for me back in California? This past weekend marked the half-way point of my time in Chile and I am not quite ready to break-up with the country that I am so enamored with.

Week 7: “Camaron, Camaron!”

30 Sec. Update: I keep checking the calendar to make sure that I have really been in Chile for a month and half. This week was the fastest yet, but continued to be full of small and big adventures. This weekend was spent at home which very relaxing. I stayed up late Friday night drinking pisco and playing “Uno” and “Liar's Dice” with one of the teacher's from my school. Slept in late Saturday and in the afternoon I went for a long run out into the countryside. Saturday night I went to a folklore show with my host-teacher and danced to some great guitar solos. On Sunday, the time had once again arrived for another adventure out in the countryside: “sacando camarones” or pumping crawdads out of the ground. This process is best described through video, so see below. In the end we caught about two dozen, which was our Sunday night dinner. With tomorrow being September 1st concluding the first third of my stay in Chile, the end of November already feels like it is drawing close.


Only in the “Skinny One” (Onces): My favorite time of my day is after I get home from a long day of work and share “onces” with my family. Onces are a large late night snack (Chileans don't really do dinner) that happens around 8 or 9 PM. Two things are guaranteed to be on the table for onces: a hot beverage and bread. While that may seem like nothing to get excited about, one of the reasons why I love “onces” is getting to choose the hot beverage and the toppings for bread. The options for hot drinks are: Milo (a powdered milk that is served warm), Tea, Coffee (always Nescafe—the Chilean version of Folgers), and my personal favorite Ecco (a coffee-like cereal drink). The options for the home-made bread are: Manjar (a sweet carmel-colored spread that is made by boiling down condensed milk), butter, home-made cherry preserves, my favorite Pate (a rich meat flavored spread), and occasionally cheese or deli meat. The possible combinations are limitless.


The time of day is also what makes Onces so special. It's the only time that everyone is around the table, no one is in a rush to go to school/work, and it's last thing we do before bed. The conversation always builds as the meal progresses. At first no one is talking because everyone is famished not having eaten anything in the last six hours. Eventually as everyone sips on their hot cup of Nescafe and eats some bread fresh out of the oven, the conversation gradually builds and often errupts into debates about who is the best soccer team, impromptu Spanish and English lessons, and discussions about the telenovelas or TV news. Onces will last anywhere between 1 hour to 3 hours. After several cups of Ecco, I usually toasty warm and ready to slip into bed until the next morning.

“Sacando Camarones” (Pumping Out Crawdads): Walking through a street fair on my first morning in Los Alamos my host-father had pointed out a bucket full of crawdads and called them “camarones,” the word that I had learned as shrimp in my Spanish classes. Clearly camarones meant something different in Chile and that morning my host-father promised to take me out sometime to “sacar camarones,” which up until this weekend I could guess the meaning.

On Sunday afternoon, equipped with a plastic grocery bag, a box full of rubber booties, and two hand pumps (a.k.a. “bombos” which look something like bazookas), we all piled into the truck to go in search of camarones. After a 20-minute ride outside of Los Alamos, we parked at the side of cow pasture and suited up. Now wearing the rubber booties and with our pants hiked up our legs, we gingerly slipped through the barbwire fence and began the hunt. Our query lived in water filled tunnels under the pasture. Armed with the bombos, we would searched for the entrances to the tunnels and began to pump. In order to create the suction, you need to stuff the tip of your boots into one of the entrances and began pumping from the other.



We only found camarones in about a quarter of the holes that we pumped, but after a hour and half of work, we had about two dozen in our plastic bag. I failed to actually pump out one myself (it's much harder than it sounds), but I did assist the capture of several by stuffing my boots into holes.

Back at home a hot boiling pot of water was prepared to cook our hard-earned meal. The camarones were delicious, although a lot of work for a little meat (especially divided amongst eight people). It would be tough making a living off camarones, but somehow people do it (a man came to the door our house the week before last selling camarones). Fortunately we had other seafood to eat along with our camarones, but either way it was another unforgettable experience from my time in Chile.

