Lunging...With Boots

So I bought these really cute boots at Buffalo Exchange for $15, thinking it was a great deal.

But part of the base material on the heel part is missing on my right boot, causing me to randomly and sporadically almost do what I call a "lunge trip", where my right foot - due to lack of traction - slips forward, causing me to go into quasi-lunge formation. I swear one of these days I am going to sprain my ankle, hardcore. But I can't seem to stop wearing the boots because they are the only pair of shoes that make me feel what I call "Tyra fierce".

Well, that's what you get for shopping at Buffalo, I guess. 

Selections From Glee

If you walk into a party, and the people are playing Red Wine and/or Sangria Pong, and the music that is blasting is "selections from Glee", then you most likely walked into a gay frat party. And you will most likely enjoy it to the fullest. 

Just a heads up. 

Overheard: Greek Row Encounters

(Thursday night. Midnight. All within - I'm not even kidding you - a two-minute period:

Overheard: A guy and a girl getting off a charter bus (probably an invite...ughhhh) on Channing Circle. Guy with arm around girl. Stumbling drunkily on the sidewalk. All signs point that they are a couple, until the guy says: "So, wait, what's your last name again??"

Overheard: Biking by. Piedmont and Haste. An AEπ guy talking to a random girl, saying, "Yeah, someone's already walked in on them having sex."

UC Motherfucking Berkeley: The WWF of Academics

This blog post is to comment on the lack of blog posts I've written over the past month or so. It's because Berkeley has given me an academic beating that I still have yet to recover from.

That, coupled with my academic amnesia - due to the easy course schedule I purposely arranged for myself in Chile - has made me forget that one must work fairly diligently every day to keep up with the workload, instead of say, going on Facebook roughly 82.5 times throughout the day, Skype-ing with friends, and watching Glee reruns on repeat.

I could go into a more extended analysis of why Berkeley is giving me a repeated intellectual spanking, but I have only alloted myself 2 minutes and 26 seconds for eating and playtime for each meal of the day. 

The alarm just went off. Shit, I have to go.

Dedicated to Zoe Mullendore

I am writing another blog post. It's for Zoe. Because she's bored.

This is the blog post. Hope you're happy.

Spotted: Greek Row Encounters

1) Spotted: 3 students walking. One (in the middle) drunker than the others. Arms around the 2 lesser drunks, holding on for dear drunk life, so that he/she (let's be real, she) don't fall to the ground and have their too short dress expose anything their grandma would not want to see. 

2) Spotted: 3 students walking. One (in the middle) drunker than the others. Arms around clutching for support. Drunkey in the middle almost falls down several times. 2 "friends" have to catch her.

3) Spotted: 10 freshman, walking in a group together. Most likely floormates, still in the process of adquiring friendship. Girls, constantly checking and re-checking their hair, as well as pushing the side bangs more to the side to give that "Hey I'm casual but also sexy hair flip." Boys in the group walking together, talking about who drank the most beer the weekend before. Entire group, although they put in a valiant effort to look like chill college students, has that overly eager, "I can't believe I'm finally away from mom and dad and can finally do anything I want!" look on their faces.

4) Spotted: 2 sorority girls, one looking upset and almost crying (probably drunk), the other one consoling her (also probably drunk). Most likely talking about drunk hookup with [insert frat boy's name] and how it was horrible that he didn't call her. Other girl must likely doesn't give a shit about her, but due to sorority pledges of "friendship, unity, sisterhood, and solidarity", feels obliged to "help" her. 

5) Spotted: Group of 3. Obligatory drunk person in the middle. You know the deal.

6) Spotted: Guy and girl, flirting and semi-making out on the street. Most likely will end up in drunk hookup. Guy will probably not call. (See #4).

7) Spotted: Drunk guys in a car driving through whilst saying slightly inappropriate things to the girls passing by.

8) Spotted: Group of 3. Same deal. What is up with these groups of 3 deal??

9) Spotted: Nerdy girl eating shit on a bike in the middle of the crosswalk on Channing Circle. Probably a freshman.

10) Sadly, nerdy girl was actually ME a few weeks ago. 

Chile and the U.S.: An Overly Simplistic Comparison

Here are some of the things I have noticed here in the U.S. now that I am an obnoxious study abroad snob and claim to know the world because I lived for a handful of months in the upper middle class section of Santiago:

1) Gringos are more distracted than Chileans: Last week, I was sitting in lecture for my Media Studies class (comprising about 50 people), and the girl next to me texted the WHOLE TWO HOURS of lecture!! The most annoying part is that her phone was on vibrate so for the WHOLE TWO HOURS I felt like there was a hive of bees next to my ear. Also, gringos try to multi-task much more. It's not uncommon to be having lunch with friends and have at least one friend be texting as they are talking, or to be texting while someone else is talking, and thus, not participating in the present conversation. I find this annoying. In Chile, this was a very uncommon thing to do. The sad thing is, I'm starting to pick it up again, and hope to reverse this bad habit. Why I feel here that I can't wait another half hour to text (so I don't disrupt bonding time with my friend) I have no idea. No idea.

2) Cars actually stop for pedestrians: One of the first things I noticed in Chile was that cars would go at the speed of light down every road possible, and that unless there was a green light for you the pedestrian, you were not safe. They wouldn't even stop for you at designated crosswalks (the one without lights). Even with the green light, you were pushing it. Traffic would also change directions on some major streets later on in the day, which made crossing the street safely a bit more challenging. Here, you can be 10 feet away from the crosswalk, and the car will make a complete stop and (for the most part) patiently wait for you. Ironically, I feel even more nervous with their over-cautiousness here. Probably because I am still in survival mode/extreme distrust of drivers thing that I developed while in Chile that has carried over here.

3) People are on time: WHAT?!?? I'm still trying to re-adjust myself to this concept. In Chile, 1:00 really meant 1:30, and bastantes veces, later than that. Often, when I thought I was late to class, the teacher showed up later than me (and sometimes didn't even show up). So I got used to taking my time and being tranquila about getting somewhere because, really, how "late" could I be?? Ooohhhhh that shit don't fly here. You're 15 minutes late to meet a friend, you are met with an evil glare and/or a mini-interrogation session ("What took you so long?" "Why were you late?" etc). Now I have always been someone that has tended to run on the late side, but now it's even worse. Even with the 10 minute grace period at Berkeley (where classes don't start until 10 minutes after the hour), I still manage to show up late. Which is bad, because whereas my friends are probably grading me on my friendship, at least it doesn't show up on my transcript. Apparently grades in your actual classes do. 

4) People talk over each other much more here: In Chile, conversations were much more tranquilo: I talked, the other person listened, they talked, I listened, and the cycle continued. When I got back, I was so overwhelmed with multiple voices talking at once, someone interrupting me in the middle of my story to tell a story that was related to mine ("That reminds me of the time..."), and voices getting progressively louder to try to grab the story spotlight. Granted, I'm a talker, so it's not like I never do this. But I try my best to grant people their moments. And in Chile, it was just way more calm and relaxing talking to people. It felt like more of a conversation as opposed to a talking competition. Luckily, a lot of my close friends here aren't like this, but it's still very apparent in day-to-day life how group conversation dynamics operate. 

More to add later.....  

Berkeley Superpowers

Last week, in the first discussion section of the semester for my American Studies class, the GSI (Graduate Student Instructor) went around the classroom and asked everyone (as an ice breaker) what superpower they could have, if they could have any superpower in the world. 3 out of the 25 students in the class, despite the plethora of options - such as shape-shifting, flying, immortality, mind-reading, etc - DESPITE all of these options, said:

"My superpower would be to feel less tired on less sleep so I can study more and do more things in the day." 

Yep, welcome back to Berkeley. 

Pity Party of 1, Your Table is Now Ready

I'm back from Berkeley, and it just doesn't feel the same to me. I don't feel the same connection to the campus as I did before I went abroad. Everything feels just a little bit foreign, a little bit different, a little bit out of place.

I feel out of place.

I miss Chile a lot. I don't even have the words to describe the incredible experience I got to have abroad - because words will never be able to justify the intangible beauty that it was anyway - but I realized that the best semester I had at Berkeley was in fact, not at Berkeley, but rather in South America.

And now I am back, and the bubble has burst. I am back to midterms, to annoying, squeaky, and superficial sorority girls walking by, to massive budget cuts affecting the supposed world class education they claim to be giving to me. I am back to hyperbolic super-capitalism. I am back to all the problems I quasi-avoided while in Chile. I am back to trying to figure the fuck out what I want to do with my life (I have no idea).

I am back to familiarly unfamiliar surroundings.

And to add to that, I hurt the most important person to me in Chile, and I don't know if he will ever talk to me again. The thought of that is extremely saddening and terrifying to me.

Chile now almost feels like a dream, a distant country that a few weeks ago, didn't seem so far away; but now it feels like I just won't ever be able to reach it again.

Berkeley also feels like a dream as well, but in a different way. Sometimes it feels like it's a dream I just can't wait to wake up from. But I wake up, and it's still there. I am still there. I can't believe I am back here. I can't believe it's real.

