Still...

I'll miss this place. I like my apartment. I like seeing the Andes from my apartment. Seeing the Andes, period:

I like looking at one of the pretty buildings here in Santiago, part of this old red building on Amentegui, one of the streets my apartment is between. I'll miss the street dogs and how much the Santiagoans care for them. I haven't mentioned them before, but there are A LOT of homeless dogs here. Big ones, like, the kind you'd see as pets in the US. People pet them and feed them, stores leave them water to drink. People also make coats for them! In Valparaiso, quite a few were wearing sweaters with the words (in Spanish, of course): "I have no owner, I am a free dog!"

It's hard to see, but these 3 dogs were all sleeping together around this tree in Lastarria. 
And you know, it suddenly dawned on me when Irene tagged me in a shudder-inducing, but in-NO-way-surprising post about Chicago having the most rats in the US: I have not seen ONE RAT here! Even on garbage night when trash is piled up on the sidewalks. You'll see some bags torn open with stuff coming out, but you never see rats. And I finally realized: I'll bet it's the dogs! There is an upside to keeping homeless animals, particularly dogs, off the streets as we do in the US: they help control rodent populations! As dirty as Santiago is, not one sighting. And THAT is something I'll miss too, lol.

So I'm excited about leaving, but I'm sad about it too. I'll really miss the solicitous & caring nature of Chileans, even when they act like nagging grandmothers more than anything else. I'll miss how nonplussed they are when they trains are packed & people are trying to get on & off, even though I'm often one of the people trying to get off & they WON'T EFFING MOVE, lol!

We all know I'll miss the cheap wine and pisco at the botilleria next door, while I will NOT miss the impossibility of finding lemons & limes year-round. Which are needed for the national drink. When Brazil is RIGHTTHERE. And I'm PRETTY SURE they probably have them. For import even! Oh Chile, if only you'd really and completely join the 20th century! Beyond the 80s, that is.

I'll miss having the ability to communicate a bit, too-- my planned next destinations I'll have verrrry little of any such thing.

I'll miss some of the music, and the excitement when I hear someone say, "po." I'll actually miss the fashion nightmares. Though Kristina, if you're reading this, I'm actually helping save your retinas from surgery some day.

And my students. That's kind of a given. Or, all of them except Rodrigo. That guy just bothers me.

The cool fruits and veggies I've been trying. Chirmoya, for example, is pretty good. Not sure it's so good that everything should be flavored with it. But good. And I'm definitely loving passionfruit

more than I did before (but it's no guava. But then nothing is). Though, as anyone who has been here or has been reading knows, missing the food is more about missing the Peruvian food:

The best pisco sour is the Peruvian kind, above. Even, apparently, my Chilean students will admit this.

I'm sure I'll have more to add. Alyssa, anything? (Actually I know you do; you've already said so on fb!) Kayla & Cadu? Comment away. Unless you'll miss the pigeons. Or people turning left from the right side of the sidewalk. When that happens, you're just a step away from baggy-in-the-ass red skinny jeans and mullets. God help us all.

OH, well-played, Chile, well-played.

The Princess loved a resort town on the sea. Thank you for helping me be a writer's worst fear, Chile-- a cliche.

While leaving Vina, I walked past this hotel. Obviously I had to take a picture of it. Obviously.

Vina del Mar is a short bus or metro ride from Valparaiso. They are twin cities, in I believe location, size, population. For this reason, I was steeling myself for willfully going to another Santiago-on-the-sea, which is just what Valpo is, and why I believed I disliked it. I've heard people talk about how dirty NYC is, even Paris. When it comes to dirt & smog, I must have rose-colored glasses and lungs, because I never notice either. Santiago changed all that. All of you who think Paris, NYC, or Bangkok are dirty? You simply haven't really been to a truly dirty city yet. (Also? I don't think you know how to do Bangkok. Lol. Travel with me next time!)

Given all of this, you are likely asking yourself, why would I want to go there? For one, I met a teacher in Santiago who'd lived in Chile for 2 years-- in Vina del Mar, specfically (well, until now). Even after 1 month, my reaction was 100% Santiagoan: "REALLY?" With an unspoken, how? why? implicit in the question. She didn't say much about it, but it stuck with me that she'd managed to stay for 2 years somewhere in Chile. Voluntarily. 

So I was curious. There was a small, incidental additional incentive: way back when I'd dipped my toes in the shallow puddle of okcupid, I got a message from a cute though tattooed guy who lived in Vina del Mar. He has been sending me nice little messages ocassionally but consistently. So I figured if one day I wanted to tempt fate and dare to hope Valpo's twin city wasn't a twin in the fraternal sense, maybe I'd see if he could meet for a drink.

The first good sign was the highly-rated hostel which was a nice, friendly, neat little place. I was a bit worried because I was in the girls' dorm, meaning no private room. But there were only 4 beds, and no one was loud or annoying. The bathrooms were big and clean. It was a laidback little place with a lovely garden. An easy walk to the sea, beach, and restaurants.

It's also spring here in Chile, so the cold is gone. The whole weekend was mild but sunny with clear blue skies. 

But honestly, all of that is just icing. Unlike other seaside towns that cater to those wanting a pleasant time by the sea, Vina del Mar has trees, buildings that aren't eyesores, no graffiti, no smog, and, naturally, more attractive people. In short, it's pretty in the ways an escape from ugly city life should be. (Side note: I was surprised by how plain and ugly most of the buildings in Santiago are. It's the country's capital & a well-known city. I remembered thinking it looked just like Guatemala City. Then earlier this year, I read the following by Joe Cawley in More Ketchup Than Salsa: "As with many Spanish houses, the exterior promises little. Unlike the British, the Spanish aren’t obsessed with what the neighbours think. They don’t care if the place looks like the remains of a Baghdad barracks from the outside, all the love and attention is lavished within. Comfort is the key, not vanity." Suddenly, the Latin American architectural aesthetic, or lack thereof, has made perfect sense.)

I had a nice, relaxing weekend. As usual, it wasn't until early afternoon that I left the hostel, but surprisingly this was due to the fact that:

   1. I went to breakfast. Hell, that alone is ridiculously unusual for me;

   2. I took the only available chair, which was one of the easy chairs around the tv, where others were sitting, eating, & chatting, rather than going outside to read;

   3. I ended up joining the conversation, which we all made last for a good 2-3 hours. There were 4 American girls and a (surprisingly) cute British guy. It was nice for someone else to bring up Chile's incomprehensible and TRULY ubiquitous love affair with instant coffee. 

I did send a message to Celso: turns out, he was in the OTHER other nearby beach resort town, Con Con. It's another short bus ride away, and he kept cutely, albeit sometimes whiningly, asking me to go to HIM. (Me: If you have time can we meet for drinks?

Him: Siiiiiiii. 

Me: When? Maybe I can tonight, but tomorrow might be better.

Him: Esta nocheeeeeee. Quiero verte.

Him, later: Ven po       See?? What did I tell you about the texted po? Awesome.)

Basically, Celso was completely unwilling to travel any distance himself, and wanted ME to come to HIM. I know the place is close and there are buses, but I don't know where to catch the buses, etc. Celso kept asking me to come after it's 8 PM, so getting dark. I ask if it's safe, and of course he says yes, very safe. I ask the hostel owner, and HE thinks quite differently. Mainly I think me coming back on foot to the hostel at night is the concern. I'm never sure if it's the deep Chilean concern that any & all crime will swarm any solo gringa no matter where or when... or if is actually is a bit unsafe to do this at night. I decide to err on the side of caution. When I tell Celso this, he says he'll drop me off. Sooooo... let me get this STRAIGHT. You REALLY want to see ME, but aren't willing to travel the area you live in & know to come see me. But you also aren't willing to DRIVE here to see me?? Nuh-uh dude. Meeting you was a take-it-or-leave it sort of feeling for me, and this landed me firmly in leave-it land. He even tried to make me feel guilty. Come on, dude. Come on.

Walking back from dinner that night I twisted my ankle. This trip to Vina reminded me in some ways of my time in Chiang Mai, where I did the same damned thing. Luckily it's just a slight sprain: I was able to walk on it without pain the next day. It's still swollen, but that has been steadily reducing. There's only a little pain if I turn it, but that's it. Rachim sent me his usual random check-in text on Saturday. I told him I thought it was fine & I could still work out Monday, but he rightly told me no, I need to rest it for a week. Damn it. 

Other than all of that, the one thing in the back of my mind was how much I like traveling on my own. I like that I can stay where I want to, can leave or go to bed when I want to. I don't have anyone who wants to do something I don't, eat something I don't, etc. I don't have to get up at 8 and be out the door to march through some tourist trail by 9.

I'd definitely like to come back to Vina. Actually, I'd rather finish my time in Chile there. But I think I'd make even less money there, and have higher living costs. Maybe. Probably. It's only another 2 months really, though. Then, hopefully Marcelina will be making her way here so we can do some (HOT! Oh Christ traveling in the middle of summer here) of the rest of South America. Particularly the two neighbors of Chile that actually have good food. Mmmm, good food. I can't wait.

Awww, do I HAVE to?

Do I have to type ALL this? I feel like I have to recapsulate the last 4 months into a blog post that isn't too long. Though why I'd suddenly start caring about how much reading a reader of mine will have to do has never been an issue before. Why start now?

