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.

Girl walks into a bar...

really a restaurant, actually; sits down; has what is becoming her customary drink before every meal but breakfast (pisco sour); finishes a lovely lunch complete with cream of mushroom soup (smilingly think how Kristina's NOT there yet she still wanted mushrooms), has already swallowed the last of her post-postres coffee; begins several very unpleasant minutes of about-to-blackout-for-absolutely-no-reason, and finally faints (after valiantly attempting to reach the men at the restaurant's counter). Good times.

The first time I almost-blacked-out-for-reason, I and my 4th or 5th grade class were in church, praying the rosary. Every few years after, I would randomly almost black out, though usually putting my head down between my knees stopped it. I don't remember if I have actually fainted before, excepting when I donated blood in high school. It never once occurred to me to ever bring this up with any doctor I've had. At this point, after this memorable, actual-fainting-spell, I assume this is taking the place of the seizures that almost killed me as a baby. The last seizure I had when I was in 6th grade. I would say they're stress-induced-- maybe they ARE stress-induced, I just don't consciously feel said stress all of the time.


I do feel it today though, as I impatiently wait for some response from the three companies I've applied to for work. It has only been a couple of days, but that doesn't stop me from thinking, surely someone is going to contact me NOWWW....

Over the weekend I discovered that one MUST set-up their magic jack with a PC, NOT a tablet. I only have the latter, and attempting to break this rule caused my tablet to shut down & not turn on again for about 10 minutes twice. I have since sworn that terrible tool will never go near my tablet again.


Still, I'm pleased that I have dinner plans with one of the teachers I've been corresponding with who's here in Santiago, as well as probably sharing some barbecue with Roberto and his mom on Wednesday's holiday. I'm also pleased with how damned nice the Chileans are. Of course, the ones I meet most often now are proprieters of cafes or restaurants, but they always end up coming to talk to me, asking about where I'm from, what I'm doing here, where there are schools that do exchange programs or teach English, and lies about my Spanish not being piss-poor. I do plan on going into a school for work, it's just that it's so intimidating when my best Spanish is for getting a drink, rather than a job. Ho-hum.

Tonight's adventure was brought to you by the letters I,R,K,S.

See what I did there? I considered leaving out the commas, but I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I did that. And right now, I need to tolerate my own company more than ever!

Most (read:none) of you will be surprised to learn that tonight's adventure was in search of food. My current mission in Chile is to eat seafood until I'm sick of it, at which point I will move on to beef. Or, January, if Ruth comes to visit. Whichever time comes first will dictate my protein source.

And today's chilly weather dictated my fur jacket's first night out!
So tonight's sponsors, beginning in chronological order:
 Roberto was kind enough to recommend some seafood places for me. After much google-mapping and soul searching, I decided to head out (of my comfort zone and barrio) to Las Condes barrio for La Tasca Altamar. Popular opinion has it that it's just off the linea uno Manquehue stop. But I've never been a lemming when it comes to opinion (unless I'm on the train in Beijing, when your species, genus, etc., are forced upon you by the crowds. *Shudder*), so I stupidly decided to stay on the west side of the street, rather than the east. I saw a street on the other side whose sign I couldn't read, and hoped that wasn't the street I needed as I motored along.

Probably a good 20 minutes later, there are many intersections I cross in search of calle Noruego, but each fails to be it. I pass at least one other metro stop. Finally, my increasing anxiety kicks in & I stop a woman on the street to ask directions, which brings us to our second letter, K: the Kindness of strangers. Particularly Chilean strangers.

 Said samaritan (Susan, it turns out) doesn't really know where it is either, which I gather from her tone rather than the rapidfire Spanish she speaks. She takes out her phone, looks at it, says more to me in Spanish, and indicates we should walk.

It is around this point that I remember I have a new phone, which thus far has worked TREMENDOUSLY, a world away from the shitty phone I had in the US. I put the restaurant name into my       iPhone (sorry, I know, not as smooth a transition as the other 2 letters), and a little red arrow points to it on a map. I have no idea where it is in relation to me, but I can see that yes, it is indeed off of Apoquindo. I mean, at least it's not in Valparaiso!

We walk, then she suddenly switches to English, so we talk a little. She stops 2 guys to ask for directions; neither knows where it is, so we keep walking. I marvel that Roberto has ever successfully eaten at this restaurant, as all the other people I encounter on Apoquindo have never heard of Noruega.