I just hope that it will get better.

With that being said, excuse my italic-ridden, 100% purely emo post I have just written out. Sometimes you just need a melodramatic pity party from time to time. That, and some good chocolate would be nice.

DENGUE MANIA

So apparently the best souvenir I brought back from South America was not a cute scarf, or a sweater, or even some kick-ass pair of jeans I bought at Parque Arauco. Oh no, the best thing I took back with me was Dengue Fever.

Which sounds really bad ass, but is really just a fancy shmancy term for a really fucked up, high fever that goes on for about 5-7 days. Plus feeling like you have the energy of a 90-year-old woman passed out after drinking too much on a wine tour (can you tell I've been watching Kathy Griffin reruns?!??). Plus body aches. Plus feeling like you have been sweating so much from trying to break your fever (ok, Tylenol breaking your fever) that you feel like you must have been - unbeknownst to you - secretly addicted to some drug that your family is now putting you through detox for.

Dengue Fever sucks. But it sounds really badass, and I think it will give me more street cred, which is always a plus. Tradeoffs man, tradeoffs.

Interrogation Room: The Supermarket Edition

Last week, a mere 2 days after I got home from South America, my mom sent me down to the grocery store to get some food for the house (Important note: I was already doing more in the little mom-mandated field trip in GringoLand than I did in my own Chilean household - I barely lifted a finger down there. Yeah, I was fucking spoiled). 

So I get in line, and at the checkout counter, the lady is going through my grocery items. Then, 15 seconds later, out of the blue, I hear way too much enthusiastic noise coming from her. The way too enthusiastic noise manifested itself into a question:

"WELL HOW HAS YOUR DAY BEEN SO FAR????"

I flinched. I was taken about. I was shocked. Scared. Surprised. Offended. 

I felt like my whole soul had been ripped out and that this lady was going to exam it on the operating table. I felt emotionally violated. More importantly, I felt annoyed. Why the hell is it this lady's right to know what I have been up to today? And why do I have to expend precious energy to explain it to her?

You see, being down in Chile meant that there was no real concept of customer service. No one would tend to you in restaurants. In pharmacies, workers either acted like you were ruining their day by merely existing, or act like you were invisible while they would ring you up. Here's your bloqueador and your leche con chocolate. Now get the fuck out. It was something at first I was a bit turned off by. Like any average arrogant and self-absorbed norteamericano, initially, I thought, "Why don't you care about ME?? Why DON'T you want to know about MY interesting life?? 

After a while, their apathy became something I appreciated because I didn't have to perform for strangers. So, if I had a bad day, I could still be emo around them without them noticing or caring. Cry-Time in public spaces now? Awesome.

And now that I am back in the US, this interest - whether it be fake or real - in my life bugs the shit out of me. I had to quickly pull myself together at the supermarket to restrain from yelling at the lady and telling her to shut the fuck up with her artificially sugary sweet attitude towards me and get the fuck out of my business. Luckily, my gringo knowledge of social norms kicked in just in time, and I engaged in obligatory 2-minute-pretend-like-supermarket-worker-is-my-best-friend-talk and got out. 

So that was the beginning of my reverse culture shock here. My only question now is, when the hell is it going to end??

Bienvenido a los Estados Unidos

Yesterday, on my way over to Berkeley to visit my friend Heather, a guy suddenly swerves over on a busy highway in his pickup truck and cuts me off. He then proceeds to flip me off (in front of his kids, who didn't look a day older than 9). He then starts making angry signals and talking to his kids, and they are laughing and continually looking behind to laugh at me. He then swerves over into the next lane and flips me off again. 

I was so confused, because, if anything, I should be the one that's angry! My only theory is that maybe he didn't like my two bumper stickers?? The hippiest ones by the way - I mean, one of them says, "TEACH PEACE." Yeah, I'm that kind of person. Now who could ever be mad at peace? 

Then, 15 minutes later, on another highway, 2 lanes were merging into one. And I was clearly the car that was in front of another car, meaning that HE had to yield to me. But he only speeds up and tries to overtake me. So I have to rapidly swerve out of the lane to avoid being hit by him. 

Then in Berkeley, I see a car with a bumper sticker that says, "Sarah Palin '12." You have got to be fucking kidding me. 

If this is a sign for what my time like will be in GringoLandia from now on, then I am royally fucked. 

Well, welcome back to the U.S., I guess. 

Reverse Culture Shock: The Preview

So I am in the airport waiting for my connection, and I decided in the hour or less that I had before the plane was going to take off, I would go to Dunkin' Donuts. I think I have gone to this McDonut establishment a total of maybe 2 or 3 times in my life (if that). Hell, I don't even really like donuts all that much. But this whole time in Chile I have been wanting to try a donut with manjar filling, because really, that's glocalization at its finest (if you don't know this term, Google "McDonaldization" + "glocalization," and hopefully it will come up). 

I order my donut, eat its creamy, sugary and manjar-y goodness, and I am just about to leave McDonut's, when I hear this loud, annoying, sharp, piercing, obnoxious, and heart palpitating-inducing voice ask rudely to the girl that works at Dunkin's:

"DO YOU SPEAK ENGLISH???"

The employee responds, "Un poquito" (A little bit). The woman is not phased, and continues to speak in her loud, annoying, sharp, piercing, obnoxious, and heart palpitating-inducing voice:

"DO YOU HAVE CHICKEN?!??!??"

"I WANT A CHICKEN WRAP!!"

"DO YOU HAVE CHICKEN?!!??!?"

Finally, I decide to intervene because a) I feel bad for this employee, who was really cool and nice to me b) I know, you know, a little bit of Spanish, after being here for half a year of my life and decide that maybe it could be put into good use for once and c) and I wanted this woman to get her dumbass chicken wrap and get the hell out of there as soon as possible so that the feeling of wanting to slit my wrists because of the sound of her voice would subside.

So I go up to the woman, and tell her that I can translate for her if she wants. While I am trying to translate for her, she is half-screaming obnoxiously into my ear. It kind of went like this (imagine the words being spit out at the same time):

Me: Tienes ave de pollo?

GRINGÍSIMA GRINGA: I WANT CHICKEN...DO YOU HAVE CHICKEN?!?

Me: Hay pan, como de tortilla??

GRINGÍSIMA GRINGA: IS THERE TORTILLA??!? DO YOU HAVE TORTILLA? I WANT TORTILLA BREAD! TELL HER THAT I WANT TORTILLA BREAD!

Me [to GRINGÍSIMA GRINGA]: Do you want avocado?

GRINGÍSIMA GRINGA: I GUESS A LITTLE....I DON'T KNOW, JUST TELL HER TO MAKE THE #2! I DON'T CARE, I JUST WANT THE CHICKEN WRAP!

GRINGÍSIMA GRINGA: OH, I WANT IT CUT IN 2 PARTS! CAN YOU GET HER TO CUT IT IN 2 PARTS??

Me: Sería posible cortar el sandwich en dos partes?

GRINGÍSIMA GRINGA: IS SHE GOING TO CUT IT IN 2 PARTS?!?? TELL HER I WANT IT CUT IN 2 PARTS!!

I ask the lady this, and she looks at me like, "Duh, that's what we are supposed to do when we make sandwiches, what the fuck did you think I was going to do?" I give this look back that tries as best to communicate, "I am ashamed this lady represents my country, and don't worry, I think she's dumb too. Sorry you have to deal with her." I hope that message got across.

So the lady finally stops yelling, and the sandwich gets made, and the whole ordeal is finally over. This whole past week or so, I have been kind of dreading going back to the States, for a variety of reasons, and this only reminded me why I was having such strongly ambivalent feelings about returning to GringoLandia. 

I HATE that some of our people are so ignorant. I HATE that many refuse to learn a second language. I HATE that many arrogantly assume that no matter where they go, they can just speak English and be able to get by no problem and get whatever they want. I HATE that many expect others in the world to yield to them, because hey, they speak English, and thus, are special. I HATE that many only confirm the negative image and reputation of norteamericanos in the world.

Don't get me wrong, there are many parts of me that are excited to come back. But let's keep it real, reverse culture shock is going to suck. It's REALLY going to suck.

Coming Full Circle

A couple of days ago in Santiago, I was at a Lider (a supermarket chain in Chile), when the checkout lady asked me if I had a Lider Club Card. I couldn't understand what she was asking me, and had to have it repeated a few times, until finally, my friend Caro had to do the Chilean intervention thing and answer for me by saying, "No, she doesn't have a club card."

It only seemed fitting that after 6 months of being in Chile, in spite of feeling like my overall Spanish comprehension has improved tremendously, that the same question I couldn't understand on my first day in Chile I couldn't understand on my last night. :)

In a way, it was kind of this weird coming full circle moment for me (albeit a really embarrassing one!), and it made me realize that no matter how much I feel like things have changed - whether that be in my life, or just about me as a human being - there will always be things that remain the same.

I already really miss Chile a lot, and don't even know how to express these bittersweet emotions I am feeling right now because there are a million memories, tangents, ideas, conversations, and experiences in my head that I want to let out, and I just don't even know where to begin.