I've been trying for 1.5 hours to get the wifi to work here. It couldn't authenticate. This happens all the time in Chile, and sometimes you have to ask for another password. And then that one'll work, usually. Or, *shrug*, it just doesn't work today. You know, Chile? When you have a wifi password, if the letters are lowercase, maybe DON'T use 3 capital letters when you write it out for people? Maybe? But then, as Rita and I joke all the time, I'm applying logic, and that just doesn't work here. Ever:
    1.) You're a table of 6, and the server keeps forgetting and confusing what everyone ordered. You think, can't you write it down? If you're a Chilean server, well, for whatever reason, no, you can't. So they'll put the wrong dish in front of people, and will completely forget someone else's altogether. If only someone would invent some form of communication that doesn't fade into thin air, like the spoken word!
     2.) Line 1 goes to Los Dominicos, which is 2 stops from Manquehue. But no train can go straight through Manquehue-- most of the time, all the passengers have to get off there. Then another train appears a minute later, and you can take that 1 to Los Dominicos. But why do you have to get off every time 2 stops from the end?
     3.) You need to cross the street. There's a crosswalk for a 1- or 2-lane turn lane, then a second one to cross the main street. The walk signals are always out of synch, so that the tiny island between them is crammed with people waiting to cross the last leg. Why not just synch them?
     4.) You're at a major bus station, where buses arrive from and depart to popular get-away spots, like Valparaiso and Vina del Mar. This station is at the almost-end of metro Line 1, next to a big expressway. Most of the time, there are people sitting around, waiting for their bus to board and depart. There are no stores or restaurants nearby (though there are some of the ubiquitous sidewalk markets set up). Why the HELL NOT!? If there was a Starbucks there, they could charge more than anywhere else in the city, and people would gladly pay! I know-- that's what I was thinking while waiting 2 hours for my 14:20 bus to leave. There's a hell of a lot of money to be made, so no one is there making it.

I have had several blog posts floating in my mind; it's taking the time to write it all up that's the problem. Particularly when I feel like some people deserve their own private summaries, which I only feel ready to do in a rare moment of not feeling irritated all the time by Chile. And given the rarity of not being irritated when I think about Chile and then constantly reduplicating my efforts, in the end I'd rather just sit and stew alone, or rehash the experiences with friends here going through the same things.

And it was all of the things that never stopped being irritating about Chile that have been the issue in more ways than one. I really thought that when some things here never stopped irritating me, it meant I was still experiencing culture shock. There's this idea that living somewhere is so completely different from visiting it and diving right in, that only the former is going to give you real insight into the culture and whether or not it's for you. There's ALSO this idea, particularly among people who've never done it, that foreign language immersion is the best way to learn a language, and that you will, in fact, become fluent, whether you want to or not. My Spanish HAS improved-- thanks to studying it on my own. My comprehension has SLOWLY been improving, so that I can now understand between 15-40% of the warp-speed gibberish that people call Spanish here, depending on the person speaking, how much background noise there is, etc. There are people who can best learn a language by just being totally dunked in it, I'm sure. Just as there are people who learn better by reading, or writing, listening, or some combination. Immersion alone won't do it, though, kids. Or at least, it hasn't for me, the two other teachers I know, or... anyone else I've heard of. One of my classes was telling me that their last teacher was an older guy from NZ. Prior to coming to Chile, he'd lived in Colombia for 5 years. In all that time, he had not learned any Spanish at all. But then, learning Spanish won't always help you here. I had another student who was from Colombia. He has been living in Santiago for about 10 years. He said even now, whenever his father comes to visit, Carlos has to translate for his dad, because he cant understand a word the Chileans say.

Which is partly why hardly any Americans who live here have Chilean friends: it's pretty hard to have a conversation when half of the conversation is "What?" "I don't understand," and "Uhhhhh... oooook?" But honestly there are an endless number of reasons why expats tend to remain foreigners here, which I've heard from both other foreigners & Chileans. Chileans are shy and timid; Chileans fear that their English isn't good enough, so they won't talk to you; Chilean friends are VERY close so it's nearly impossible to break into a group-- it takes a year or so of consistent, gentle "courting" for you to meet any other friend of your quasi-Chilean-friend; Chileans are never alone, so you can't talk to one.... I could go on, but these are the ones I've heard the most. Which makes it harder to develop any personal connections to the country you've moved to. And why, no matter how nice the people here are, I feel I want to stay here indefinitely.

     25 Oct 2014
Today started promisingly enough: they have free yoga this weekend. I managed to do the kundalini at 10. I actually felt pretty good after that... even like, maybe Santiago isn't that bad. *Chuckle* Until I went to put the rest of my day's plan into effect: try the really-close-to-my-apartment coffee shop owned by an Aussie. And as I came across the metal security shutters that tell you opening hours aren't at that time, I thought, of course. Of course the cafe is closed. On a weekend. Like half of Santiago. Other expats recommended this cafe, which is what I needed to hear to make me try it. You know how when you travel to another country, you want to go where the locals are, away from the tourists? That's actually the OPPOSITE of what you should do in Santiago, because Chileans never developed taste buds, as evidenced by their bland, badly prepared food. So all the best food is where the tourists are. I have only been to ONE other cafe in Santiago that didn't suck, and that was a bit of a ways away, in Lastarria. It also has the worst service of any place in Santiago. Which is saying something, because the servers here make the hordes of almost-standing-still Santiagoans look like cheetahs. There have been a few times that I have vetoed going out for dinner because I'm hungry at that point, and it'll take too effing long to get my food at a restaurant. Or coffee. Or the check. ESPECIALLY the check. So you see, there are quite a few things I've never made my peace with here, that I never learned to accept.

It wasn't until I'd written to Keri that I thought, wait. I've been living here for about 4 months and have adjusted overall rather well. I've learned to accept some things, like not having any consistent access to good wifi, and to the shoving or outright rugby matches to get into the ovens otherwise known as the metro, where you are as close to other people as crumbs in a cake. I don't get irritated or upset or outraged by it-- I just go with it. I push when I need to, or just let the Chileans do all the work for me. I have my regular places where the Chileans know me, & some even let me take some veggies today that I can pay for tomorrow. I have my routines, my friends and, until this week, only pretty awesome students. Only after Keri expressed great surprise over my stated continuing culture shock that it occurred to me that it might not be culture shock anymore. Maybe there are just things here that I don't like. Not because I'm failing to adjust, but because they're things no language or culture could make palatable. Like mullets and spitting.

So that has been whirling around my head this week while Rita & I were talking about another nonsensical Chilean thing, and after she confirmed she's leaving Chile in January. And I've been told that in January and February, most of the work is gone. So this seemed like the perfect time to go do my traveling in Peru & Argentina. And go back to the States & visit. But, then what?

I wanted to have at least a year of teaching experience before I head to another continent. Maybe I should come back here to finish out another 4 months or so in Chile? I could. But... why? I'm making very little money, and I'm surrounded by stocky, ugly people who think red skinny pants worn BAGGY in the ass, and mullets and rattails & weird long mohawks look good? To have even fewer dating prospects than in the US? And to have really bad food when I go out? I haven't even told you guys about the cute restaurant that had moules frites. Rita & I were pretty excited: does that mean it's a French recipe? I ordered. And... oh God. They brought a bowl of mussels in steaming liquid. That liquid was just water with 4 carrot slices. That was the liquid. Not wine and broth; not broth; not wine NOT SOMETHING WITH FLAVOR!!!! JESUS, NOT THAT!!!! And the fries tasted frozen, though they were piping hot.

Then I was talking to Kevin, and he summed it up what I, 1.5 pages later, clearly can't: if you boil down your necessities to money, food, & love, then "you've got 0 out of 3. It's time to leave Chile." Once he said it, I think I'd known that somewhere in the back of my mind, but hadn't wanted to say it, because I didn't want to give up easily. As I talked about other places I'd looked at, we realized that while it doesn't appear I'll ever have all 3, if I went to Turkey, or Asia, or anywhere else, I could have 2 out of 3 of my necessities.

So, does this mean that I don't like Chile? I kind of think it does. But I like the people. Despite everything, I still think Chileans are really kind across the board. Can you dislike a country but like the people? I would say I don't know, except that's the reality I'm living these days. Unless it's just that Chile isn't for me, and I'm pissed at it that I don't fit here, either. Lol. I know that 6 months tends to be when you really start fitting in somewhere. A couple Americans said that that adjustment period here is a year. But I also think it's entirely possible you don't always need more time to know. And when I've still a hell of a lot places I want to go to, why put them off for another 6 months because damn it, I said I'd be here a year!

So, I'm ready to go. I hate to tell my landlady and Roberto and all the people here I am fond of, but I have already made my decision. I've been researching the places I'm interested in going to next: Peru, South Korea, Vietnam, and Turkey. I've begun considering the logistics of my dreaded 100 lb of luggage, and how NOT to cart it all over South America, and how it makes the most sense to travel here THEN visit family & friends back home, even though I'm going back to a Chicago winter, from the middle of summer here.

And I'm also really excited. It's the first time, I think in m life, that I have no precise idea what the immediate future holds, and it isn't threatening and panic-inducing.

So the "big" news is I'm leaving Chile. And will likely be coming back to see you sometime in February! And after a few weeks home, I'll take another plane to try out a new country. I'll keep you posted as I narrow it down. But in the meantime, feel free to share your vote for my next home in the comments.

The definition of insanity is...

"Go didn't consider herself part of the general category of women, a term she used derisively." (Gillian Flynn, Gone Girl)

So, this particular blog will be about dating, or my usual disastrous misadventures in. I was trying to think of a way of saying, "sending me to explore the dating world of Chile is like sending a non-expert to explore the word of ___ expert." But I haven't been able to think of one, drunk or sober. And so I continue to be unable to do any of the things that the normal woman can do. Like being a young-enough female gringa to find a Latin American guy to date.

Mark, Mom, and possibly Kris-- anyone who needs to remain clueless about certain aspects of their family member's life, I'd say go ahead and skip this post.

You'd think I'd have learned my lesson in the US. Bill told me that Chile is like the US' little brother before I left. He meant policy and economy-wise, but I've since come to discover this applies to the men here. Well, I know that NOW....

On a whim, I decided to see how OKCupid worked down here for a gringa. I met just a few guys, but the only one worth mentioning is Rachim. At this point, you all know that he is hot, because that's my type. He's also incredibly tall, which is not my type. He fed me some BS about not trying to sleep with women just for the sake of sleeping with them-- no, he has to feel a personal connection. Riiiiighhhhhht.