Another 10 minutes have passed at least, and I know I must have passed it, particularly as google maps told me I'd only walk for about 7 minutes. (Of course, google maps also told me to keep walking down Merced calle to get to Cerro Santa Lucia, well beyond the giant wall that blocked my progress 35 minutes later, so I trust google maps now as much as I trust Italian monogamy.) Susan & I have come to a rather large restaurant, so Susan asks the guys standing there. There is much Spanish, heading shaking and finger-pointing in both directions, all of which somehow Susan understands to mean that yes, it is way back from where we've come, by the Manquehue exit as it happens, and at this point I should either take a taxi or the metro there. There's another metro stop not too far up, so that's where we head.

 Said next metro stop is Los Dominicos, the end of linea 1. I am amazed I have been this far in Santiago when it is only my third day. Susan continues to go WAY, WAYWAYWAY above and beyond any kindness I'd expect by getting on the train with me, to make sure I get off at the right stop.

 I bitterly think of how familiar the station is when I get there, and am dubious the second time will go any better. It is then that I look at my phone and see a little bouncy blue dot has joined this erroroneous expedition, and its placement on the map is not far from the red arrow. It takes a few seconds for me to realize that *I* am that bouncy blue dot. I can follow it to my destination! Could it really be that simple!?

 Blue dot that I am, I continue to (at least, according to my phone) bounce closer to the street I need. Actually, I have only crossed 3 streets when Apoquindo veers to the left, which happens to be NORUEGO! I am astonished, blue dotted with astonishment, particularly because, in contrast to well-lit Apoquindo, every part of this long-sought street is in total darkness, except for the giant vehicle a little up the road flashing blue & red lights. I think it would be just my luck if that was a fire truck in front of my destination.

 But my luck has changed; it's a truck dedicated to bringing the darkened street back to light. It is also the point at which my blue dot is past the red arrow I seek. All I see across the street is barely-discernible buildings, but walk toward them. I soon see a corner with a blackboard outside it. I figure this MUST be it, though I can't see any number. I can see some candles on tables, though, so I push the door open & ask, "Abierto?" Remarkably, they are, and this friendly old woman ushers me in, switches to English, and takes care of me the rest of the night, bringing me a glass of sauvignon blanc to go with my first congrio.

So all in all, while I continue to live my fear of getting lost, I also keep finding Chileans to be incredibly kind and helpful, even to furry, non-Spanish-speaking blue dots.

It's never a good time

 to be me the first few days in a foreign country (although the people at the airport were so nice it made for a better-than-expected morning). I hate not knowing where I am, where things are, what people are saying, and how to do most stuff. I used google maps + a website + the phone book here to find the downtown phone store I was told I needed to go to to unlock my phone. And this being day one, though my mission was accomplished, I returned to my hotel starving, defeated, and done. Problems encountered:

1. I am assuming today is an unusually warm day for winter, because I wore a sweater, boots and my rain coat, only to discover it was around 75. I decided to forge ahead, so I returned to the hotel as I arrived: needing a shower. Nevertheless, everyone here was wearing a thin down jacket or a sweater over a shirt. I found the ubiquitous jackets in these temps particularly curious.
2. After a good 45 minute walk to get a better idea of the lay of the land, I found my destination, which was not in fact the Entel phone STORE I had needed, but corporate offices. When I told the people at the front desk I needed the tienda for the Entel telefonico, they both pointed diagnolly up, saying what sounded like, "Allow." I decided to follow their fingers, which led me to...
3. A pay phone by Entel. Awesome. So close, yet so far away. Much like being in Paris and trying to get a presse de cafe, since we figured that would be how to say French press in French. Only that phrase usually led us to: a coffee shop; Italians buy an espresso machine; espresso machines for sale; and a coffee vending machine. It wasn't until we wandered into a Bed, Bath & Beyond type of store that we encountered said French press, which is named a cafetierre.

So I started getting a little upset, as I couldn't find the place I needed. I started back the way I came, and, due to the presence of a Starbucks & a Radisson hotel, I headed down a side street and decided to give the receptionist at the Radisson a try. He pointed to the mall across the street. A modicum of success!

There are people, there is a digital board displaying the #22 for the current customer. My eyes pop out of my head when I find the ticket dispenser, which gives me #55. I wait. I nod as subsequent customers come in, react as I do, & say words I don't get, but tones that I do. I finally tell person-trying-to-discuss-the-ridiculous-wait-#3 that I don't speak Spanish since having her repeat herself twice doesn't work.

When it is finally my turn, the conversation goes like this:

 Me: "Buenes tardes!"

Employee: "Hola, $%*)_%($)%_$_)%($_)_%)$95+$)(%+$_)%_$+)_%$+-?"

Me, blinking: "Uhhhhhhh... pago para telefonico international, pero... no."