That, on top of the fact that I look like a hot mess, and should arreglar (fix) myself before I meet up with Alyssa in half an hour to welcome her to the Wonderful World of Study Abroad, albeit in the inferior (who should I judge, I have only been here for 12 hours) city of Buenos Aires.

Expect more blog entries to come with me being emo and expressing melodramatic sadness about not being in Chile anymore.

I know, I just can't wait to hear about it either.

Peru: The Sportscenter Highlights Edition

The Highlights of Cusco/Machu Picchu, in a pathetically trying to be short and succinct list:

-lots of pretty clouds (yes, I am obsessed with taking pictures of them)
-amazing Peruvian food: Aji de gallina, Lomo saltado, you name it. It´s amazing what actually putting in spices (as opposed to just tons of salt) will do to food.
-taking in the beauty of the city of Cusco, the launching point/acclimation zone for all the gringo travelers.
-NOT getting altitude sickness. Thank god.
-Baby llamas. Enough said.
-Wearing my obnoxious shower sandals that I stole from my mom 6 months earlier in downtown Cusco. Old Navy, bright pink, way too glittery flip flops (hey, I was pathetically trying to lighten my load by only packing hiking boots and shower sandals as my shoes to be packed). Referred to by Michelle as ¨sandals that a drag queen would wear on his down time.¨Picture to come soon.
-kind of near death experience in the United Mice bus (the company me and my friends with) on the way to the start of the Saltankay trail: The road was so narrow that it was hard to make turns on the winding road. At one point, this major rock wall on the left side of the road was preventing us from moving forward, so the driver had to back up to get more room to drive past the wall. In doing so, the right side of the bus was hanging ever so slightly over the cliff (I wasn´t kidding you when I said it was narrow), and naturally, the people on my trek started making death jokes. To distract myself from the pretty narrow but still very plausible idea of dying, I started reading Marley and Me. Ironically, the part that I was on in the book was the part about Marley dying.
-trekking with a diverse group of people, and having an amazing time: The dumb but very friendly jock from Loyola Marymount University, the just out of grad school best friends from Ohio/Colorado, the nerdy but funny quasi-alcoholic neuroscientist lesbian from NY, the token Brit (he looks like a skinnier, less Jewish-ier version of Seth Rogan, I swear. Picture also to come soon), etc. We all had an amazing time together, and are actually all going out for drinks tonight for our last night in Cusco.
-Using my muscles way more in those 5 days than I have in my 6 months in Chile
-Being surrounded by absolutely beautiful open space in the Peruvian Andes.
-Eating way too much soup and porridge for my own good.
-Enjoying the clearer and slower accent of the Peruvians, after 6 months of trying my best to cachar (understand) Chileans, who talk at a mile a minute and will eat syllables like they have been starving for days.
-Seeing the most beautiful, clearest starry skies that I have ever seen in my life.
-Dealing with aggressive, obnoxious, and belligerent, and dumb tourists at Machu Picchu (one norteamericana: ¨I can´t believe the steps of Machu Picchu are still intact. Don´t you think they would be like, ruined, now?¨)
-Seeing how problematic and hypocritical and guilt-inducing and slightly morally wrong it is to go to Machu Picchu. But that´s another post in and of itself.
-65 km, 4 nights, 20-25 hours of sleep, and finally getting to The Destination: Machu Picchu.

Back to Santiago for a few days, then off to BA to see the Bh (Barnhart!). I could not think of a better way to end my amazing semester abroad in South America.

The 4 Types of South American Travelers

From traveling all up and down the beautiful country of Chile, I have been at enough hostels to pick up on the stereotypical types of travelers that explore South America. Here they are, organized into somewhat succinct and problematically simplified categories:

1) The Heterosexual Couple: One of the most common types of travelers. The Heterosexual Couple has usually met at their hip, modern, bougie and sustainable non-profit job that they had back in the States. The Heterosexual Couple has usually decided to quit their hip, modern, bougie, and sustainable non-profit job that they had back in the States to travel South America. The Heterosexual Couple usually travels for a minimum of 8 weeks. The Heterosexual Couple is usually a granola-type couple that hails from California, Oregon, or Washington. The Heterosexual Couple usually has cute matching Tevas that they bought at REI right before they left. The Heterosexual Couple has usually already been nesting, and are thus, ready (or at least, think they are ready) to only hang out with each other whilst exposing themselves to 19 hour bus rides, overpriced tours, and dengue fever. The Heterosexual Couple is usually in love. The Heterosexual Couple is currently in Bolivia right now, touring the Salt Flats. The Heterosexual Couple is realizing that their 4 month trek through South America, while amazing, isn't as romantic as they thought it would be. The Heterosexual Couple have recently run out of money. The Heterosexual Couple kind of wants their hip, modern, bougie, and sustainable non-profit job back. Please?

2) The Solo Traveler: The Solo Traveler is someone you usually want to avoid. This is because: a) they are so disheartened with their life back home that they think traveling by themselves in another continent will expedite their lifelong process of finding themselves or b) due to the social repellant their body emits, they have no other friends to travel with. 

You will have to watch out for Solo Traveler A because since they have no one they have been traveling with, they will try to hound anyone they know into being their friend in common spaces of hostels, buses on tours of Area X, etc. In other words, they will hunt you and talk your ear off. They will talk about how back in their home continent of Australia, Spanish is not a useful language to learn, and thus, they are cool and rebellious for learning it. They will give you shit for the slang that your people use in Country X, even though the slang from Solo Traveler A's Motherland sounds like complete bullocks. They will ask you a million questions that, no matter how narcissistic you are, you will get tired of answering. They will make the tour guide take a picture of all of you guys together to prove to Solo Traveler A's family, friends, therapist, etc that they made friends on their solo trip by themselves. They will think that you are best friends with them by the end of the 3 hour activity that you guys forcefully shared together. They will want to "keep in touch." 

You will have to watch out for Solo Traveler B because they have no friends either because they are a) annoying (see above) b) emo, or c) a mixture of the two. Solo Traveler B, while not always, can often be a study abroad student that either had the bad luck of being in a really small study abroad program (think 2 other people), or just isn't social or motivated enough to make friends in their respectably large program. Solo Traveler B doesn't really go out of their way to make friends back in the city that they study abroad at. Solo Traveler B, despite being fortunate enough to have a study abroad experience, misses home because they are "missing more than half of the Brewer's season." Solo Traveler B is so sad, they make you want to slit your wrists within 10 minutes of being around them. Solo Traveler B answers questions in 12 words or less. Solo Traveler B makes you feel guilty for enjoying your semester abroad. Solo Traveler B is having such a bad time that they "can't wait to get back to their job in Minnesota." Solo Traveler B wants to go home. NOW.

Important note: A solo traveler can also fall under the category of the Heterosexual Solo Traveler. The Heterosexual Solo Traveler most likely planned on traveling with the Heterosexual Significant Other, but due to unforeseen circumstances (breakup), the Heterosexual Solo Traveler is...well...solo. 

3) The European: Another very common occurrence at hostels. The European, because of their healthy mix of socialism and capitalism back in their Motherland, is able to travel for 10 weeks without fear of losing their job. The European also received free education, affordable healthcare, and other great public services that has facilitated their ability to travel abroad. The European makes the North American Gringa very jealous of their country. The North American Gringa doesn't want to go into how much resentment she feels for not having such services in her Motherland, so she will just move on and continue describing the European.

The European usually feels superior to the other travelers. The European thinks that, because they have been traveling for 8 weeks already that they are the Expert of South America and South American culture. The European tries to out-South America you by putting you down for buying a bottled Caipirinha from the local supermarket nearest to the hostel. The European will then then try to tell you that "the only real way to experience a Caipirinha is to go to Rio and buy one off the streets." They will then proceed to tell you the ingredients of a Caipirinha, to prove to you how much they know about South American culture ("Sugar. Ice. Lime. Shake it"). The European, despite knowing at most, a Spanish 2 Level's worth of Spanish, will only talk in English to European Traveler 2, but will try to casually add in simple Spanish words (Ex: nodding to European Traveler 2 and saying "Si") to show how much they know about South American Culture. The European, despite being the Expert of South American Culture, will try at all costs to buy food from the supermarket to cook food that best imitates the food they eat back home. Paradoxically, they will also read in Lonely Planet that the Seafood Empanadas in Valparaiso are incredible ("because it's by the sea!"), and thus, will go on a long day hunt to find such incredible food. Due to their lack of Spanish, they will usually end up mistakenly buying a Cheese Empanada. 

Important Note: If you are a Study Abroad Student, there is always one sure-fire way to shut up The European. Casually ask them why they are in South America. They will smirk at you and condescendingly say, "Traveling! What else do you think I would be doing?!" Then, due to mandatory social norms, will feel obliged to throw the question back at you: "Why, what are you doing here?" expecting to hear the same answer. This is where you get to demonstrate your superiority in the Foreigners Abroad Hierarchy by casually but triumphantly saying, "I'm living in Santiago because I'm studying abroad." The European will usually give a short response ("Oh, that's cool,"), bow his head, and walk away. This is the point where both of you know that YOU WON. The European will stop bragging to you about his travels, and you can go on to enjoy the rest of your trip.