Feeling Useless: Maybe this is just a reaction to the fact that I spent the last four years of my expensive “liberal education” in books and in front of my computer, but I can't help feeling useless while I'm here in Chile. I am continually impressed with the number of useful skills of both my host-parents here. In my short time living in Los Alamos, I have seen my host-father do the work of an electrician, construction worker, butcher, fisherman, auto mechanic, and play the piano & guitar all on top of his “real” 9 to 5 job as the high school inspector who, to the best of my understanding, resolves all of the disciplinary problems in the school.

When I graduated this past May I felt like I had the world at my fingertips and I was capable of doing anything, but every day here I realize how I still lack useful skills. If I wasn't born in an English speaking country, I would be just taking up space living here. Being able to write a thirty-five page paper comparing the development of nuclear energy in France to the United States doesn't help when my host-father is asking for my help replace auto parts in his truck. I'm not saying that my four years of college were a waste, I'm just realizing that college prepared me with a very specific set of cerebral skills which won't help me rewire the lighting in my room or carve up a cow into steaks. I'm grateful that I can serve some purpose while I'm living here, but this experience has highlighted some major gaps in my education and skill set. I might be able to excel in a student-oriented academic college environment, but transplant me into the real-world and I am grateful to help with the most menial tasks.

Videos from English Class: These videos were shot during a class that I taught last week on "Where are you from?" and "How old you are?"

Week 6: Men Only in "la Bodega"

30 Sec. Update: The last week flew by. I feel like I was just writing my last blog post. It has been raining a lot in Los Alamos; there has been some rain every day for the last week and a half. My spirits are as high as ever though. Classes again were a success. I had some students skipping their other classes (with their teacher's permission) to attend my class for a second time. This weekend I did some traveling to both Concepcion, the regional capital/urban center, and Lota, a dying mining town on the coastline. In Lota, I guided by an ex-miner crawling around the former mines for a hour and half. Afterwards I spent a long time walking along the beach watching as the waves crash over the rocks. Looking forward to the spring time with warmer days and less rain.

Only in the “Skinny One (“Colectivos”): My host-school is located in Cerro Alto which is a ten minute drive from my home. In order to get to school every morning I commute on a colectivo, which have quickly become one of my favorite things in Chile. A colectivo is a taxi cab which runs a specified route and you can hop on or hop off at any point along the route. For relatively short distances, colectivos are faster, cheaper (a fare is only $0.60), and more comfortable than the buses. The fare is cheap because you share the cab with anyone and everyone along the way. I have ridden in colectivos with as many seven people (the driver, two mothers with their two children, myself and another passenger) packed into a four door sedan.

Sometimes my rides in colectivos are in complete silence and other times I try to strike up conversations with the drivers or other passengers. We talk a lot about the weather and the day to day events in the towns. I have begun to recognize some of the colectivo drivers and I'm hoping that I can learn their names. For now though, I just content being a passenger on this hybrid form of public transportation.

Day Trip to Lota: On Saturday a group of teachers and I went to Lota, a costal mining town which is a ninety minute bus ride north of Los Alamos. Like many mining towns in the United States, the wealth and prosperity brought to Lota by coal in its heyday have dried up after the mining stopped in the 1990's. A city of 50,000, Lota is now one of the poorest cities in Chile. In an attempt to revitalize the city, Lota's mines have since been turned into a tourist attraction in which former miners will take you down into the mine's tunnels and tell you anecdotes from its history.

The mine tour lasted about ninety minutes and was lead by an animated guide who was a living encyclopedia about the mine. The tour started with a descent on a mining shaft elevator several hundred feet underground. Equipped with mining helmets and lanterns, a group of ten of us began our trek through the mines stopping periodically to hear about the conditions down in the mine, the lifestyle of a miner, and random tidbits about the mine's history. I was shocked to hear that kids as young as eight worked in these mines just decades ago. The highlight of the tour was when we were deep in the pitch black mine and we turned off all lights to just listen in silence to the noises of the mine.