We met, we walked, we flirted, and he promised to help me with my Spanish. And I swear that I was going to NOT be typical Jen-in-a-foreign-country and sleep with him right away. And I really thought I'd gotten away with not doing just that when he walked me home and went to meet his friend. But then he texted me a little later that he thought I was really attractive, me too, blah blah blah. And I mentioned my yoga workout because, well, Rachim is SERIOUS about fitness, as evidenced by the perfect 6 pack abs & all in his profile pics. So we started talking about yoga, and his unsurprising lack of experience with it, and how there are even yogas to help improve sexual performance. Suddenly, Rachim is earnestly asking to come over to give yoga a try. And suddenly Clueless Jen has not only taken control of my brain but agreed, because how great to introduce a big weightlifter to yoga!? Am I right?! 'Cause honestly, I truly thought he was coming over just to do yoga. Turns out he meant yoga as a euphamism. Whereas I meant yoga-yoga.

And it would have REMAINED yoga-yoga, except before I can even think about lending him my yoga mat though I've just used it myself, he's kissing me & he's a good kisser. Then he took his shirt off. And that took care of that.

He left with me in the morning; as we part for different trains he says, "It was nice meeting you."

Interestingly, this is not the last I heard from Rachim. We chat a little over text the next couple of days. THEN he disappears for about 2 weeks. Only to reappear to chat via what's app about nothing at all. This is the cycle continuing to today.

I have seen Rachim once more since that first "date," when he wanted to come over last week. Before this request, his last message had been that he was "thinking about coming to see me," to walk & talk. As I heard nothing from him again for almost 3 weeks, I thought he'd finally found something else to fill those random moments of boredom that men have, which usually only a woman they're obviously not actually interested in can alleviate. When he asked to come see me, I was just going to ignore him or say no. But as Rita had just had her own interesting and to us, rather unsuccessful dating adventure of her own, I was curious. Particularly to see how he'd respond to my text, "You said you were thinking about seeing me, and then you thought about it for three weeks. If you have to think about coming to see me, you don't want to see me & I have no need for you." I mean, I had to give the guy credit for having the balls to say he STILL wanted to come see me and apologize after THAT.

He did apologize, using school, work, and looking for work as excuses (plus his 2 hours/day at the gym). And apologizing a lot. Which was funny, since Rita's experience with Chileans is that they can't follow what we Americans think of as basic social interaction rules, be it just not being an asshole, or apologizing when you are. And when they do anything that we US-ians (which is how we say our nationality to South Americans: United Statesians) interpret as rude/thoughtless/selfish, they can't understand what the problem is, and won't really apologize. (Unless a USian does any of the same to them. THEN we're cold, rude, heartless creatures.) Or so goes her experience.

Interestingly, Rachim still considers me to be someone he's seeing or dating. He has dated other Americans before-- in fact, he's 1 of those Chileans who only dates gringas. And told me isn't seeing anyone else.

He's still texting me once a week or so. If he texts fine, if he doesn't, fine. Conversation is fine when it randomly happens, once every couple or months or so. So he is the Chilean that is as close to approximating dating that I'll ever come.

Meanwhile, way back at the beginning of my "dating" attempts, Rita had found a "cocktail bar," a term I use loosely given Chile's complete inability to put certain proportions of liquors they have into a glass in a way that doesn't suck-- but it at least had the look & atmosphere that I was sorely missing. Part of the appeal was the atmosphere, but part ended up being this server, Joel. Joel was never actually our server, I don't think. He just somehow noticed we were 2 gringas speaking English. As an English speaker himself (who learned it while in Canada for a year) in Chile, we assumed he originally came over to us to practice his English. By our second visit, we figured that he just liked coming over to talk to us.

To be clear, and to give you as clear a picture as possible of how COMPLETELY FUCKED. UP. the Chilean male mind works, particularly when it comes to... gringas, I guess? you should know that Rita is a very frail-looking 65-year-old woman. Joel is one of about 90 cute mid-to-late-20s Chilean guys who DOESN't have a mullet/mohawk-mullet/rattail/skinny jeans, or any other part of the typical Chilean guy's uniform. And he's really cute. Cute is even more noticeable these days, because it's even rarer here than in the US.

So, while we never I think sat in his section, Joel would always come to our table when he had a minute to talk with us. We'd talk, but here's the thing: Joel almost always would come and stand next to Rita. He would look at Rita first when he talked to us, and looked at her the most. Once, Rita had some questions about the Spanish in the menu, so she asked Joel to translate. 2-3 entrees in, she had him translate the entire food menu, one item at a time. Joel obliged us, standing next to Rita to read off of her menu the whole time. We figured he did all of this because: he's a server; and, he must like Rita.

Another time while Joel was talking to us, I was doing some heavy-duty flirting. Really, a brick wall would have registered it. Joel was oblivious. As far as I am concerned, that's as good an indication of non-interest as anything. Rita, sufficiently liquored up, said to him, "She's flirting with you." Joel laughed, he smiled, but kind of in general. He looked at me a little, but mainly just acted good-natured-in-general about it. Eventually he came and rubbed my back, but as far as I was concerned, he'd already said, "I'm not interested. Obviously. But I AM interested in a tip, if this'll help." *SIGH* So I gave up. We still came to Mamboleta, but I only saw him as a friendly server, nothing more, nothing less.

A few weeks went by, and it was the week of the Chilean national holiday. Actually it's 2 holidays in a row, and it's big. Joel was hanging out drinking, not working, and invited us to join. I did; Rita went home.

Joel & I more or less closed down the bar, and suffice it to say, I invited Joel back to my place. Which was 1 of the best decisions I've ever made. Period.

I told him I'd honestly had no idea he was interested in me. Remember, kids: he'd come to our table, but he'd stand next to RITA. He'd direct his eyes at RITA. I thought he was interested in RITA. Rita also thought he might be interested in Rita. Joel replies, "Of course I was interested in you. I was interested in you the first time I saw you. Why do you think I stood there and translated the menu?" Uhhhh... because Rita asked you to. "Why do you think I kept talking to you two?" Well, since you stood next to & talked to Rita, we kind of assumed because of your interest in RITA. "Why do you think I came over & talked to you 2 in the first place?" Uhh... because you wanted to practice your English... with RITA? I mean, this guy gave most or all of his attention to Rita. So... yep. We thought you wanted Rita.

The next morning, I said I hoped I saw him again. This, I felt, was as good and unobrusive an opening for exchaning phone numbers as anything. All he said was, "Yeah, I hope so too!" as he tied his shoes.

AWESOME.

So, fast forward another couple of weeks, and I head over to Mamboleta because I want a drink & Rita doesn't... and I'd like to see Joel. I do, though he's busy. We don't get to talk, I am disappointed, then sad. And when I get sad, all past failures come back & I get upset. I hadn't seen Joel for a good 30 minutes, and I was getting weepy. So I left.

Outside I didn't bother trying to stop the tears as I looked down at the sidewalk to walk home. I haven't even made it 10 feet when someone stops me: Joel, in fact. I just want to get away, but he surprises me by saying he wanted to get my phone number. I give it to him, but am already aware that I'll never hear from him. I walk home continuing my cloudy train of thought.

He has sent me a message by the time I get home.

The next day, he comes over before work.

A few days later, I text him to let him know when an early morning class is canceled. Meaning we won't have to wake up so damned early the next morning. It takes a day or two for him to reply. When he does, he's apologetic. He calls me honey. This is unusual. He asks to come over the next day. I say sure.

And the next day, not a word. I can see that he was online at 3:30 AM the night before. So, ok, yes he was obviously sleeping off the night before, as he isn't online again until after 2. But he doesn't text me then. I wait a full hour or 2 before I STUPIDLY think, maybe I need to play this like a normal girl, so I should text him that he had better text me soon and be really nice to me! But apparently, no, I should not. I don't hear from him again.

I gave him 2 weeks, and then went to see him at the bar, convinced that this isn't THAT big of a deal. But But I was wrong, because after waiting an hour to see if he'd say anything to me, I tap his shoulder as he goes by & good naturedly say "Hey!" His tone is angry & bored at the same time when he mumbles, "Yeah, hi how are you." Which is a GOD DAMNED shame because I was willing to take him on whatever terms he wanted, he was so fantastic.

Soooo... yeah. I have a slightly more communicative FWB that I see about once/month, and that's all.

I did have one other date with one other guy. But women know how that goes: we talk easily, laugh a lot, he sends me a message as soon as he gets home that he thought I was pretty & would like to see me again... so naturally I never heard from him again.

Meaning: yeah, I'm about as adept at dating Chileans as I am at dating Americans. So that's awesome. I can add another country, if not continent, to the do-not-call list. Done and DONE!

JUST when I thought Chileans took their security a little too seriously,

I get to my 8 AM & the alarms are going off. Lights aren't really on, and the door on the other side of the hall is chained. In THIS case, the building was flooded & they lost power, so all activity is suspended for the day. So not quite fitting the security measures.

Every office you go to, you either have to check in with security & then get buzzed in at the office, or you have to buzz the office to be let in. You must either press a button OR have a staff member wave their ID over a scanner at the door to be let out.

So my 2 morning classes were canceled this AM. And I came to the Starbucks at Costanera, South America's tallest building, which is cute. It's a mall but, more importantly: it has Jumbo, the large grocery store/Target-like super store that allows me to get CRAZY international products like Earl Grey tea, sage, red peppers & Glade air fresheners.

The sage surprised me, that it's so rare. Especially when the dried spice rack has 3 slots for oregano. Could have used that space for a DIFFERENT spice, but hey, what do I know? I just come from a country that serves spring rolls without cream cheese but WITH ginger. Clearly we must be lacking in an appreciation for the blander things in life. You know that saying, variety is the spice of life? Only if by variety you mean potatoes, mayo, avocado & salt.