Speaking of....

4) The Study Abroad Student: The Study Abroad Student feels special. The Study Abroad Student feels entitled. The Study Abroad Student feels better than the other travelers. This is because the Study Abroad Student is not just traveling like most of the other hostel-goers, but also living in a foreign country for 6 months (in this case, Santiago, Chile). The Study Abroad Student feels more legitimate because while they also have a Lonely Planet Travel Book in their suitcase, they also have a reader in Spanish that they have to read a few articles in for their Society and Environment class at the Chilean University they attend before they get back on Monday. The Study Abroad Student has grown a bit of an ego from being in Santiago for more than 4 months because the Study Abroad Student, unlike Traveler X, knows there is more to Santiago than Cerro San Cristobol and La Moneda. The Study Abroad Student will make fun of the other hostel-goers with Study Abroad Friend 1, 2, and 3 behind their backs. But the Study Abroad Student is smart enough to keep their obnoxious entitlement and ego under control because, from having observed enough hostel goers in there more than 4 months living in Chile, knows what is appropriate behavior and what is not. The Study Abroad Student will only (subtly but triumphantly) brag about being the Ultimate Foreigner Abroad under extreme circumstances (see #3, The European). It is then that they Study Abroad Student revels in telling Hostel Goer X about the challenges of living in another country (to helpfully remind Hostel Goer X that they are in fact NOT living in another country), how much Spanish they have picked up on while living Here (to helpfully remind Hostel Goer X that how much Spanish they have NOT picked up on while traveling Here), and also about how much friends they have made (to helpfully remind Hostel Goer X that the only "friends" they have are the other annoying Hostel-Goers that choose to interact with Hostel Goer X). The Study Abroad Student might not have that great of karma when they get back on Monday to Santiago (which, did I mention, is the city that they have been living in for the past few months??), but to the Study Abroad Student, it is all worth it for that few minutes of glory.

This is a rough overview of the typical travelers in South America. Now, when you travel to South America, you will know what to expect. Good luck Heterosexual Couple, Solo Traveler, European, and Study Abroad Student. Good luck. 

You Know You've Been Living in a Foreign Country For a While When...

...when you spend your Friday night singing to High School Musical (preferable 1 & 2) songs. 

After being here for a handful of months, Chile is really starting to feel like my 2nd home. Well, technically 3rd, once you count San Carlos and Berkeley. 

(Side note: I know this is a pathetically short post, considering that in "blog time" I haven't written in forever, but I promise a good next one, most likely outlining the typical hostel-goers here in South America). 

Chi-chi-chi, le-le-le, viva Chile :)

Keeping it Real in the North of Chile

I just got back from San Pedro de Atacama, a beautiful desert region in the north of Chile, and had an absolute amazing time. I traveled with some wonderful people (Cassie and Tessa), and could not have asked for a better trip. Here are some of the highlights:

-Sandboarding (like snowboarding, but without me spraining my wrist this time) in la Valle de la Muerte.
-Freezing my ass off in -12.5 degree celsius weather, at 6:30 AM in the morning, to see some cool glaciers. In related news, getting picked up in what was so eloquently described by someone on the trip as what looked like "the rape van" at 4:30 AM in the morning.
-Showing some random Atacama residents that, yes, girls CAN play soccer. Aka at least dribble a ball.
-Watching beef unfold between Tessa and this random cuica bitch that was on the geyser daytrip with us. This needs context, so keep reading: Tessa gets motion sickness, so a couple of hours into the trip, she asks the lady who was sitting in the front if she could switch seats with her and sit there. The lady says no because "Yo viajo sola, y me va a complicar mucho" (I`m traveling alone, and it`s really going to complicate things for me"). What the fuck kind of legit point she was trying to convey, I have no idea, but basically, it was the lamest excuse ever. So I go up and talk to this spoiled brat, and she finally, reluctantly agrees to let the pobrecita Tessa sit up front. A couple of hours later, the woman tells Tessa that she wants to sit in the front now so she can take pictures from the van. Why she can`t take pictures from another seat (as long as you have a window seat you are good to go) is also beside me. So Tessa is in the second row, and the cuica bitch is in the front. When that happens, Cassie yells from the back of the van, "Make sure to aim {aka throw up} in the right direction, Tessa." Tessa turns around, without hesitation, and with so much agency, conviction, anger, and fierceness, loudly says to Cassie, "I`m going to kick her ass!!" Right in front of this lady, the tour guide, and all of the other people in the van. Now mind you, everyone in the van with us was either Brazilian or Chilean, but some of them must have known English (the cuica had to know, I wouldn`t be surprised if she went to an English-speaking colegio), and even if they didn`t, they knew what was up. The couple behind me and Cass were laughing, and me and Cass were cracking up so much tears were coming to our eyes. It truly was a classic moment.
-Playing with the cats and kittens (4 weeks old!) at our hostel. Wanting to steal said cats and kittens.
-Negotiating (ok, Tessa negotiating) with the sandboarding agency, and getting the legit, non-dumb tourists/non-gringo deal. Realizing that the annoying Australian who was on the sandboarding trip with us who would not stop stop talking, nor giving us shit about random things (She didn`t like the phrase "fo sho"....now who doesn`t like that phrase?) got completely ripped off.
-Chilling and having fun with our sandboarding guide. Him immediately asking us - right after finding out we were from California - "Do you like marijuana?"
-Being anti-social from all of the annoying hostel-goers at our place. Expect a blog post about the typical hostel-goers later.
-Meeting an emo study abroad student at our hostel, who said she hasn`t liked studying abroad in Santiago and has been wanting to go home for at least 3 months now because she is "Missing the Brewers baseball season." Rediccccc.
-Keeping it real with our spaghetti dinners and pan with marmalada breakfasts.
-Valles de la Luna. Cassie and Tess, you know what`s up.

-ANTM-inspired mini-photoshoots with Tessa and Cass in caves, salt fields, you name it. 
-Staying at a sketch residencial in Calama on Sunday night.

-Translating the lyrics of "Gangsta's Paradise" for our geyser tour guide

-Floating with Tessa in the salt lake in tank tops and a sweatpants because we failed to bring swimsuits up north. Trying not to flash all the other people at the lake when we changed into other clothes.
-Fulfilling stereotypes and being the loud, obnoxious gringas by always talking and laughing. Which reminds me of a little complaint I have about Chile. Chileans have no problem with couples making out all over the streets, parks, restaurants, metros, breathing spaces, etc, of Santiago, but if I talk on the phone in a public space for 2 minutes, I immediately get 10 death glares going my direction. But that`s another topic for another time.
-Getting hyphy with Cassie on the Tur-Bus to Calama. Getting hyphy with her again on the plane ride back to Santiago (We owned HSM songs, Tell Me When to Go, SexyBack, Stop and Stare, Hanging by a Moment, Too Little Too Late, etc like no other).

Will think of more as they come to me....

Chile: Mini-Cuentos

Some random experiences I've had in Chile:

1) Dealing with that awkward moment in your phone conversation with a friend when your phone suddenly drops your call, and you realize it's because you have no more money left on it. It's most fun/awkward when you or the other person is in the middle of a sentence. This also means you are missing out on the best part of the conversation, the obligatory but super tierno (sweet/adorable) good-bye banter ("Cuidate harto" "Y tu también" "¡Besitos!" "¡Abrazotes!" "¡Chau chau!"). And the other person doesn't call you back, either because a) they also don't have any money on their phone OR 2) they don't want to use up their saldo calling you back.

2) Cursing at the micros that just straight up pass your bus stop for no reason whatsoever. When on buses, listening to people play music for all the bus-goers (and then asking for donation of moneda - or coins - afterwards, which I pretty much always give, because most of them are pretty fucking good, and it makes the bus ride much more enjoyable).

3) Desperately awaiting my Pase Escolar (Student Pass), which means paying about 300 pesos less (130 pesos instead of about 420) to take public transportation.

4) Drinking way more frequently than I ever have in my life. Which makes me sound like a badass, but really, I'm quite the goody-two shoes.

5) Realizing that 2:00 means 2:15, 5:30 means 5:45, etc. Which works for me, because I'm always running late to things. You can thank my mother for that. 

6) Getting locked out of my own bedroom (this happened last night - of course the one time I don't have my keys). My bedroom locks from the inside, so if someone closes the door, the only way you can get in by using your keys. Getting my host brother to unlock it with a piece of cardboard-type paper. And then getting locked out again when I leave my room for 10 seconds, because his drunk Chilean friend just walked by and randomly decided to close it. (And you thought conversing with a sober Chilean was hard enough, try it when they're drunkenly slurring their words). Who also denied closing it, and just kept crazily and haphazardly repeating "No estaba nadie" (There wasn't anyone there"); I had no idea what the purpose of that sentence was. She was gone. Having my host brother badass break it open again with his magical cardboard paper. At 3:30 AM in the morning. 