After the mine tour, our group of teachers spent several hours hiking around on the beach and the surrounding cliffs. It was too cold to swim but it was peaceful just watching the waves crash along the rocky shore. The day ended in the private gardens of the mine's former owners. The stark contrast between the opulence of the gardens and the poverty that was apparent everywhere in the city was stunning. The thirty five acres of gardens contained plant species from all over the world alongside marble statues and fountains imported from Europe and Asia. Walking through the carefully manicured park I felt like I was in one of the royal gardens in Europe. It was just a glimpse into the fabulous wealth of Lota's mine owners. Overall a great day trip and I highly recommend it to other travelers in Chile.

Quick Profile of my Students: My students are all junior high students between the grades of 5th and 8th. From what I have gathered from them, they range in ages from 9 to 16 years-old. Most of them are from either Los Alamos or Cerro Alto, but a significant number of them are also from the countryside and live at the school as borders. My school, Escuela 798 Claudio Flores Soto, is a municipal (public) primary school. In Chile there are three types of schools: municipal, semi-private, and private schools. For this reason most of my students are also lower-income by Chilean standards.

My students are very friendly and affectionate. If my students see me around town or on the bus they are always animated and eager to talk to me. One of my students even ran across the street to say hello to me before I got onto a bus. When I walk through the hallway, they are eager to get my attention and offer to carry my things for me. They are also typical teenagers. They love listening to music (esp. the Jonas Brothers, Hannah Montana, and of course Michael Jackson), they love to dance, they don't like school, they like junk food, and they love soccer.

The Butcher in “la Bodega:” In my house there are three rooms which are shared by everyone: the living room, the kitchen, and la bodega. This week I spent a lot of my down time in la bodega. La bodega is a small shack which is outside behind my house and is used as a covered work space and tool shed. La bodega is also the “men only” space of the house. A place to work with your hands, a place to share drinks, and a place to hang out.

Previously, I wrote about our search for the perfect cow to slaughter for the wedding. The story continues...After the wedding we were left with over a hundred pounds of cow meat hanging from the ceiling of la bodega. Over the course of several days my host father cut the meat into usable pieces and sold them to his neighbors. I watched alongside my host father as all of this happened. I could never imagine this happening in the United States. All of the meat that I have ever purchased has come prepared on a shrink-wrapped foam tray. With amazing skill my host father worked with a kitchen knife and a handsaw to cut through all of the flesh and bone saving pieces of fat and gristle to give to the dogs. When I asked how he learned to prepare meat like this, he told me that he has done it since he was young kid. Several times a year around important events (Easter, Christmas, Independence Day, and weddings) he will go out to the campo, buy a cow to slaughter, and prepare all of the meat to eat and sell.

While I stood there and watched as my host father work to prepare the meat that we would eat that night for dinner, my thoughts wandered to my environmental science classes. In college, we often talked about how most people have no real idea of where their food comes from. This disconnect between the farm and dinner plate was the source of poor land management, overuse of fertilizers and antibiotics, mistreatment of animals, and the myriad of health problems that come from our diets. Juxtapose that with my host father who met the farmer who owned his cow, walked out into the grassy pasture where the cow lived to select it, watched as the cow was slaughtered, and used his own hands to carve up the meat he would eat. I'm not trying to overly romanticize this lifestyle, but it's hard not feel like I am really living here.

Wrap-Up: Life in Los Alamos is not full of flashy diversions and creature comforts to distract you from the daily events and people all around you. My days are marked by long meals around the kitchen table, exhausting work days at the school, homemade food, reading in front of the fireplace, and deep nights of sleep. Life here moves at a slower pace and is a welcome reprieve from the non-stop pace of college. My challenge during the rest of my time will be figuring out how to bring this lifestyle and what I have learned from this experience back with me to the United States.