The country I come from also distinguishes between Gruyere cheese & Swiss cheese. Not until I was here & greatly disappointed to buy a package of Gruyere that was actually Swiss cheese could I finally admit that my brother had always been right: Swiss cheese isn't very good. Said country also knows the difference between bacon & pancetta, and that the former MUST be cooked BEFORE you put it on a bacon cheeseburger. Oh yeah-- uncooked pork of SOME kind-- I couldn't tell if it actually was bacon because I wasn't about to ingest super chewy, mostly uncooked pork anything.

It's funny, because my culture shock has definitely gotten better. Then a friend & I started dealing with the fits, starts & collapses of dealing with Chileans on a more personal level, which led me to believe that Chileans are actually on the autism spectrum. They have the social skills & graces of toilet paper.

It would ALSO be nice if I could get a SIM card for my banda ancha movil (wifi plug-in) while here at the mall, but I am confident that won't happen since I don't actually have the device here.

Let's say that you are walking down the street where you live, & you see a cellular store. You wanted to get a prepaid ANYTHING for your phone, so you go in, & eventually, possibly paperwork later, you will have it. Yeah, it doesn't work like that here. You can't just go to a cellular store & get what you need. Some stores are just stores, though I'm not clear on what they actually sell; some are customer service centers, though I think they're just a way for people to practice standing around; and some are authorized distributors that HAVE stuff in their windows, though I no longer believe you can actually buy anything in them. But none of these can do prepaid anything. For THAT, you have to go to the mall. Where you will take a number, wait for 10-20 minutes if you're lucky, stand in line to be helped while the guy who needs to take breaks from working so hard at breathing and thinking at the same time will wonder why he's only seeing you & your number now when people were being helped & there were others in line with smaller numbers than yours likewise waiting. If you're lucky, you get what you want. Usually then you are given a receipt so you can go wait in another line to pay. You get another receipt, & go to your (hopefully) last line to pick up your product. This is actually how they run most stores in the country, requiring you to take a number, & then get in 2 separate lines to pay for & then get what you bought.

But what really had my scratching my head until today was how it's possible that a country that turns the morning & evening commutes into rugby without the elegance isn't eviscerating New Zealand, South Africa & Australia in the Rugby World Cup. Or anyone, actually. Then this morning during my walk to the match that is the train platform, it occurred to me that having a team of Chileans go up against Aussies would be like sending a team of stockier Jens to keep running into Brian Urlacher. People my size bounce-- trust me, this happens every morning when people are scrumming to get in the door of the train, and end up ricocheting into the next forward, AKA commuter. Also, maybe you can't really make a sport out of an everyday facet of life. The British don't have a sport wherein you patiently wait in line. Los Angeles hasn't, as far as I know, started having sitting in rush hour competitions.

And yet, I have nearly fully achieved acceptance of, well the commuting at least, of my move abroad. Sometimes I just float through the scrum, waiting to be shoved on the train, kind of like in China. Sometimes I'll even start throwing my weight toward the wall of people already on the train, which is the whole point of the game. And I do it all WITHOUT screaming swear words in my head. No: screaming swear words, particularly mofo, is reserved for when I'm trying to get off the train & the sardines in the can act like they don't have legs to move out of your way.

Chileans are actually kind of convinced that doorways and sidewalks are for standing in, not moving through. Going down the stairs to the train station isn't that different from Frogger, except you're dodging the random stationary people instead of speeding cars.

Speed mainly isn't a thing here. Individual Chileans move at about the speed that paint dries. If two are walking together, you can divide that rate of speed by two. Continue multiplying the reduction in speed as you add more people to the group. You or I first & foremost apply the concept of speed to movement. Chileans take all the speed they're not using while moving & use it to talk instead. My Columbian student has been living in Chile for about 10-15 years. His dad still needs Carlos to translate for him when he comes to visit.

It actually occurred to me that one way to determine if a person is Chilean or not is by asking that person: you're in the train station, & you hear a train coming into the station. Do you move slower or faster? The Chilean will likely say, "Oooooh, moving, and standing still. I always get those two things confused. There's a difference, I know there is, but I'm not sure what. You know-- let me stop right here in the middle of the stairs/doorway/teeming sidewalk, & call or what's app my friend. I can use a lifeline for this question, right?"

The Five Tasks of * Jennifer

Kristin & Mark (and my mom, if she gets tech-savvy enough to get here) will get this. There were only five, but were I to count each step getting me through the 5 overarching ones, I am confident I could easily get to 12. (If you're most people, you would think the 12 Tasks of Hercules. And it's kind of really the same thing. Except that Asterix's tasks were updated to include an administrational one, "strictly a formality." Which is really what this whole odyssey of replacing and renewing my visa was, particularly since I went the boring, non-Argentinian way).
Task One
Oh Captive, my captive!
That is what the Department of Foreigners and Migration (Departmento de Extranjeria y Migracion) is saying to me as I stand in a packed room, though it says it as it does everything: VERY, VERRRRRRY. SLOWWWWWWWWLY.
When I arrived in Chile, I was given their version of a visa: the tourist card. This is good for 3 months (you aren't allowed to or supposed to work with it, but this is South America after all). If you want to stay for another 3 months, most people prefer to go into Argentina before the original 3 months are up, and get another, new tourist visa on re-entry (good for an additional 3 months). Or, you can stand in a mass of people at the Department here. You can see why Argentina's a more popular option.
Whatever you or especially Mark, Derek, Kristin, etc might say of me, one thing should definitely be that I am dilligent about keeping track of important things, things you are not to lose. Such as your tourist card. But, having said that, you already see where this is going.
And you know what? Let's take a second here to say, really, Chile? Every other country in the world puts your visa as a stamp in your passport, which you already know you have to keep track of. A harder-covered blue booklet is much easier to keep track of than is a 6" x 6" piece of tissue paper. No, Chile has to give you a piece of klennex to add to your burdens.
Anyway. I was preparing to go down Argentina-way this weekend to renew my card/visa for another 3 months, and went to where I had put my tourist card. Naturally, the card was not there. Nor was it... anywhere, actually. I had to go this weekend, because I only put 30 September as my departure date from Chile to be safe when I arrived. And the 30th is a Tuesday, or something like that. And if you don't have that card, you won't be allowed out of the country. To go home, or anywhere.
 So after my obligatory, habitual and *I* would say understandable panic attack, I started trying to figure out what to do. Online they said to replace a lost card, you just need to come to a department, fill out a form, hand it to window 10 (no matter WHAT they say), & it shouldn't take more than 30 minutes. Ha. HA!
The only stroke of luck is that the office is a 15 minute walk from my morning class, & about a 5 minute walk from my apartment. But that luck is of no use to me, because it turns out that, despite what I was told at the Tourist Office and instructed to do should I lose or need to renew my card, the office in question is not the one I am in right now. I got here, I explained as best I could what I needed, and was given my ticket. They only hand out tickets between 8:30 and 2:00 PM; after that, they close the doors. I very much hope that they will keep "working" (it's such a funny word to apply to Chileans) after the doors close.
My ticket is T 65. There is one window helping us Ts. At 9:55 AM, that window was helping T 15.
As I write you, it is now 11:55, and they are STILL only at T 35. My math is shitty, but it appears they're helping about 10 people per hour. I am hoping they will get to me by 4:00 PM, though the first hour I was here they only got through 7 people.
I realized (while waiting in a waiting room in Purgatory, essentially), that I wouldn't need to go to Argentina to renew my visa as they (oh God please) will do it here. What's good about that is that I've never done such a thing as border hopping to renew a visa before, & I am not a rule-breaker, so the idea of having to take a bus to Argentina (which doesn't run if there's a lot of snow in the Andes), figure that out, get to Mendoza at around 9 or 10 PM & try to find the hostel I'd likely have stayed in, PLUS pay the $160 fee all Americans have to pay upon entry to Argentina, would have made for a confusing, stressful, and expensive trip. But then, Argentina would have been a much nicer way to spend the $160 I'll have to spend to replace the fucker anyway here, minus the disorderly, pushy, never-ending crowd of humanity waiting here, many with their kids.
So that is how I have become a captive of this office today. There aren't any chairs that aren't already filled, so I get to stand for all 6 of my hours here too. Awesome.
Particularly as we're only at T 37 and only 15 minutes have passed.
About 2.5 hours later...
Ok, I saw the Wizard. I was taken aback by how sweet & kind she was, given ALL. OF. THE. PEOPLE. But you know, apparently it's only the US that isn't woefully crowded/overpopulated. Honestly, the waiting room wasn't that different from the trains here, only bigger, and less like a rugby game. So I guess when you're raised in this, there's no reason to get angry since that's all reality is.
So, yes, I explained in Spanish that I had lost my card, & wanted to renew it as well. She got the last part-- she actually helped teach me to how to pronounce it (there are a lot of Rs, which they REALLLLLLY embellish here)-- but the first part, about the lost card? That she didn't get. Once she did, she informed me of Task #2, which is to go to the International Police station for my replacement card, which I will then bring back to her. As testimony to her ridiculous sweetness, she asked whatever was wrong when my face fell & I felt close to tears. I told her about my 3.5 hour wait, & that I couldn't believe I'd have to do it ALL OVER AGAIN. I had to cancel my Wednesday class to do this. I'd have to cancel 2 tomorrow or wait 'til Friday when I've only the one. She said she would be working at the same window tomorrow, so if I came back, I wouldn't have to get a number, just come to her. Oh God. Please, PLEASE let that be true!
Task Two
As instructed by my government angel at the Extranjeria y Migracion dept., after class I went to the Interional Police, which has a couple of doors. This is basically a large basketball court-sized room, with cubicles or windows on the walls, and the center is AGAIN FULL of 100s of chairs with people sitting in them. It's dim, it's loud, and Pandora must be keeping that box in here, because hope has been sucked out of it. I take a guess that this suited-guy that people are lining up to talk to is going to give me instructions, forms, or if there IS no God, a number. I was given 2 forms to fill out (FORGOT. MY. PEN. DAMN. IT. So I had to run out & by one. I KNEW I needed to bring a pen-- had it yesterday!), and then told to take them next door.
When I told my friend Kevin, an old pro at this teaching/living abroad/doing whatever to extend your visa thing, he warned me to be extra nice to the police since it was at their discretion to replace my card. Well... duhhh. But I resolved to keep that in mind, even as I thought, "I don't know, I get along awfully well with military/police types."
As soon as I hesitantly went in, still not 100% sure this was where I needed to be, 1 look at the guys motioning me into the only room with people I could see, I had a feeling Kevin had never been to the Chilean International Police station. Or he's a guy. Whatever. I was helped by 1 of the 10 best looking guys in Chile, who of ALL things has a girlfriend named Jennifer from Chicago. He pretty quickly took care of officiating my new card, while chatting about Chile, Chicago, etc. Jennifer has been living here with him for 2 years (so I am officially a little over 2 years late in getting this moving to Chile thing). Ivan & Jennifer are going to Chicago on 12 October (I don't know if they'll live there now or just visit), but he gave me both his & her phone numbers until then.
Now I'm faced with Rita's problem: what to do? One of the interesting things about Chileans is that they offer to do/invite you to many, many things, but they never actually mean it. I didn't know that since Roberto doesn't do that. But here it's very common for someone to invite you spend a weekend with them & their family... only the weekend never happens. Usually they'll leave it open, like this month. If you see them later & say, Hey, how about next weekend? They will demure & you will never actually go spend the weekend with them & their family. Someone else told me it's considered RUDE to keep trying to pin them down on it.
So do I contact them? I guess it can't hurt to send a text. I can send one, they don't have to respond. Oh. Except when Ivan, for example does, & invites me to get together with them for drinks next weekend. And I say which night, and... yeah. Huh.
Task Three
Annnnnd, we're back. Back to the crowd, which is a shifting sea of people in a cup, milling around randomly. Which is why you can "permisso" and "perdon" and push your way to the space cleared for people to walk triumphantly to their windows (or, begin waiting in line for several cubiles to the left). I am waiting for this Dutch? German? girl to finish talking to her-- they're making plans to meet for a party or something as the foreigner profusely thanks her. I am unsurprised to hear Angel (I don't know her actual name) tell the saved traveler that she helps to many people every day, she is very busy with people thanking her. & I was worried that bringing her a cup of coffee or, even BETTER, a packet of Nescafe, would be considered bribery. Bitch here is talking about them going out on the town!
Finally the girl moves on. Angel remembers me, & I happily give her my card. After a few minutes, she says we're almost done. All I have to do now is
Task Four
Take this slip of paper to any bank, pay the fee (around US$100), and come back to her. If I do it today, I again don't have to take a number, I can bring it right back to her.
This is actually rather easy to do, particularly as I have this MOTHER. EFFING. AWESOME app on my phone that's map/GPS/store/whatever-finder without a wifi signal, allowing me to find the closest bank. I am relieved to tell you that this went off without a hitch, though I was a little worried, because entering the bank, there is a huge line. This is for the ATM, so ok. Good. I see a sign that instructs anyone looking for cashiers or other business to go upstairs. I do, and am faced with a small waiting room, another number machine, windows, & people waiting. I am wondering if these are the tellers & how long THIS will take, when a security guard points me to another room. Thankfully after a short wait, I have paid and am on my way back to the Departmento.
Task Five
Once more into the fray, and oh do I hope it's the last time. I fight my way again to the front, wait for 3 more people waiting on Angel to mosey on along, and am able to hand over my receipt, and get my newly-renewed visa.
So, ok, the last 3 steps were hardly harrowing or difficult. But you know what I wanted to do after work on Thursday instead of go through a MUCH shorter version of Wednesday? NOTHING. I wanted to go to bed & lay in bed & do NOTHING. And I definitely didn't want to to worry that I was missing some other formality and would again be thwarted in my attempts. Thankfully that didn't happen. But it COULD have.