7) Still waiting for the Facultad de Derecho to end their fucking toma. 

8) Seeing the implications of teaching the word "hard-on" to my Nivel 1 English class (hey, they asked for the meaning, and well, we live in a democracy, right? Information should always be accessible. The people have a right to know). Almost every class, they find a way to slip it in somehow, even if I am teaching them vocab, on say, transportation and the environment, in Santiago. I really don't know how they managed to relate contaminación (pollution) to hard-on, but hey, they're committed, what can I say. 

9) In related news, teaching English slang to some of my Chilean friends. Although I have to admit, one of them already knows EVERYTHING I try to teach him. Which makes me sound like I'm an arrogant, thinks-they're-all-knowing gringa when I obnoxiously say, "So there's this one phrase we really use a lot in California...." and he's like, "Yeah, I already know it. It's [insert phrase we really use a lot in CA]." The only one I taught him that he didn't know already was "Make it rain," and no one ever really uses that phrase (because who's ever going to be in a situation where they make it rain with their money). The gringo phrase that I find that seems to be the most popular with my Chilean friends is "fo sho"! Which I fucking love.

10) Trying to get a waiter's or waitress's attention. Because they don't seem to give a fuck about you. Maybe it's just the gringo element, but you basically have to yell and wave your hands like you're drowning in the ocean to get their attention. And yes, I'm aware that this one makes me sound like a spoiled gringa. The upside of this though is that you are almost never rushed to finish a meal, which I really like. Especially because in the States I have literally gotten the check in the middle of eating my entree, implicitly telling me to hurry the fuck up and get out of their restaurant.

11) Tuning out in the classes (ok, let's be real, right now, CLASS) that I have. And then realizing that tuning out in your non-native language is probably the worst idea in the world.

12) Opening my mouth to speak Spanish, and then al tiro (immediately) getting the question: "De dónde eres?" (Where are you from?). Definitely not an inconspicuous gringa. 

13) Not cooking for myself. At all. The beauties of living with a host family. I swear, I'm going to come back to the States, and forget how to boil water. I wish I could say I was joking, but I fear that this is a real possibility. 

14) Dealing with excessive security. You walk into a supermarket, and you either have to check your bag, or they put this weird tape on the zippers so you don't sneak any apples or chorizo or anything else that you fancy in your backpack. And I thought security was intense in supermarkets, it by no means compares to my nearest pharmacy, Farmacia Ahumada (a chain pharmacy). They have a security person, called MC Seguridad (which sounds more like a rapper's name, not a job title, but whatever), WHO HAS A BULLETPROOF VEST ON. And stands on this mini-soapbox-type contraption. At the front of the store. And just stares at everyone as they shop. Which seems superfluous to me. Like, this isn't a bank - as if anyone is going to hold up a store so they can get some Pantene Pro-V and Sahne Nuss chocolate bars for free! C'mon now. Also, the MC Seguridad has a little notebook/journal that they write in. To write their innermost feelings, secrets, and desires in?? Of course a nerdy psychologist like me would think this. I am constantly fascinated by this security setup, and love going into my local farmacia just so I can observe this strange dynamic some more. 

15) Commuting to school/my internship more than I ever commuted to school/internship in my life. Makes me realize how spoiled/lucky I am to live so close to my university back home. After it takes an hour to get somewhere here, the fact that my apartment in Berkeley is a 15 minute walk to class seems like absolute beauty now. 

16) Getting whistled at at least once a day. Does not phase me at all anymore. 

17) Getting ripped off by a taxi driver. Which happened 2 days ago. I'm sure it's happened to me more than once, but this was the first time I realized that it happened. And by me realizing it, I mean my gringa friend Claire realizing it and pointing it out to me (what can I say, the pitcher of vino con frutilla (wine with strawberries) that I shared with my friend made me a little sleepy/out of it). We were only in the cab for a few minutes, when Claire sees the meter at over 2500 pesos (It should have barely been 1000 pesos, if that). So she confronts him, and this is pretty much how it went:

Claire: Señor, el contador está equivocado (Sir, the meter is wrong)

Taxista: No, es que es más caro en la noche (No, it's just that it's more expensive at night). Which is an utter lie, because the only time a taxi is ever expensive is if you call a special radio taxi - their starting price is 1100 pesos, compared to a regular taxi you pick up on the street that starts off with 200 pesos. 

Claire: Pero señor, eso es una locura (But sir, that's just crazy/madness). 

Taxista: ¡No, es más caro en la noche! (No, it's more expensive at night!).

My pathetic contribution: ¡No nos mientan! (Don't lie to us!). But then I realized that I conjugated wrong (god was my Spanish pathetic that night), so I corrected myself and said it again, in the correct way: "¡No nos mienta!" Which just made me sound pathetic, not forceful. 

And then we just paid 2 luca, or 2000 pesos (because Claire said she didn't have more than that), which the taxi driver accepted because he knew that we knew he was ripping us off. We got out, and walked the rest of the way to Claire's house (it was really nearby), and got a taxi for me to take me to my house. It was definitely an experience. 

18) Actually thinking that things are salty here. In the states, I put salt on food like it contains the sole oxygen I need to take in to get me through the day. But here, Chileans take it to the next level. I once saw my host dad shake the salt shaker 6 big times on teeny tiny plate containing some mashed up palta (avocado). And there's been many more times where I have witnessed unbelievable acts of sodium atrocity like this. On the plus side, when my friends give me shit about my sodium intake, I can now say, "Well, at least I have lower blood pressure than Chileans."

19) Eating miel de papya (papaya honey) for the first time. Literally THE BEST HONEY I have ever had in my life. If you haven't tried any yet, your life is not complete. Scour the supermarkets for some - you won't regret it. 

20) Realizing that the English words Chileans have the most problems distinguishing from (pronunciation-wise) is cheat and shit, and beach and bitch. Imagine my surprise when one of my friends - who tandems with me - told me about hooking up with a guy who "shitted" on his boyfriend. This also makes me more self-reflective about, as well as curious to know, which Spanish words I butcher (hint: It's all of them), which makes me seem like I am saying a crazily weird, out of context, completely distinct, word. 

21) Not being to fully express myself here. Although I feel like my Spanish has improved leaps and bounds since my first jet-lagged, sans luggage, day in Santiago, I'm not going to lie, there's been moments of frustration where you want to say things in a certain way, but you just can't. Or, you just straight up can't say it at all. There are times where someone will say something, and I will have (what I think is! haha) a witty comment that I want to say, but just don't know how to say it in Spanish. Or will have a conversation with someone, and just flat out say something that comes out the wrong way, just because I don't have ability to maneuver the nuances and subtleties of the language the way a native speaker can. Because there is so much more to a language than vocabulary. There's tone, there's the way you string words together in a sentences, hell, it's the way you use those words - I mean, there might be two words that are similar to each other, but one is better to say in one context, the other one in another. I mean really, a Rhetoric major would have a field day listening to my Spanish babble. And as much as I fucking love this beautiful language, and trust me, I do, the obstacle of being in this constant tension of trying to work your way through the language without embarrassing yourself (too much) or not offending someone, or even just trying to sound somewhat interesting, for that matter, can be a huge challenge sometimes. 

22) Continuously being awe-inspired and amazed by the beautiful sunsets here in Santiago. It's a shame that pollution is the main cause of this. 

23) Thinking in Spanish...in English. If you catch my drift. Sometimes I find myself saying, "I have hunger" instead of "I'm hungry," or "It's pleasing to me" instead of "I like it" or "It seems to me" instead of "That sounds good to me." Being here has also made my English spelling really shitty (as if it wasn't shitty enough already). I'll put one "s" instead of two, add on an "e" to a word when it's plural (I have to remind myself that it's "chairs," not "chaires"), and I've even just straight up spelled out English words phonetically. Let's just say spelling "thought" t-h-a-w-t was a low point. I need to arreglar (fix) that shit before I get back to Berkeley, that's for sure.

24) Dealing with having to prepare an oral presentation....in Spanish. Allegedly. Which, speaking of, I should probably get back to. What can I say, I'm more dedicated to this blog entry than to this presentation. Which I know will only come back to bite me in the ass later. Filo (Whatever). Will add more as they come to me.... 

You Say Tandem, I Say Biking Excursion

So I posted an ad on Craigslist (yes, Chile has a Craigslist) last week saying that I thought it would be fun to "tandem" (which I know sounds like something dirty and sexual, but it really means that I talk in Spanish and the other person talks back to me in English, and we help each other out in speaking each other's languages less atrociously), just because I'm a nerd and like getting to know new people. I already met with one person last week, and it went ok, so I figured it wouldn't hurt to meet more people. 

Now, before I go into the story, let me give you some context: I have a couple of Chilean friends here that I already unofficially tandem with, and it's something that is not uncommon to do here, especially because Chileans interested in English are always looking for ways to help improve their comprehension. And pathetic gringos (like myself) are always looking for Chilean friends, as well as less embarrassing execution of their Spanish. In fact, the cuica school La Católica even has an official tandem program (rich bitches) that pair up the foreign exchange students with a Chilean student to meet up with about once a week. 