Week 5: Feeling at Home

30 Sec. Update: First week of classes went smoothly. I met 150+ students over the course of three days and I'm struggling to remember names. All of the students seemed excited to be in my class and by the end of the 45 min. period I had all of them introducing themselves in English. Friday was the wedding which literally lasted all night. The ceremony started at 8 PM and we danced the night away until 6 AM. I woke up at 3 PM Saturday afternoon. The rest of the weekend was spent recovering from the wedding. On Sunday I went for a nice hike to a suspended bridge outside of Los Alamos. My one month anniversary was Saturday and I looked at the calendar to realize that there are only 100 more days in Chile. I'm already wishing that I had more time here.


Only in the “Skinny One” (Bring Your Own TP): After being in Chile for a couple of days I quickly realized that I shouldn't go anywhere without a roll of toilet paper and some hand sanitizer. Even the staff bathroom at my school lacks both of these necessities. I have never gotten an explanation on why this is so. Is it the cost? Does the TP just run out? Are Chileans just afraid to use toilet paper that is not their own? Or do Chileans just not use toilet paper? [cringe] Whatever the reason, after a few uncomfortable trips to the bathroom I never leave the house without a roll.


Actually using the toilet paper adds an additional challenge because the plumbing in Chile is not strong enough flush down the TP. For this reason, all of the bathrooms in Chile have a small trash can next to the the toilet to dispose of the used toilet paper. It has taken a while to get used to this. My trips to the bathroom are often filled with cursing after I realize that I once again forgot to dispose of the TP in the trash can. After this happens, I'm always afraid that the toilet will clog and my host-family will grumble “Where's the plunger? The gringo did it again!”

Every time I go to the bathroom now, I go through the mental checklist: Did I bring the TP? Check! Did I bring the hand sanitizer? Check! Did I remember to put the toilet paper in the trash? Fuck! I'm sure that I will suffer from reverse culture shock once again back to the US and my mom will be confused why there is always dirty TP in the trash can.


My Four Months of Fame: After 2 weeks in Los Alamos, I have begun to sympathize with Britney Spears. Just in case it hasn't reached the United States, I have achieved celebrity status here in Chile. I walk through hallways of my school to the screams of high school girls, I have given out my autograph on several occasions, and some of my students even shout “I love you” as I pass in the halls. I frequently get asked if I know Hannah Montana, the Jonas Brothers, or Madonna. It has quickly become clear to me that the main reason why my students are interested in English is pop culture. I'm sure that once they realize that I don't actually know any movie stars and that in the US I'm only a mild-mannered college student my celebritydom will end. But for now, my self-esteem has never been higher.

Classes week one went really well. My program director called the first weeks of teaching in Chile “the honeymoon period.” The students were excited to be in classes with the gringo and for a change of pace from their regular classes. The purpose of my time here is to work on their verbal fluency and expose them to a native speaker. With that mission in mind, I have been given a lot of flexibility with how I teach my classes. I try to organize them around a question that would come up in conversation such as, “how many siblings do you have?” or “where are you from?” with interactive games and improv always being a key component.


English Only: My classes are taught entirely in English which adds lots of extra challenges. I have to be very deliberate in how I deliver the instruction by using lots of repetition, cognates (words that sound similar in both Spanish and English), and acting out everything I say. This methodology is the same idea that underlies studying abroad and full immersion language programs. It is frustrating at times for both me and the students but I think in the long-run it will maximize their exposure to native English and (hopefully) their retention. Or at least that is the theory; I'll write back with how much I agree with this theory in 4 months.

“Weddings in Chile go until 6 AM:” A wedding in Chile is a whole-weekend affair. Friday was the wedding, Saturday was spent cleaning and recovering, and Sunday was the leftovers. I was told by a few Chileans beforehand that wedding in Chile go until 6 AM, but I didn't truly believe it until this weekend. The ceremony started at 8 PM, dinner was served at midnight, the cake came around 3 AM, and the dancing stopped at 6 AM. The day after I slept until 3 PM.