--------
Oh, and I DID send a text to Ivan, and no, I never heard back.

Valparaiso: what happens when wishful thinking is how you name a city

Yeah, about this whole adventure to Valparaiso.
The impetus of this impromptu weekend trip came courtesy of Fran, a nice enough Chilean girl I met at the Couchsurfer meetup here in Santiago a couple of weeks ago. Per her instructions, on Saturday morning I am waiting at the assigned train station, barely noticing that what starts as one blonde guy hanging in the metro station grows into a small group of 4 guys, one of which I notice is really good-looking. This has nothing to do with me... until Fran greets them with hugs. Awesome-- we are the only girls on the trip. But we are an international group. Our male majority is: a blonde, dimpled Russian, Nikita; a guy sporting a hippy look (SHUT IT, Mark & Derek) is Noel, from... not sure? I thought Argentina, but he lisped like the Spanish; the strikingly good-looking guy is Jonas from Denmark; & the only other Chilean, a long-haired, blue-eyed guy named Eduardo. Actually, I later noticed that Fran is the only person in our group whose eyes aren't blue.
I end up sitting with Eduardo on the 1.5 hour trip there. I ended up getting along with him the best: he has a quiet voice, he can be outgoing (& bless him for asking me questions and attempting conversation), but I sensed he's ok with my being quiet. Which is good, because that was definitely me on this trip. Period.
I have to say, I liked ALL the guys, though I practically ignored Jonas because that's what I do with really good-looking guys. It isn't fair or right-- he really was a nice guy, but whatever he's looking for I'm not it, and I am a sore loser when it comes to pretty boys. So I spoke to him the least. He may have even noticed my silence was even more pronounced toward him, but what can I do? Treat him like a normal human being? He's NOT normal. Normal isn't that pretty in the male population.
Jonas works with Nikita, and I guess Noel-- they're here via the Chilean government, who pays for entrepreneurs from other countries to do shit here. Nikita & Noel met when Nikita was living in London. So Nikita & Noel are good friends, Jonas has that connection so they all get to know each other better, & everyone, but me, is outgoing, so great times for them all.
Fran... I remember she seemed nice, but I felt no connection with her at the meet-up. That, I think, will determine my agreeing to anymore cockamamy trips with couchsurfers: even though many CSers I've met were perfectly pleasant, the thrill of an impromptu invitation to go somewhere with an unknown number and constituency of travelers, is out. I hear you: the vast majority of you linked this to the whole, "don't talk to strangers" adults told you when you were a kid. Well bully for you, you well-adjusted, normal people living your normal lives. I've always envied you your normality, as it allowed you to seamlessly fit in with everyone else around you, having shared the same experiences, beliefs, & approaches to people and situations. So, awesome, you'll never find yourself feeling like a fish out of water in a town that is woefully misrepresented as a vacation spot. You win.
The weather, of course, sucked. It was 40-50 & rainy or raining. 5-10% of Valparaiso is lovely. The rest is like the rest of Chile, which this trip I realized is exactly like Guatemala, only with less comprehensible Spanish. As far as I can tell, Fran has marbles in her mouth for all I can understand (except when she talks about food or drink. SOMEHOW, I can always understand those words). Noel speaks so quickly that, yeah, it's pointless to try listening. After listening as carefully as I can to the 3 Spanish speakers for a minute, my mind drifts away from a conversation I can't understand. (Though I'm relieved I'm not the only one: Nikita doesn't speak much Spanish at all. Jonas seems pretty capable from what I can tell, but he definitely, definitely prefers English.)
Anyway, yeah, other than a few of the highlights you can see on Fb, Valpo is dirty, rundown, largely unimpressive, and mostly closed on the weekends. How this is supposed to be something to come & see, *I* surely don't know.
I most enjoyed the led tour, which included a Spanish group (though a guy there had stayed in Lombard for a month, so we chatted a bit), and a guy from Scotland, with whom I spoke quite a bit. Were I traveling alone like he was, maybe I could have had a night out like *I* wanted: laidback, just sitting drinking, rather than the night out that young, attractive 20-something guys want. Or Fran. Or... all of humanity, except for me.
Post-tour, we sit around in our hostel room for a while, & that's when the building started shaking. We all looked at each other, then people started running out of the room. Since I've never actually been in any sort of real earthquake before, I follow suit, guessing there's a reason for doing so. And sure enough, even though Cadu is right that the earth is also shaking outside (lo!), Fran tells me that this is proper earthquake procedure.
Outside, Nikita & I are enjoying the experience, while poor Fran & some locals are freaking out. From what I can tell, Chileans either barely notice anything happened (Eduardo), or are probably freaked out from past, very large earthquakes. I feel it's in poor taste for Nikita & me to be enjoying ourselves, but we are. It was over in a few seconds, and while it was pretty noticeable, absolutely no damage was done to anything, no injuries from anything, etc. Back in the room, Jonas says it was a 6.2. An earthquake of that magnitude really isn't considered one of any magnitude in Chile, though Fran said that had it been an 8.2, that would have been a big deal. Fran, who planned on taking a shower before it, now won't get into the shower, as she's afraid another may be coming.
We finally have dinner: Mexican, of all things. GOD have I missed cheese with taste. The queso fresco that is everywhere in Chile is so bland it obliterates the flavor of whatever food you eat it with. Welcome to cheese by Chile. Afterwards, we go to some bar. It is a bit loud, but not terrible. What's terrible are the drinks. But that's par for the course here in Chile. Nikita was laughing, accurately, that frequently Chile will copy NYC, only 10 years later. And not fully accurately. Just enough that you recognize it was an attempt with a misunderstood execution. I have to say it's JUST ABOUT TIME for the craft cocktail to arrive here, but so far, nothing doing. I make the mistake of ordering a daiquiri (though in Spanish it's a little different and I was so tired I didn't care anymore). The original is lime, but I can't just have that-- I must have a flavor. Many of you know what it's like when I am forced to add options I didn't want to have-- I give up & don't care, crankily. I did that, minus the burst of bad temper. To give myself credit: I am a mute all weekend, but an agreeable mute.
I am brought a pink liquid that is repulsive, what with the artificial mixer flavors that are all the rage here. Orange juice? Yeah, they squeeze the juice, THEN add more sugar, and something to make it thicker and more Tang-like. The sweet tooth of Chileans is a horror show. I wince from the odd tug-of-war in my mouth of sour & too-sweet that is any artificially-fruit-flavored concoction.
Contrasted with what Eduardo ends up having, which apparently is called a transplant, (b/c it's red?). It is 3 distinct layers: clear on top; kind of milky in the middle, & bright red on the bottom (or: rum; lemon juice; grenadine). It is a bit too tart since the layers also won't mix, but I still kind of like it. Eduardo's a lightweight, so I share his.
At this point, I'm feeling sleepy, & not looking forward to all the seat-dancing Nikita keeps doing: there's definitely a dance club in tonight's future. And my gender GPA will be revealved for the D+ that it is, thanks to my being 1 of only, what, 3 or so women in the world who DON'T dance?
There are LOTS of bars & clubs to try, so onward we go. We end up walking down toward the port, where I can already hear the music of a particularly loud dance club. This is my cue to leave... except for that whole I-don't-have-a-key-to-the-hostel. I get one from 1 of the guys, and breezily, in my eagerness to get farther away from the headache-inducing music volume of the club they're lining up to get into, tell Fran that yes, I know how to get back to the hostel.
As soon as I have walked 1/2 a block, I realize that not only do I NOT actually completely know how to get back-- I don't even know the NAME of the hostel, only that it begins with an L. So, a last-resort cab ride is out. Luckily, I don't know HOW I did it, but I did manage to wend my way back.
My relief at getting back is only enhanced because the hot water heater is turned off at night, & when our tour of the hostel included a cursory & in-no-way complete method for turning it back on, I can't see what's what since 2 tall Europeans are in the way. Hence, I have the pleasure of a cold sponge-shower, since I can't put myself under the cold water. Not in an (of course) unheated building. But what IS on tonight is the music club the hostel shares a building with. Oh yes: live music, on a stage that I estimate is directly under the room across the 2-feet-wide hall. It's great music, but WHAT?!!!? OH! YEAH, IT IS LOUD! REALLLLLY LOUD! I can hear it comfortably with my earplugs in, but somehow manage to fall asleep.
In the morning, I am reminded, again, of what I so dislike about hostels, and what Sartre said: hell is other people. Or, as Jonathan Rauch (unintentionally?) misquoted: Hell is other people at breakfast. Specifically, a non-filling, unsatisfying breakfast of bread, weak tea/bad coffee, and forced socializing. Knowing that group mentality will deem me a weirdo and/or bitch for not wanting more company than plenty of protein, veggies, & good, fresh coffee when I first wake up, I go into the crowded kitchen, only to see that all of the mugs have been taken. Hurray.
Suffice it to say, thanks to yesterday's earthquake & today's heavy rain, there will be no surfing or horseback riding, which was part of the plan for this trip. After spending the last 24 hours with people nonstop, I'm relieved. For once, the guys want to do what I want to do: get back to Santiago ASAP. It takes Fran a particularly long time to get her shit together, but eventually we are on our way.
We are slowed a little in our progress due to Eduardo, who's about my age, taking these 2 (lost-ish) girls on the Valparaiso street we're on under his not-exactly-disinterested wing. They look 12 to me at first, though later I conclude are 18 or 19. They come fully-equipped with the TERRRRRRIBLE fashion sense of every young Chilean. Our current model is wearing orange, blue, and fluorescent green tie-dyed/floral patterned leggings with fluroescent orange and pink socks with a coral shirt and blue tennies. Irony isn't permitted across the Chilean border, so this is an outfit earnestly chosen for its aesthetic appeal by our intrepid girl who clearly, CLEARLY dressed herself without any adult supervision, common sense, or humanity. If she has a boyfriend back in Santiago, you will see him in faded or bright red hipster jeans and the ubiquitous mullet. I didn't know there were different types of mullet before I came here, but the unsurpassed assortment and variety is visible despite burned retinas, tears, and keeping your eyes squeezed shut. (Derek, per your facebook post, you need to move your family here.)
Nevertheless, we make it back to Santiago just fine, and I do my best to rid my head of a caffeine headache and a curious weekend with coffee with pisco sours. Though I am clearly and firmly in the downward portion of the curve that is adjusting to life in a new country, there's evidence of progress, even if it's only that my drinking has started going native. I know the adjustment curve will start and keep heading upward. Let's just hope my mullet tolerance remains at the bottom of the U.