So tonight I met another person, named Pedro, and it made me feel like maybe I should have called it a night with Person #1. 

First of all, we were going to meet in the evening/night, and this weon (dude/fool) wanted to meet me at Quinta Normal Park, which is way near the north of Santiago, and kind of sketch. I was not having that, so I told him we could meet at Metro Baquedano, which is a lot more busy (it's a touristy section of Santiago), so that it would be less likely that any shady business would go down. 

So we meet up, and I can already tell he's hella awkward and weird, but whatever, it's not like I could run away from this dude after 5 minutes of talking to him, especially because I really didn't think he was all that dangerous, just awkward. And plus, worst-case scenario, I could have totally taken him anyway no problem, which maybe sounds overconfident, but it's the truth. If you are skinny and have that anemic glow going about you, I WILL be able to kick your ass, let's just put it that way. 

So anyway, we start talking, and I realize that he's not talking to me in English at all. "Whatever," I think. "Maybe he's just shy." But after 10 minutes, he's not saying a word of GringoSpeak, so finally, I say to him:

"Whenever you want to talk in English, just let me know. But if you don't feel comfortable talking in English, that's ok too."

He kind of gives me this confused look, and then asks me:

"Wait, what did you mean when you said "tandem"?

Uh oh. And the RED FLAG goes up.

"Uhhhh....well.....it means that I talk to you in Spanish and you talk to me in English. What DID YOU think I meant when I said tandem?"

And here comes the money answer:

"Oh, well I thought it meant that we were going to go tandem biking. In fact, I expected you to come here tonight and pick me up on a bike."

NOW WHO THE FUCK ANSWERS A CRAIGSLIST AD TO GO ON A BIKING EXCURSION WITH A RANDOM STRANGER?? Was all that was going through my head at this point.  

*2 Thoughts:

1) First of all, who thinks that?!? I mean, really??  Especially since my Craigslist ad was very clear and explicit. I mean, I really don't know how there can be a miscommunication, especially when the title was "Quieres practicar tu inglés?" (Do you want to practice your English?) and part of the description said, "Tú hablas en inglés, y yo hablo en castellaño." (You talk in English, and I talk in Spanish).

2) Second of all, I for sure don't want to be hanging around people that actively seek tandem bike adventures with random gringos. 

So I talk to him for about 20 minutes more, so as to make a smoother escape, and then tell him I have to go because I have to meet my friend for dinner. Luckily, he already told me where he lived, so I just made up a metro stop that I had to meet my friend at that was not at all near his metro stop. 

It was weird though because after he found out what my definition (and basically everyone else in Chile's definition) of tandem was, two times he asked me when we were going to meet up again. Which confused me, because I definitely established that we wouldn't be partaking in any tandem bike rides in Quinta Normal Park, or for that matter, anywhere else in the Southern Hemisphere. And twice, I had to give him the "don't call me, I'll call you" line.

After that, I was never so happy to ride the crowded, hot, and at times, unbearable, Metro in my life. I didn't even mind that it was so crowded that I was contorted into a weird and awkward standing position, and that my ass was obnoxiously sticking in someone's face for a whole 5 metro stops. I mean, really, the world looks a whole lot more beautiful when something like that happens to you.

So that's really my story. I wish I could end on some sort of hint of a trying pathetically to be witty note, but to be quite frank, I'm still pretty speechless (although obviously not speechless enough to partake in devoting a whole blog entry to it). So this is where I'm going to stop now. Done. Ok?

Starlight Starbright STARBUCK'S

So recently I found out that the "Starbuck's" I went to during that day of desperation, homesickness, and capriciousness was NOT a Starbuck's (apparently I'm illiterate), but rather, a knock-off called Starlight. Apparently I'm blind as well, since the logo doesn't have the crazy-haired lady on it, but rather, a lighthouse. I'm a hot mess.

But, in better news, I have yet to cross over to the evil side here in Chile!

Ok, let's be real though. There's a Starbuck's 2 blocks away from Starlight, and today I was already thinking about having me a wonderful frappucino. 

It's going to happen really soon - going to Starlight must just be the transitory phase to pure evil. And by pure evil, I mean pure deliciousness....

EN TOMA: Update

The students have recently added more unnaturally large banners to be hung from the main building in the Facultad de Derecho, claiming they are on strike.

Also, the chairs have miraculously been resurrected, and are back in full force.

I don't think this strike is going away anytime soon. 

Chucha. 

Buckle Up

Last week, for the first time in more than 3 months, I rode in a Taxi that not only had a seatbelt, but also a buckle that I could find to connect to. My survival instinct kicked in, and I rapidly buckled up. 

I felt constricted. Limited. Confined. Enclosed. Suppressed. Bottled up. 

It felt strange. It felt unnatural.

I've been in Chile way too long. 

Smoky

Yesterday night, I found out that one of my cats (Smoky) just died. He was sick for a while, and I know it's for the best, but I just can't help but miss him. I know that makes me sound like a crazy cat lady, but I really don't give a fuck. He was one of the best cats I've ever had - so sweet, caring, and lovable (and never bit anyone, which was always a huge plus). When at the end of January I left my house to go to the airport for my study abroad experience, it was at 4 AM in the morning, and I was so out of it that I forgot to say good-bye to him. And it wasn't until halfway to the airport that I realized what I did (or in reality, what I didn't do). And I just remember thinking, "Please let Smoky make it through this semester so I can see him for one last time." And I guess it just didn't happen. But I know he's in a better place right now - he was just suffering for so long. 

So to Smoky, I love you and I miss you. I miss the way you used to follow me around all the time. I miss the way you used to wake me up at 6 AM in the morning by meowing at me continuously and annoying the fuck out of me. I miss the times when I used to pick you up and just stretch you out by wrapping you around my waist. I miss teasing you about being such a fat and lazy cat (because let's be real, you were - the biggest thing you ever "killed" was a flower in the backyard). I miss using you as a blanket in the winter while I was in the family room watching tv, because you were so fucking warm. And most of all, I just missed the unconditional love that you always showed to me; something that is so beautiful about all animals - they don't care who you are, what you do, what you look like, etc, they just love you for WHO YOU ARE. It's cliché, but it is amazingly true, and something I will always keep with me in my heart.

I miss you so much, Smoky. You were such a great cat - truly a part of the family. I'm sorry I couldn't be there in your last few months. I'm tearing up as I'm even writing this. I hope you're having a good time chilling with Sara's cat Tigger in kitty heaven. I will never forget you, and I will always love you.

EN TOMA

My school is on strike! Ok, well one of the facultades at least - La Facultad de Derecho, which is the School of Law (the different facultades of La Chile are spread out all over Santiago). They even have a blog link: derechoenreconstruccion.blogspot.com. 

I'm still a bit confused about why they are on strike, but when I read La Tercera (one of Chile's national newspapers), it said that the students were on strike because the dean plagiarized work and claimed it as his own. Or something of that sort. And you think my Spanish would be good enough to be able to read a simple newspaper article. Qué verguenza. 

The picture above is one that I took today on the way to school, to see if it was still on strike, or if classes were going to resume. That's another thing about the universities here - they really aren't all that organized. NONE of my classes have a course syllabus, so I am always paranoid that I'm going to show up one day and have to all of a sudden take a midterm. But anyway, with regards to the toma, none of the staff at the facultad, or even my professor, have even emailed the students to let us know what the fuck is going on (you know at Berkeley we would immediately get an email from the Vice Provost or Chancellor, or anyone else with a lofty title), so I have no idea if my classes are straight up cancelled, or if they are actually meeting somewhere else in Santiago outside of the facultad. If the latter is the case, then I am royally fucked - because let's be real, I've been struggling enough in that class with my 100% attendance rate. 

In the beginning of the toma (a little over 2 weeks ago), students stacked chairs up towards the front gate, so when you walk by the gate, you just see a bunch of chairs sticking out threateningly at you. They just recently put all the chairs down from outside. Which makes me sad because I kept forgetting my camera every time I commuted to the facultad to check the status of the toma, and I really wanted to take a picture of it because it would have looked really cool. Also, some of the students have been camping out in the school (for 2 weeks now, and they show no sign of stopping anytime soon), and have even gone so far to build a makeshift fort in the front courtyard of the school.

 As if I wasn't floja (lazy) enough here, my hardest class is now on hold because of this toma. And there's going to be a national strike tomorrow (Wed, 5/13) at all of the facultades to protest the new education laws. 

But, you know what, despite this chaos, it's never a boring day at La Chile. And part of me absolutely loves it.

My New Name

So I finally broke and gringa'd myself out today by going to a pizza chain here in Chile, called Telepizza. I just had to have me some greasy fast food. I walked inside and placed my order, and when they asked for my name so they could call out the order, I said, "Jenn." 

Now I have encountered a few problems with Chileans being able to understand and pronounce my name - they end up saying Yennyfer, Yenn, etc, so I anticipated that when my pizza was done and they would announce my order, it wouldn't exactly be perfect. 