The Ceremony: The whole event from start to finish was beautiful and memorable in its own special Chilean way. The ceremony was held at a Pentecostal church which ensured a fiery sermon at the beginning of the ceremony full of “hallelujah's” and “praise the Lord's” (or at least that's what I think they were saying in Spanish). After that, the ceremony was pretty similar to a wedding ceremony in the US: exchanging the vows, the reading of the marriage certificate, and the sharing the wedding rings. At the end of the ceremony, the newly wedded went on a vuelta (a mini-trip) in their decorated car throughout the town. Everyone else rushed to the location of the reception (a local high school cafeteria) to wait for the newly wedded to arrive and perform the waltz.


It was a low-budge wedding in every sense. The reception was held in the high school cafeteria, my host brother was the DJ, my host mother baked the wedding cake, the decorations were homemade, the silverware was mismatched, and the plates were chipped. But anything it lacked in a material sense was made up for by the outpouring of love that was apparent in everyone and everything in that room.

The rest of the night passed quickly. The music was a mix of Salsa, Cumbia, and Reggaton. All the dancing was done in lines with the men on one side and the women on the other. I'm sure that I represented my country poorly on the dance floor but at least the wedding guests got some good laughs. The dancing was only interrupted by the retrieving of the garder, throwing of the bouquet, and the cutting of the wedding cake. It was an unlikely marriage. High school sweethearts who had a child when they were only fifteen-years-old. Five years had passed since their son was born. To have reached this point took the support of a lot of people and it was surely something to celebrate.


Wrap-up: These first two weeks in Los Alamos have been full of reminders of the cycles of life. I attended a wedding, I held a newly born baby, and I carried a casket containing a one hundred and six-year-old woman. Alongside all of these milestones of life, I have begun to establish a rhythm here in Chile as daily routines become a little less overwhelming. I am amazed at how quickly I was integrated into the lives of my host-family and the daily on-goings in Chile. The comfort that I feel with my new family, my new school, and my new home is a testament to the abundant warmth and familiarity of this community. I'm am hopeful for whatever the next one hundred days may bring.

Week 4: Somos Campesinos (“We are country people”)

30 Sec. Update: First week living in Los Alamos was one of the richest and stimulating weeks of my life. I taught a few classes last week but it was mostly introductions and classroom observations. I start teaching in earnest this upcoming week. My classes have 15 to 20 students and I teach straight through from 8:30 AM to 6:30 PM Wednesday through Friday. Mondays and Tuesdays are left for lesson planning, meetings, and a little down time. This weekend I went on a day trip to Cañete and my family and I went to the countryside in search of a “vaquilla” (a medium sized cow) for a wedding this upcoming Friday. I'm loving every minute of it. Every moment here presents something new to be learned or figured out. Even the smallest daily routine like taking a shower with an electric water heater becomes an adventure and a new experience.

Only in the “Skinny One” (Electric Showers): New addition to the blog this week; an attempt to highlight some of the more unique aspects of life in Chile. This week is about showering.

The first shower I ever took in Chile was cold. I turned on the water full blast like I'm accustomed to in the US only to find that the water was freezing. Having already taken off my clothes and too embarrassed to ask my host family what to do, I sucked it up and took a cold one. That night at dinner I asked my host family in my broken Spanish how the shower works. Looking at me confusedly, they immediately took me to the bathroom, turned on the water to a slow trickle, and I watched as lukewarm water came out of the shower head. Not wanting to be rude. I shook my head yes and anxiously awaited my shower the following morning.

On Day 2, I tried again only to find that again the water was cold. Determined to figure this out, I spent the next five minutes changing the water pressure to exactly the right pressure. After much patience and time spent staring at the shower head, I eventually discovered that if you listen carefully you can hear the water heater turn on. The water pressure has to be exactly right otherwise the device will not turn on. The count so far is about 3 cold to 3 lukewarm but I think I have finally figured it out. The other volunteers and I get a good laugh thinking about what it would be like for our family to come to the US and take a steaming hot shower at full pressure. I'm sure that they would have a similar experience to my own. Coming up next week: toilet paper etiquette in Chile.