THERE'S that surreality I've been missing!

Coming here hasn't felt like traveling and getting to know a different place in the way you do when you're just visiting. I expected to approach it like I did Asia or any other place I've gone. And other teachers I've talked to have felt like they're just visiting.
It has been a series of slightly odd events escalating to my sitting in my apartment watching a Chilean music video channel playing Asian pop music from the late '90s- early 2000s. I wonder if Alyssa or Kayla ever saw this etcTV and had this same, "Wait, WHAT?" reaction. Now don't get me wrong: most of the world loves the same songs we in the US do and can't understand English, and I've never had a problem with liking a song regardless of my ability to understand the lyrics. But this is a "classic favorites" show. So these videos are old favorites here in Chile. And just when I wondered if there was a random Asian music video channel broadcast here, the vj came on, a 20-something-year old girl wearing (oddly retro) black & red flannel, speaking in Spanish. Right now a boy band from Korea is doing a more talented take on the Backstreet Boys. That is what I've liked about music from other countries: the singers tend to be able to sing first and foremost. This was a trend I found particularly refreshing in Hispanic music.
A Korea boy duo is singing in English ("Something"). Maybe it's all Korean videos, except for that "Clown" video by Will Chan out of China.
So to sum up, I'm watching Korean boys singing a song in English on a Spanish music video channel.
In other news... well there's a bit of other news. I found heavy cream yesterday! Not in the milk aisle. Oh no-- it was in the canned fruit aisle. Because why not? And honestly it's a bit thicker than the heavy cream in the US. But the important part is, I've had 2 real cups of tea this morning. The first since I've had since I've been here.
My electric teakettle stopped working yesterday morning. That was an unpleasant surprise. That'll mean another trip to the always-super-crowded Hitite or Fallabella department stores.
At 1 AM this morning my tablet found a weak yet still usable wifi signal that doesn't require a password. Wasn't there earlier this week. It comes and goes if the tablet goes to sleep, but I'm still hitching a connected ride on it for the time being. My iPhone can't find it, but I've gotten facebook, which is the proof in the pudding of it actually working.
The great news this morning was that my toilet's flusher isn't working. Which is AWESOME because today is day 1 of a holiday weekend. This being Chile (or honestly, I think anyplace outside of the US), my so-far-untested theory is that there won't be anyone available to fix it until Monday morning. In a testimony to the adaptability I'm capable of in spite of my masterful whining, I thought, eh, I'll live. I'll figure something out if it stays this way. I'll eventually go downstairs to what's app my landlord Fernanda, but honestly, I wouldn't want to disrupt her or anyone else's holiday plans for something so small. I was glad to find I just have to lift the valve in the tank by hand, so yeah, should be fine.
Ok, well the Asian music video show is over, and it's time for the resident fat guy & his 2 nerd friends to host some video game show (in Spanish). Which is my cue to find something else to watch on tv. Over & out.

Addendum to the bitch list

Sitting here at Starbucks, my pants fluttered due to the goddamned pigeons & I realized, OH MY GOD! I haven't bitched about the fucking pigeons!

They are so unconcerned about people that they can't even see them anymore. They will fly RIGHT over your head. They would probably settle down on my shoes & try to build a nest if I don't shoo them anyway. They are kamikaze demons that leave you ducking & screaming. Not that the Santiagoans notice. Maybe the pigeons only fly at gringas?

I debated on adding this one, because this is my issue everywhere I go. But there are 2 things about Sanatiagoans that has me grinding my teeth all day, every day. It is their COMPLETE & UTTER ABILITY to walk in a straight line, and to move so slowly as to practically cease to move at all. My mind boggles at how SLLLOOOOOWWWWWWWLLLLLYthey amble. They amble everywhere. They amble when you're going down to the train platform & hear a train coming. I am SO curious as to what could ever get these people to show ANY sense of urgency in getting... anywhere. And they amble in pairs or groups, so you are doomed to getting stuck behind them repeatedly.

And these groupings or pairings CANNOT WALK IN A STRAIGHT LINE. They will cover the whole sidewalk, zigging & zagging their SLOOOOOOWWW way to wherever they're going. They actually have an inborn sense that someone is behind them, & that is when their aimless meandering is worst. But what's ODD is that, it's not done with malice. The Chileans simply don't have enough malice in them to do this just to piss off the people behind them. Maybe it's an evolutionary development limited to here.

Along with walking slowly... well, they do everything slowly except talk. But, going to a very understaffed Jewel in Chicago, I thought I'd seen slowly moving grocery store lines. Ha. HAHAHAHHAAHA. You know how there are 12 registers but only 2-3 people running them? Yeah, same here, except you must add on several seconds to each tiny movement any person here makes. So that person with 3 items? You'll wait 10 minutes for them to be done, if there aren't any complications. But, when aren't there complications?

We are LONG overdue for my bitch list.