Some of my friends have suggested that I just use a Spanish sounding name, but I just don't feel like I can pull off Gabriela, Carola, Maríangeles, or Valeria. I just can't work it, I can't. I'm too fucking gringa. So I stick with my norteamericana sounding name, and deal with whatever implications may come along the way.

I saw in the kitchen that they had finished my order, so I braced myself, got in my "ready to receive package" stance, and hoped for the best.

"Personal cheese pizza for Juan??" the lady announced. 

You've got to be kidding me.

Fuck it, I'm going with Maríangeles next time. 

I Sue. You Sue. We All Scream for Ice Cream.

Last week, I was having lunch with one of my Chilean friends (which makes me sound really popular, but let's be real, the amount of Chilean friends I have here struggles to fill even one hand. Why it's hard to make Chilean friends here is a somewhat melodramatic rant for another time and place. But I digress.), when all of a sudden, a lady who was sitting at a nearby table approaches me. Just then, I had been teaching my friend slang in English, which mostly involved putting in "fuck" and its derivatives in the middle of a phrase, so I thought she was approaching me to tell me to calm it down on the language because she had a kid. Instead, she said to me:

"Hey, you're norteamericana, right?"

When I said yes, she naturally followed up with:

"I want to sue someone...how do I go about doing it?"

Arrogant. Greedy. Ignorant. Loud. Obnoxious. And now, Chronic Suer.

Well, we really present ourselves well to the world, don't we?

You Know The Drill - Más Fotos

The Mystery of the MIA Season

Summer in Santiago. Summer in Santiago was mildly horrifying on many levels. It was so hot that I had to apply my non-aluminum, allegedly non-cancer-causing (thanks for the tip, Sara!), deodorant at least 4 times a day. So hot that I could barely go on runs without seeing at least one hallucination-induced mirage. So hot that even sitting, even lying down on my bed (with all the blankets on the ground of course), even merely existing, made me drip buckets. So hot that one of the only ways to survive was to eat Danky's Blanco y Negro flavored ice cream every day. Actually, that last part was pretty damn fun. That ice cream is the shit. But I digress. 

And now, after 3 months of kvetching about the horrid heat of the Santiago summer, winter has finally arrived. How do I know this? When I got ready for school yesterday, I looked over my shoe collection, and without even a thought, swiftly rejected my Rufo (my host family's dog)-chewed, worn-down, Rainbow sandals in favor for my non-Rufo-chewed, worn-down Ugg boots. And I haven't looked back since. 

But now, I spend at least a quarter of the time in my house shivering or getting goose bumps, and the temperature of my hands could probably be accurately described by Stephanie Meyer - the author of the Twilight series - as similar to Edward's. No, scratch that. Colder. Much colder than a vampire's. And I walk around my house looking like an oompa loompa in my puffy ski jacket because it is the only thing that makes me feel like I'm not going to go into immediate hypothermic shock. And when I go on runs, I run like an old man because I can barely breathe from the smoggy cold. 

What's even worse, this season change happened so suddenly. Literally 5 days ago it was summer. And now all I want to do is wear long underwear (how I wish I had some)....and drink tea....and eat soup for eternity. What ever happened to that transitory season called "Fall?" It must have been kidnapped, because it certainly didn't show up this year.

"Be careful what you wish for." Cliché phrases: 1. Jenn: 0.

The Bus Drinking Game

So I've been on buses (we're talking the medium/long bus trips - anywhere from about 5-15 hours) enough times to notice a few common occurrences/patterns, and I decided what better way to survive another bus trip than make up a drinking game to it?? So here it goes:

Every time...

1) They play Transporter 3 on the bus: Take a shot.

2) They play another shitty action movie (besides Transporter 3): Take a shot.

3) The driver's assistant walks up and down the aisle (I really don't know what the purpose of that is): Take half a shot.

4) The driver's assistant does random chores on the bus (cleans the windows, closes the curtains on the bus, etc): Take half a shot.

5) There isn't toilet paper in the bathroom: Take half a shot.

6) There is toilet paper in the bathroom: Take a shot. 

7) The driver goes over 100 km/hr (it's the law that they can't, so whenever they do it, the car starts beeping): Take half a shot.

8) The driver goes over 100 km/hr, but ignores the beeping and continues to drive over the limit: Take a shot.

9) The bus makes a stop in what appears to be the middle of nowhere, and people actually get off like that's where they wanted to go all along (Important note: This will happen a minimum of 4 times during a bus ride): Take half a shot.

10) The bus picks up people in what appears to be the middle of nowhere: Take a shot.

11) At one of these illusory middle of nowhere stops, some vendors get on the bus and started selling products (Important note: They are usually pastelitos or jerky): Take half a shot.

12) The bus gets stuck in a middle of a taco (traffic jam): Take a shot. 

13) A weird man comes up to you and you can't understand if he is trying to hit on you, convert you to a new religion, or talk to you about a certain movie (Note: This has only happened once): Take 2 shots.

14) The driver's assistant asks you to show your bus ticket: Take a shot. 

15) The driver's assistant, when asking for your information, is surprised that you have a Chilean ID instead of a passport: Take a shot.

16) A Chileans' cell phone goes off at an unnaturally high volume: Take a shot. 

17) A Chilean stares at you in surprise when they hear you drop a Chilean Spanish word (Ex: cachai, filo, flaité, etc), or really, any Spanish word in general: Take a shot. 

18) Chileans don't respect the tacit rules of forming and adhering to a line (Note: This usually happens when you have to claim your bag that was in storage in the bus at the end of the bus ride): Take a shot. 

19) A Chilean stares at gringos because the gringos are being obnoxiously loud (but never as loud as the Chileans' goddamn cell phones): Take half a shot.

20) The bus plays a bootlegged movie (Ex: Yesterday, on the bus ride home from Valdivia, the movie Wolverine - without finishing touches on the special effects - was played): Take a shot.

21) The bus plays a romantic comedy (which will barely ever happen): Take 3 shots. 

More rules expected to follow. This will hopefully make a 13 hour bus ride go more quickly next time. Hopefully. 

The Return of Jesus and His Company

Yesterday, at my internship (I help teach English to La Chile students, and it´s conveniently located conveniently on the street Compañia de Jesus, where I've already had a string of bad luck), one of my students randomly asked me what the phrase "hard-on" meant.

I couldn´t back down. I had no choice, and proceeded to explain it to them. As weird as it would seem to explain this to students in general, it was even weirder in my broken Spanish. ("Cuando...un hombre... está excitado....sexualmente...").

They couldn´t stop repeating it throughout the whole class.

I really don´t think Jesus likes me all that much.

Fanny Pack Attack (Part II)

Today, on the way to my Gender and Law class on the Metro, I saw what appeared to be a young, hip Chilean wear a fanny pack. It was leathery and very worn-down: not in the sense of "I got this at a thrift store to be hip," but rather, in the "I eat and breathe fanny packs, and thus, have worn this fanny pack every single day, every single hour of the day, every single minute of the day, every single second of the day, for the past 6 years" kind of deal. He was wearing it on his side, and definitely thinking he was hot shit.

Now that I've really noticed this fanny pack phenomenon, I can't help but see it EVERYWHERE. Can't. Escape. The. Fanny. Packs. Must. Resist.

That is all. 

Fanny Pack Attack

                                                       The fanny pack legacy lives on.

Fanny packs. Before arriving here, I had only connected this fashion atrocity with my mom (who was infamous for her collection of bright fanny packs, and would wear one almost every day), people from the 80s/90s, people STUCK in the 80s/90s, nerds, and hipsters trying to be ironic. Yet apparently, the fan base goes way beyond that. "How would you ever know this, Jenn?" you may ask. Because I've spotted some Chileans wearing them too. In fact, they fucking love them. They might even love them more than pastel de choclo, alfajores, completos, piscolas, choripan, and empanadas combined. I remember at the beginning of my study abroad experience, when I was in Viña with Cass and her neighbors, we noticed that one of her neighbors had one and immediately started making fun of him. Without hesitation, one of the other neighbors and the fashion offender not only started defending this fashion choice, they also started expressing their love and support for such accessory. "¡Pero es muy util!" (But it's really useful!) they exclaimed to us. I thought that this fanny-pack spotting in Chile was maybe just an isolated incident, and that I would never see such a thing again.

Then, a couple of days ago, I was carreteando with Katerina, Tessa, Diego, and his friends Gabriel and Pablo, when of course, none other than Gabriel and Pablo were sporting their own fanny-packs as well! And surprise surprise, the principal justification was the same ("¡Pero es muy util!"). 

Fanny packs look kind of dumb, but I have to admit, it's a fucking lata (drag) going to a club trying to stuff my cell, Bip! card (for the bus/metro), ID, money, and keys all into my pockets, and still make sure that none of them fall out. I probably look dumber trying to dance whilst simultaneously repeatedly pushing all of my shit back into the depths of my pockets, than a Chilean wearing a fanny pack. Fanny packs probably are util. Maybe these Chileans are on to something....  