El Campo: Despite only being in Los Alamos for a week, I have already been to the countryside twice. Both times were equally enchanting and comical. This past Sunday we drove around from farm to farm “shopping” for a medium sized cow. Big enough to feed 85 people at the upcoming wedding (about 250 pounds of beef). What was supposed to be only a 2 hour excursion quickly turned into a 4 hour adventure. I drank a glass of “leche crudo” (milk literally straight from the udder), walked through several large green pastures in search of the right size cow, and spoke with several campesinos about the United States, the Chilean winter, and size of their cows. It was the perfect way to spend a Sunday morning.

My other experience in the campo was earlier in the week. Last Thursday I was being picked up from school by my host-teacher's husband (Oscar) to be taken home after a long day of observations and teaching. It was 5 PM and I hopped into his truck and he said: “Vamos al campo.” [“We are going to the countryside”]. To which I didn't really have a response except for “Si!”

After talking to him for a while, I was able to discern that he owned a potato farm out in the countryside and one of his worker's vans had a dead battery. The two of us continued on down a muddy, dirt road for about 20 minutes to arrive at the side of forested valley with several acres of potato fields on the valley floor. We spent the first half hour trying to jump start the van which was unsuccessful. Then we tried to tow the van using the truck which resulted in the van getting stuck in the mud. After we pushed the van out of the mud, finally we filled the bed of the truck with firewood to give it more traction. With the added weight, we successfully managed to get the van up to 20 mph and it was able to start.

By this time it was 7 PM and Oscar again surprised me by saying: “Vamos a la estación de radio.” [“We are going to the radio station.”]. I was already a hour late coming home, but he assured me that it would only take five minutes. I knew that it wouldn't just take five minutes but he was the driver and I didn't really feel like trying to argue with him so we headed to the radio station. I found this out later, but Oscar is a city council member in Los Alamos. He was being interviewed on the radio about the rise in alcohol and drug use amongst the town's youth. He was using the radio interview to promote an upcoming community meeting to voice concerns about this problem.

As we drove to the radio station, we were listening to the station's broadcast. The radio DJ began to introduce Oscar, but we still had yet to arrive at the radio station. Another song went on the radio and we raced at 60 miles per hour through the town to get to the radio station (in case you are wondering, the speed limit was 35 mph). We arrived at the station, Oscar walked through the doors, and within sixty seconds he was being interviewed live on the radio. After the interview, I met the DJ and told him a little bit about my teaching in Chile. He seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say and we scheduled a radio interview for this upcoming week. I arrived at home a little bit before 8 PM and exasperatedly tried to explain everything that happened. My host family lightly scolded me for being late, congratulated me on the radio interview, and we sat down for dinner. So ended another day in Chile.

Wrap-up: When I was in Santiago, one of the veteran teachers advised us to “just be liquid” during our time in Chile. I have taken his advice to heart and let life fall as it will. Every day has been full of small and big adventures which could fill many more pages of this blog. In this past week there was an intense indoor soccer game with all of the male teachers at the school, an electronic keyboard serenade by our host father, star-struck students who ask for my autograph and tell me “I love you,” hilarious conversations with strangers riding public transportation, and lots of time spent just sitting around the table talking.

Last night my host father and I shared a couple drinks before we went to bed. We talked about everything from my shoe size to car culture in Chile. Every time that we took a sip, we would make a toast. We toasted to family, Chile, Norteamericanos, marriage, my first week in Los Alamos, and friendship. It was a fitting way to end my first week in Chile. After only a week here in Los Alamos, I feel completely at ease living here. Altogether we are a family of ten living under the same roof but our close quarters only makes us closer. If this first week is any indicator of what's to come in the next 6 months, in the words of my host-father, this experience is going to be "inolvidable."

Week 3: Goodbye Quirihue, Hello Los Alamos!