W(h)ine? DON'T MIND IF I DO!
Another letdown of a day here in Chile. Yeah, yeah, I've been here one MONTH, give myself and the country some time. How MUCH time exactly, though? I saw an ad for, well God knows I really don't know what the hell it was for, it was very minimalist in text and images, but I saw that the name of the organization was Patagoniasomething. And I thought of how I intended to travel when I got down here. But everything seems so hard to do here. It seemed SO MUCH EASIER in Asia. HOW could it be EASIER in Asia? Maybe it's just my maladjusted perspective that thinks since I've settled in here and hadn't planned trips like I had in Asia, hence messing with a trip already planned is easier than a nonexistent one. But I mean, change my itinerary last-minute to stay longer Chiang Mai? No problem! Go to the market and buy I-don't-know-how-to-say-that-in-Spanish by the, oh-did-I-mention-I-don't-know-how-much-it-should-weigh, either? Nah, that's alright, I'll just starve. I have rice, tea, and well sure, alcohol. But not all of my cornucopic variety from home-- I have YET to see single malt scotch here. Blends, sure, but Macallan? My two 20-something guy students today hadn't even heard of Macallan, nevermind Laphroaig or Talisker.
I came home needing some tea, but also a drink, because existence in this country requires a constant, steady dose. I can't say the gin in my tea tastes bad, but what I REALLY wanted was an Irish tea. With heavy cream, which, you know what? I can't find that shit here. So here is a list of the things I intentionally or unwittingly gave up to come to Chile:
-heavy cream. And you know? I kind of would LOVE to get my milk from the fridge, rather than in the shelf-stable boxes they're currently housed in. But oh. Oh how I miss heavy cream.
-scotch
-a variety of white vermouths
-a variety of cheeses. Get ready to start a lifelong love affair with queso fresco! Variety is not the spice of life here. How GREAT would Cheddar cheese taste with that brocolli? Only my memories will tell me.
-wasabi & ginger with your sushi. You will get ONE slice of ginger, & a small pea-sized dot of wasabi. Apparently, that's as much as a Chilean can stand. You can ask for extra. I'm not sure how much extra I'll need to ask for before I get something that can be seen with the naked human eye.
-the internet
Let's pause there. The internet. I have 20 MB/month. This means: no netflix, no skype, basically no facebook (hey, your new profile pic ate up 3 days' worth of data, and that was the first post in my updates! Thanks so much!). *Update: now though, I have NO internet in my apartment; it went off at some point in the wee small hours of Sunday morning. I'm not sure if it's because I already used all the data or because my wifi is as reliable as the rare cafe's wifi, which is dependent on clear skies & sunshine. Half the time, you will find that that cafe with wifi doesn't have it today. This is met with a shrug-- what a suprise, it went out again. But most of the time, whatever establishment you think of going into does not have wifi. And since everything is closed on Sunday, so is the wifi.
-plain yogurt is HARD to find. I've only found it in 1-2 grocery stores. I stock the eff up when I see that shit. There is an entire WALL of the nasty fruit-on-the-bottom crap I can't stand, or the overly-sweetened and chemically-manufactured flavors.
-quinoa. No seriously, what the FU** CHILE!? Instead, you again have half an aisle, 1 entire side of every store I go into, dedicated to white rice. How many brands of it do you need? Of course, you could make that case in the US for bread, and I've seen, for example, orange juice. I just didn't think it'd be hard to find quinoa-- we are NOT FAR from where it's cultivated, amiright!? *Update: Talked to a teacher who has been here for about 4 months. Quinoa can be found in specialty natural stores for the outstanding deal of $18/box.
-lemons. I guess they're just seasonal here & I should be grateful? It's not difficult to find the Chilean so-called equivalent for lemons, which are mostly green instead of yellow & rockhard. Leading me to believe they're not ripe. They're as concerned with tomato quality here as the US... but while I can find an entire shelf of canned strawberries, I miss the tomatoes. They must be in the pasta aisle, which I don't need, because of the whole no-wheat thing.
-limes for juice. They're the size of peach pits and have the same amount of juice.
-COFFEE. CHRIST. I'm the Ancient Mariner here: coffee coffee everywhere, but not a drop to drink. My options are: Nescafe (SERIOUSLY, WORLD, what is your OBSESSION with this crap?? Ever heard of American exceptionalism? One way that the US is different from the rest of the world is that it's not that into Nescafe. That's 1 thing the US has over... EVERYONE ELSE EVERYWHERE), or some other instant/powdered coffee. You can buy Nescafe in cafes! They probably sell it in Starbucks! But what if you don't LIKE Nescafe, because your taste buds weren't killed off decades ago?
-fresh herbs. Alright, the case can be made that I haven't gone to the green markets, only grocery stores.
-Oh, did you want PALEO with that? Huh. Good fucking luck with that.
-wait... coconut milk WITHOUT sugar? Yo... yo no comprendo. This does not exist. Maybe it comes already sweetened in cans on the trees?
-a store that sells the tools to get into their products. I will never get over the corkscrew fiasco. And the only ones I've seen, and the one I got, is that really cheap plastic kind, which actually took the cork out in 2 pieces. I mean, it's better than the no-corkscrew wine which is generously sprinkled and served with cork. But then, there were still a few errant bits of cork in the bottle I opened. Maybe that's a thing here?
-central heat. Anyone who knows me knows I am harboring a cold hatred for the southern hemisphere for missing out on this 200-year-old innovation. If only my hatred could keep me warm. It can't-- otherwise, I'd be heating this entire building.
-screens. Again. Seriously southern hemisphere. This is 1 of those recent innovations that are actually incredibly affordable and awesome.
-the ability to exit the subway from whichever exit you choose. Half of the salidas are actually only for a change of platform-- you can't actually get the hell out. No ma'am. You have to go back downstairs and find an exit that IS an exit. Apparently, deciding that dammit, you WERE going east but now you want to go west, is as popular an option is using the metro to get from point A to point B.

Then there's being told that whatever place you are teaching/meeting is off the ___ metro stop. Hey, that's super, but each metro station has different exits for different streets/directions. Which INCREDIBLY helpful IF you are provided with a little more info. So when I exit the Tobalaba station, which of the 4 should I take?
-dryers. Imagine your clothes taking 3 days to dry. Yes, the dream can be yours, just come to a place without heaters, indoor heat, and a damp winter. Or, you know, go to Asia. WHERE AT LEAST YOU'D BE WARM.
-being able to get food quickly. My electric stove... I mean, I had one in Columbus, & they always suck, but it still cooked shit! It takes 3 hours to make 4 servings of rice. Usually I spend the 1st 2- 2.5 hours checking the pot that is still full of water, albeit at least steaming. Then, it all evaporates and burns to the pan in the next 5 minutes. I have yet to make rice that didn't stick to the pan.
But mainly, try to sit down at a restaurant or even cafe and leave in under an hour. Only having a cappuccino? Well, you'll sit for 10 minutes, then they'll see you, they'll give you 5 minutes to decide, and then take 20 minutes to make it & bring it. (And there's the whole "Crema or leche?" I didn't get this, until I said crema & they brought me a cappucchino with whipped cream instead of frothy goodness.) You really need to ask for your cuenta as soon as you order, too, because it'll be another 30 minutes after you've been served dinner before you'll see the server again to ask for it. This takes another 15 minutes to be produced. Unless you got coffee. Then? You have to go up to the counter, because you won't see the server ever again.
For this, they want to be tipped 10%, which is the same US$ amount as 20%.
-skirt hangers. WHERE CAN I FIND THEM!??? CHRIST!!!!!!!!!!! Some of my pants just want to hang from the waist, rather than folded over a plastic bar, forming a crease.
-ziplock bags. I shit you not, these do not exist. I have been to the big grocery store, smaller ones that are still chains. I have not seen garbage bags or ziplock bags. Diapers, yes. Cleaning stuff, uh-huh. Papertowels, sure. There is not 1 thing of foil or Saran wrap or little storage bags anywhere. A Chilean couchsurfer didn't know what the former was, and told me aluminum foil would be in the hardware store.
* UPDATE: I found an errant, all-by-itself roll somewhere in a large grocery store. Still waiting for plastic stuff to appear.
-the ability to use American as a nationality. You might have heard, South Americans take offense at us answering to the name Americans because they're from America, too. I mean, yes, I see what they mean in that they're also from a continent named America (oh... by the way: North & South America are one continent here. Because they're connected. Asia & Europe are still two different continents, though). Look. The name of your country is Chile. Not Chile of America, not Chile, America or American Chile. Just Chile. When I go... PRETTY MUCH anywhere else in the world, I'm an american(a). Chileans give me that America is in the name of my country, but this is more a grudging concession which in no way changes it being wrong to usurp the title of American in their eyes. As a result, I am constantly stopping myself or correcting myself from using American as an adjective-- I have to say ____ from the US.
-effing witch hazel. Google translate gave me the Latin name. Ok; I've seen it on bottles I got (EASILY! CHEAPLY!) at the grocery store in the US. The woman at the beauty supply store has no idea what that is. At the pharmacy, at first the pharmacist seems confused, then starts showing me a plethora of tubes & bottles that have... some ingredient in it. She asks if I want lotion. No, I want just plain 'ol witch hazel. Astringent. When I say that last word, Spanish-ified, she brightens up & says I have to go to a dermatologist to get that. I have to go where for what!?!!?!?! Are you effing INSANE? I'm not going to a doctor for what Jewel & every Walgreens sold for 99 cents! Jesus.
But you want to hear a REALLY funny story? My students said Americans complain a lot. I was surprised to hear this, at first, since America's the land of shiny happy puppies bouncing around smiling for no reason. They said that Alyssa, their former teacher, did that all the time. I, on the other hand, did not complain. Ha. HAHAHAHAHHAHHA. Just, you know, not to them. That's what YOU guys are for. Besides, why complain to people who don't know what they're missing?