Musical Chairs, Opposite Shotgun, and the Micro Game

I really should be making my pinhole camera for my photography class tomorrow, but I would much rather talk about myself (who doesn't enjoy cheating on their "good person" diet and indulging in some narcissism from time to time, really?), so here goes another entry.

So I've realized that public transportation in Santiago all boils down to a matter of childhood games, and here's how it goes:

1) The Metro: The Metro, although amazing in terms of the amount of trains running and the efficiency of the trains (although I have to admit, despite being here for 2 1/2 months, I'm still in that BART mentality where if I see a train leaving, I mildly freak the fuck out and get ready to run my ass off to try to make it, only to then realize I here I DON'T have to wait another horrid 16 minutes until the next one comes), is a hot mess in terms of how many people are stuck riding the train together. During the rush hour, which is 8-10 am (which luckily, being the lazy bum that I am, I'm never out the door that early) and 5-7 PM, everyone on the Metro is usually so squished and packed in together so tight like sardines that let's just say that because of this, I've already accidentally gone to second base with about half the people in Santiago. To add to the shenanigans, because there are so many people on the Metro, there is so much body heat floating around that everyone is sweating like crazy on the train. It's basically like the Nelly "Hot in Herre" video, but WAY LESS sexy. Even when it's not rush hour, things are still hectic, and people are as antsy as hell to get seats on board (the amount of seats there are are VERY VERY limited, so you usually end up standing up and holding on to a pole, or to the nearest person by you for that matter). Seats are to Santiaguinos (Santiago residents) as food is to seagulls. Every time there are a bunch of seats open, I can't help but hear in my head, "Mine! Mine! Mine! Mine!" coupled with the image of a mob of people walk-running towards an open seat. Despite the polite reminder from the driver every time you board, "Permite bajar antes de subir" (Let the people on the train get off before you board the train), people are busy pushing and shoving their way through. Thus, the Metro essentially becomes a vicious game of musical chairs. But this time, the loser is not out, but rather, just confined to the mushpot. Only to find out that they are not the only ones in the center of the circle, but rather, there are about a billion other people, and the mushpot is not big enough to hold us all in. Which always makes the 9 metro stops you have until you get to Estación La Católica a Christmas present come early every time. 

2) Taxis: Taxis usually become a common method of transportation around 11 and after, since the Metro has closed by then (which honestly doesn't make sense to me because calling it a night at 3 AM for Chileans is frowned upon as being fome [boring, lame, etc]), and also because us gringos are all too dumb and flojos (lazy) to figure out the bus schedule in parts of town other than our own. Not to mention that it's probably way more safe to take a taxi back than to walk home 5 blocks from where the closest bus stop is to your house at night. So we usually end up taking a taxi to get back home during the weekends. And because the easiest, cheapest, and most efficient way to take a taxi back home is to flag one down on a busy street corner (You can call a type of taxi called a Radio Taxi to come pick you up, but it takes harto tiempo [way too much time] to wait for one, plus the starting rate is more expensive). And although sketch situations with taxi drivers are rare, it still can be kind of a risk because you are just flagging down some random taxi driver that you don't know what their deal is. Because of this potentially sketch endeavor, my friends and I play this unspoken, silent, and tacit game (none of us will probably ever admit to participating in it) of "Opposite Shotgun." Usually back at home, the most desirable seat is the front seat. Well, here, it's the exact opposite: the 3 back seats are the gold nuggets because they are the farthest away from the taxi driver, and thus, the best option of escaping if for some strange reason something shady goes down. It sounds dumb and paranoid, but you've got to be on your toes. I love watching this unofficial game play out because when the taxi pulls up, immediately everyone races to the back, and the person that was too slow for the 3 back seats has this subtly disappointed look on their face that they try their very best to hide. And then after pretending like everything is chill, they begrudgingly hop their way into the front seat. Although, I have to admit, in terms of realistic safety-wise, I can't tell which seat is the best option. This is because while the back seats are furthest from the driver, the front seat actually has a seat belt (the back seats' seat belts are always buried under the seats, and it would take only a renowned archaeologist to dig those babies out). Maybe I'm playing this game wrong. Hmmm.

3) Las Micros: With the buses, you are pretty much always standing, and more often than on the Metro, pretty much always squished no matter what. So the only game you really participate in is Your Life Sucks Major Balls Right Now Because You Have To Deal With Riding The Micro. This game is only available in Santiago and is recommended for people ages 18 and up, sorry kids. Sometimes you won't even be able to get on a micro because the bus driver will simply drive right by the bus stop without hesitation or guilt either because: a) the bus is so full of people that there is literally no more room left on the bus or b) the driver just doesn't feel like stopping at the bus stop. Bastard. 

So that's the general overview of my experiences with public transportation in Santiago. Whoever said life was a game was not kidding. I just wish it involved more sitting, and less sweating. 

The Dark Side

So...today I crossed over onto the dark side. No, I didn't give away the secret hideabouts of James and Lily Potter. I didn't decide to join forces with Dark Vader. I didn't even start watching Brody Jenner's new reality show, "Bromance" (although I have to admit, I am quite tempted). No, this is far worse than that. 

I bought a Starbuck's today.

I couldn't help it. All this talk about food commonly found in the U.S. just put me in a gringa consumption state of mind. I don't even like Starbuck's all that much. My quasi-hippie upbringing (hummus, carrots, and whole wheat bread were only a fraction of said child-rearing) implanted in my mind that I should do my best to support local businesses. Oh yes, my parents were "those people." So instead of going to the 5 Starbuck's that were in our hometown, we frequented my dad's regular coffee hangout place, "The Plantation" (which, I am aware of, is an unfortunately sensitive subject-esque name). We sacrificed generic deliciousness for that thing called "ethics." Not to say that I was perfect and totally abided by this philosophy (in fact, I probably got a B- at best in this endeavor). To be honest, our family excelled in staying away from the coffee monopoly, but not so much in other chains. Let's just say that we liked "Gold Medal Ribbon" ice cream way too much to stay away from Baskin-Robbins. Nonetheless, my family encouraged me and my sister to do what we could to support smaller businesses. 

Of course, that came with a price (both figuratively and literally). For example, at The Plantation, the coffee beans were almost always burned, the service mediocre at best: One of the owners,and a family friend as well, Young, would take constant cigarette breaks, so half the time, there would be no one inside to ring you up and make you your coffee. The times he was there, he would take FOREVER to make the coffee because he was such an OCD perfectionist that everything had to be measured out just exactly right. You would think such motivation toward perfection would make the product better, but I am almost convinced that it made it worse. Being at The Plantation also meant forced interactions with my dad's weird friends, which was a bag of fun and a half. Also, the food here didn't always sit completely well with my stomach. Let's just say the warmth I felt in my heart for supporting small business owners did nothing to quell the occasional stomachache I got from going here. So basically, moral of the story that my parents slickly pushed down my throat: Starbucks = evil, The Plantation = shitty (coffee) but good (ethics). 

Fast forward to today: Mon, April 6, 2009, Metro Pedro de Valdivia, Santiago, Chile. It was a hot day. I woke up early to get to the EAP Study Center so I could turn in my internship application form on time. Afterwards I had to do a bunch of random errands downtown, including the impossible errand of getting "cartón piedra blanca" (black cardboard paper) so I could properly make a pinhole camera, which all of the librerias were supposed to have, but, of course, did not. I just got out of my 3rd libreria ("Lo siento, no lo tenemos"), when I saw IT. A building with the logo of a lady with wack hair. Shining ever so brightly on the corner. I wasn't even craving coffee. I don't even like it all that much. But I went in because: a) I was tired as hell and b) It was something that reminded me of home.

How pathetic is that, right? That this omnipresent, hegemonic, monopolistic, [insert other obnoxiously big word that makes me sound like a hypocritically outraged liberal] corporation was something that warmed my heart and made me want to tap my shoes three times and say, "There's no place like home?" 

My higher brain functioning shut down. I barely spent a second thinking about it before I noticed my feet moving rapidly towards the Starbuck's door. I opened up the door, Demetri Martin "underestimating the power within me to open doors" style, and without even a breath, I blurted out in Spanish, "I would like a tall mocha frappucino, please." I coughed up my money, and within 3 minutes, I had the manifestation of sweet, chocolatey capitalism in my hands. 

I'm not going to lie, it was amazing. Oh, don't get me wrong, the frappucino wasn't all that great. In fact, I almost choked on a small piece of chocolate that was not completely blended into the drink (karma sucks). But it was amazing because somehow, someway, somewhere, it comforted me. It reminded me of California, and all of the memories I've had in that sweet little state. 

So you know what, I hopped over onto "the dark side" for un ratito (a little bit). To ease my conscience by engaging in a little cognitive dissonance (can you tell I'm a psychology freak?), I noticed there were very few people in Starbuck's (3 at best), so I told myself that maybe Starbuck's was a "small, struggling business" here and that I was supporting just that in Chile. I know, it's complete bullshit, but at least I won't feel as bad when I go to sleep at night. 

Salud a Starbuck's. For being the temporary solution to  capricious, quasi-homesick moments.