30 Sec. Update: Whoops! I should have known better than to get too attached to a particular town. On my way to Quirihue I found out that I would actually be going to Los Alamos, a slightly bigger town of 18,000 several hours south of Quirihue. Despite the mix-up, I was greeted by my host family at the bus station with signs saying “Welcome Kevin!” and open arms. So much has happened since my last blog post. The last 72 hours have been a whirlwind of meeting my home stay family, getting a tour of Los Alamos, meeting our host teachers, and visiting our host schools all on top of trying to adjust to life in a Spanish speaking country. Life is wonderful in so many ways. Every day is a new adventure and full of laughter. Photos to come in the next couple of days.

http://www.losalamos.cl/

El Embajador de los Gringos: Upon my arrival to Los Alamos I also found out that I will be sharing my homestay with two other volunteer teachers Karyn (a 27 year old from Buffalo, NY) and Matt (a 22 year old from Minneapolis, Minnesota). I met them during orientation and am excited to share the experience with them. Matt and I share a room with a private bathroom. Karyn and Matt are working at "el liceo" (the local municipal high school) and I am working at the elementary school. Neither of them speak much Spanish so I have served as “el traductor” (the translator) and “el embajador de los gringos” (the gringo ambassador).


My Second Family: I LOVE my host family. They are very nice and excited to have us. Our host parents are amazing. Luis, our father, is in charge of discipline at the local school. Every morning he drives us in a truck to the local school. He is very helpful around the house and curious about English. He knows a few words of English and occasionally he will say a random word in English which is met with laughter. Luis took us on a walk throughout the town Sunday morning and we visited el centro, la plaza, el liceo, and la feria (the outdoor market).He seemed to know half the people in the town.


Our host mom, Iris, is the force that ties us all together. She is so warm and caring that we can't help but feel like part of the family. She is a great cook and has a very welcoming smile. Some of my favorite moments so far have been sitting at the table with her sharing a cup of coffee. Also living at the house are Luis and Iris' children Matias (a 17-year-old who attends “el liceo”) and Sandra (a 27-year-old who is a teacher at “el liceo”). In addition there are three other Chilean high school boarders who live in el campo and stay with us during the week. The high school students are in love with American music and they were amazed by our iPods quizzing us on the names of songs and bands (Michael Jackson, Green Day, Aerosmith, 50 Cent).


It is not a big house but we all seem to get along well. We have lots of long meals sharing stories, eating lots of home-made bread, and tecito & cafecito. My Spanish is just good enough to hold conversations and crack jokes which has been the most rewarding part. There are still plenty of moments where I just look at them confused and say “no entiendo” (I don't understand), but I feel very comfortable in Spanish and I can already tell that it is going to improve immensely.


La U v. Colo Colo: Last night after dinner the family had an animated argument over the best soccer team in Chile. Luis, Matias, and Iris supporting “la U” (the University of Chile) against Sandra and the boarders supporting “Colo Colo” (the big rival team). Both sides tried to convince us of the better team. Apparently the rivavlry is so fierce that when the two teams play against each other the stadium has to double the number of security and police officers to prevent riots. When I announced that I went to a soccer game last week between Argentina and “la U” back in Santiago, the kitchen exploded with excitement. Luis ran into the other room to grab his jersey for “la U,” made me put it on, and take pictures with him. All of the fans of “Colo Colo” were in disbelief and ostracized me for the rest of the night. I don't think the Yankees and the Red Sox rivalry even comes close.


The Host School: Yesterday we went to the host schools and all of the English teachers at the school. All of them have wonderful senses of humor and they speak perfect English except my teacher, America, who despite her name does not speak a word of English. I think I got paired with her for that reason. It's so funny to me that a woman who speaks hardly any English could be the school's English teacher but I definitely feel like I'm needed and will help the students A LOT. I will be working with 5th to 8th grade students. We are just doing lesson planning and and observations this first week but it is exciting to just see the schools where we will be working.

'Til Next Week: Life continues to be full of laughter, Chilenismos, and little surprises like no water in the whole town on our first day of school, the heated family rivalry over support for "la U" and "Colo Colo," and the blood sausage! I'm excited for the coming weeks and feel like I'm in the right place. I miss you all and look forward to sharing more stories.


P.S. Thanks for all of the comments! I love hearing your thoughts and knowing that people are actually reading this blog. :)