Sunday: I knew I shouldn't have gotten out of bed this morning/afternoon

Ok, I grant you that:
     1.) mornings have always been impossible for me, and
     2.) in my hostel, getting out of bed has meant leaving a nice warm bed for a cold, unheated room,
but my first indication should have been that I didn't wake up 'til 11. Normally, I'll wake up between 9:30- 9:45, and stay in bed, shuddering against the idea of leaving my warm blankets. Then I'd conduct some business (mainly in the form of email) while still covered, and finally force myself to get up after 60-90 minutes.
At first, I thought of my still-long shopping list, and how on top of shopping, I also needed to leave to find wifi that I could abuse for the attachment-loaded emails I had coming.
Now, 2.5 hours later, I am grouchy because there was no wifi to be found. I wandered near my apartment, found a street big on shopping and restaurants, but because it's cloudy, there's no internet today. My first thought was, "There's a debate on whether or not Chile is a third-world country. When your wifi's functionality is dependent on a clear view of the sun, you're in a third-world country." But hell, the internet was prone to getting knocked out for a few hours by storms in Chicago, so is it REALLY that valid a comparison?
I'm finally trying the bar around the corner from my apartment. Naturally, this fine establishment isn't fine enough to have even signed up for wifi that wouldn't work on a cloudy day anyway.
And the thing about wifi? I HAVE wifi in my apartment. Wifi that would work, even today, I am sure. But due to the draconian limits of data I can get on it per month, I can't just open and send emails with attachments. I'm concerned about going on facebook: do the pics on that count against my data? Yep, see, most of you are thinking that a 3-year-old knows the answer to that. And I, lacking such basic knowledge, decided to use the world-savyness I've just demonstrated by moving to another country. Because clearly I've got the know-how to back this thing up.
Which reminds me of another idea I've encountered in Chile (though every time I've left the country, I've had to hear it from at least a few people): that I am just a mugging-victim waiting to happen. I am CONSTANTLY being told I have to be careful: put your phone/purse/laptop/whatever away & out of sight, because someone will just walk by & take it. & due to my being a gringa, I will be targeted by thieves & muggers. I don't know. Maybe I've just been lucky, and everyone else is right. But it reminds me of when I went to Italy, and before and after I got back, I heard countless stories of pickpocket victims or outright muggings. This never once happened, and was, from what I could tell, ever really a danger. I honestly can't figure out who these people are & what vibe they're giving off. Is it becaue I'm used to living in a city & always being aware of my surroundings, consciously and un-? That I usually wear my purse secured to myself in some way? No: I've switched to my handheld black-&-red Italian purse.
More & more I am of the opinion that it's my Resting Bitch Face. I've always thought of it as a handicap when dealing with everyone but my fellow suffererers or Europeans. (Aside: we all know I wanted to be in Italy, right? That anyplace that isn't Italy is Purgatory? We all know that, for all the issues I had with Paris, 1 of the things I've loved about the Old World, Paris included, is that the US custom of smiling as your default expression is indicative of being an idiot? My friends at work were just as likely as the random person on the street to accost me with questions about everything being ok when I was just walking, minding my own damned business. I'm a terrible liar therefore a terrible actress, hence I know I was walking around with a, I-will-fuck-you-up-for-breathing-asshole look on my face. People in the US are as ignorant of the subtlties of not-smiling as lint. I'm beggining to think it's one of the many points of commonality among North & South Americans.
My brother-in-law Bill said that Chile is like the US' little brother, and I have to say, I see it. I get the sense that behind/beyond the ubiquitious couples kissing everywhere is the same conservative attitudes on a wide variety of subjects. God, you'd think being in a country that doesn't think a drink at lunch and kissing wherever you are would mean you'd left behind boring, irritating Puritanism. Nope.

As predicted,

craving something familiar among so much that isn't.

I'm at a restaurant, which someone inadvertantly reminded me that I use for warmth as much as food. Across from me, there's a wall with 4 horizontal photoraphs. They're black and white photos, enclosed in white mats within black frames. They remind me of Jerry's photos, photos which I left at home so I could come here. I'm skyping with Jerry tomorrow. But someone appearing for about an hour on my computer screen in a wretchedly unheated room isn't the same as that person being here as a balloon of familiarity against so much I don't get.

The alley of restaurants across the street looks cozy and inviting, though my inability to flutently speak with the serving staff without English digs a dirty pile beneath the surface of that picturesque image.

I remembered my equally nonsocially-inclined friend Kristina telling me before I left the US that I could do this, because I talked to people, whereas she did not.

Ha. It's true, that I force myself further out of my comfort zone, under time constraints. But there hasn't been this careless shrugging off the unknown when I have a whole year to explore. So instead of going out of my comfort zone everyday & making myself talk to other tourists every day, I shrink away from the prospect of getting lost in a country I feel I know even less than one I was only in for 2 weeks. 3/4 the time I put a restaurant's name into Google maps, and it only tells me I'm somewhere in Santiago. If I put in the street, sometimes it'll zero in on one area of town. But when I try to add a street number to the street, suddently google moves the area to a whole different part of town.

When I go out walking, I make 3 consecutive right turns, and I should end up back at the street I left. But every time I've tried that, I find myself at some major intersection I have never been to before, that angles off where the original street should have been, but isn't. I end up turning back around to retrace my steps so I can get back to my hostel. How am I supposed to go anywhere if there's no way to find out where it is?

I got lost on my 2nd or 3rd day here. That's to be expected, when you're abroad. But I decided this would be my new home. So, I have to have SOME idea where SOMEPLACE is in this city. But I don't. Every time I try a new route, a whole new part of the city opens, but I can't find any other connection to where I started unless I retrace my steps. There's no newly-discovered shortcut, no new angle of a place I already know. Everything is new, which means newly-discovered-point-C has no connection to this afternoon's newly-discovered-point-D. The points don't connect, so Santiago remains a collection of disjointed, unconnected points. Much like my foreign language attempts. EVERY. TIME. I think to ask what time it is, all I can think of is, "A qu'elle heure?" My waitress, doubtless hoping for more than the customary recommended tip amount, said my Spanish was very good. Ha. I used google translate tonight to order dessert because I COULD. Usually ordering in a restaurant means my knowing how to say, "Could I have ____," or "I want to have _____," randomly guessing and hoping whatever I just ordered won't suck or be completely inedible. Unhelpfully, no matter how well I pronounce the entree I want, 9 times out of 10, it would appear my blue eyes cause them to act like I just spoke Greek. This time, since I had my tablet, the wifi password, AND a female server, I put the entire dessert description into google translate, told her what i wanted, and magically, got what I ordered. More than anything else, I think the key is having a female server. Why aren't there so many more of them? Whereas the women will manage to bring you what you want, the men will bring you chicken (pollo) instead of what you ordered (pulpo).

Now I'm not saying my 4 years of Spanish, reading Spanish subtitles on netflix, and listening have signifincantly improved my pronunciation or memory of the language. But it's almost like this is Chinese, where there are 4 different words spelled the same way, it's only the subtle tone that distinguishes one word from the others, and when your unattuned ear hopes the Chinese can try to think of the 4 words that sound the same and figure what through context what you're trying to say, they act like there are no such sounds in their language. It's much the samw with the male Chileans. If I say LechuGA instead of leCHUga, the men here think you just choked on something, not at all registering that you just tried to pronounce "lettuce." All those jokes about women being the brains of any operation? They're proven true when men are the ones you have to communicate with. Today I ordered a ristretto at a coffee shop. The male waiter (who takes 5 minutes to even look at me) understood cappucchino. I mean... Maybe all the men hear need hearing aids?

I'll admit it, princesses customarily avoid hostels,

especially when getting off the nearest metro and confronted with more graffiti than buildings. And when google maps tells you to head northeast, but you don't know which way that is, the modern-day princess can't just ask her coachman. She can't ask her phone, either, without wifi.

 The Andes are east. But I can't see them from Universidad Catolica-- or rather, I can't see the mountains when I'm looking slightly above eye level for street signs... street signs that just aren't there. Or are across the 6 lane street that I JUST can't read from this side. While dragging your heavy suitcase behind you on a surprisingly warm winter day, such predicaments can cause you to lose your head, never mind wishing it on everyone else.

 I called the hostel, but the guy who answered (in English, but also only with, "Hello?" rather than, "Poker Hostel,") agreed with everything I said, rather than providing me with the mountains of info I lacked in how the HELL to get there. Of course, royalty are accustomed to unthinking agreement, but not when asking their advisors for their advice. Asking for help on the street, just as my first time in Las Condes, resulted in the native telling me to go back to where I started-- I'd passed it again. So I took a cab... who ALSO didn't know where it was. He was able to get his phone to direct HIM, down a very narrow street that narrowed too much in front of a shabby looking hotel to keep driving. He indicated I should stay in the car while he got out & walked. This did nothing to alleviate my frustration. But apparently, he went on foot to determine that the hostel's address was indeed around the bend up ahead, which we'd need to walk.


Once again I was surprised to find a Chilean going out of their way to help me, in this case by insisting on dragging my heavy suitcase for me, all the way up to the front desk. There were some hippy accents to the tiny lobby, but what sent it over the top was the unpleasant smell of incense mixing with diesel.


Despite it all, I was pleasantly surprised to be shown to a small but bright, clean, tidy room, across from an equally-clean looking bathroom. And kitchen. And even more so when I was told that this room was just for tonight: tomorrow I would be moved to a bigger, nicer room for no charge.

 And it actually is nicer, and bigger. I'm hoping that there's cable so I can watch CSI & NCIS with Spanish subtitles on AXN, just as I did with Roberto's mom. We shall see.

And as for the surroundings, once you turned off Alameda O'Higgins (which is what the natives call it, rather than this O'Higgins guy's actual full name, the buildings become cute. Walk left instead of going straight, and you are in one of Lastarria's restaurant malls, where you can order a really tasty, completely Paleo meal if you wish. 


So all is not lost, even if I usually am.