Employee: "%)#_%)$($+%_$%+_$)%_+$_%)$_+%)?" 

Me: Confused

Employee: "$%_$(%)$_(%)_$()%_)?"

Me: confused

Employee: "%($)%*($ no responsivo?"
Me, exalting in a word I can recognize: "No. no responsivo!"

Employee, while flipping switches, so to speak, on the phone: "%$_%)($%($_ Chile?"

Me: "Estados Unidos. I pago Estados Unidos."

Employee: "($*$_() Estados Unidos o Chile? 

Me: Estados Unidos.

Employee: "%*$)_%$(_)%(_$?"

Me, pointing at phone: "No trabajo." 

Which I know means I don't work. So I did successfully state a fact. Just not one germane to the topic at hand.

ANYWHO, it only takes a few screens' worth of flipping switches before he points to the Entel name on the top of the phone, and seems to say it works. He even puts it to the dialer. I try Roberto's cell phone number, but after 1 small beep, a woman speaks gibberish. I try again, this time with the country code. The phone call is dropped. Next I try his work number. Again, no dice. The last time I try to carefully dial one of the numbers one more time, no longer sure if I'm calling his cell or office. It rings several times, than a woman again speaks gibberish, followed by a beep. I take a chance & leave a message.

So, the phone works! However, I haven't eaten since the 6:30 AM airplane breakfast. All I see are cafes, and since sandwhiches aka bread and wheat won't work, I walk on. I am excited to see a sushi place with delivery in English on the sign, and names of rolls also in English on a blackboard outside. It looks kind of closed, but i can see a table with people sitting, and it's about 15:30, so I open the door. I can immediately see that it's 3 employees. One of them says something in Spanish, which naturally I don't catch. I say, "I'm sorry," totally forgetting my spontaneous memory of, "Lo siendo" this morning. He says something else, but I leave because I have reached my limit of trying.

I am pleased to see the train station I also wanted to spot before. That will be tomorrow's mission, should I choose to accept it, though I know each morning I have to keep trying no matter how hard it all seems.

Close to the hotel I don't see anything other than another cafe, meaning bread, meaning no, so I harbor hopes that the cafe in the hotel is open. 

The evening front desk woman does speak English, though the cafe employee does not. The latter is irrelevant however, becuase the cafe's only open for lunch. She asks if I want pie or a sandwich, which is sweet, but sadly not going to help at all. 

I thank her, come upstairs, and start crying as I realize that I can't handle anymore language attempts or walking attempts or anything-outside-of-my-hotel-room attempts, and will starve tonight.

And I decided to sit down and let those of you vicarious viewers know that today is not the day you want to live with me, though Roberto took pity on me and offered to meet me for drinks (and food) near my hotel, as there are many. There probably are, in a direction I didn't go, since I went on 1 street to get across the river and the main street I needed.

But the other bright spot: I finally, somehow successfully took a photo with the phone of the river, and it also connected to the hotel's good wifi, so hey! maybe that'll work. Though posting it to facebook will require more mental gymnastics as I try to figure out what all the Spanish on my phone means. 

Insanity, eh?

Much like the hurry-up-and-wait of the military, preparing to leave the country has consisted of an emotional cycle of calm progress with occasional bursts of freaking out. The littlest things have always been my Achilles heel, temper-wise; now, everything from dropping my keys to the daily occurrence of nightfall usually prompts a fit of screaming rage, or the sudden fear that the furniture remaining where it has always been indicates a complete lack of progress on getting rid of stuff. And when you're moving abroad, a portion of your entire life and existence is dedicated to how many things you are getting rid of and how very few you will be packing and/or taking with you.

 Any other time of the year, the somewhat rare text message or phone call received was a welcome disruption to the boredom of everyday life. Now, when my phone makes a sound it makes me tense, as it more than likely is a demand on the too-little time I have. The phone making a sound becomes the sound of choosing between friendship and being ready to go to Chile.

While I haven't second-guessed my plans nor ever harbored an idea that living abroad wouldn't happen, every once in a while the following thought would pop up: "What the HELL am I doing!? I'm moving to another country!? I can't do that, what am I thinking!?"

 And while I've readily given away most of my belongings without a fuss, I still need to ask Keri the expat if all of this will REALLY be worth it in six months.


I think while ordering Thai from the restaurant down the street that there won't be delivery where I'm going. Instead of being able to leave in the morning with a to-do list of 5 items that are completed by the end of the work day, I will soon be seeing entire days eaten up trying to accomplish one minor or mundane thing. I am (willingly) leaving the one place on earth where life is about convenience, efficiency, and alacrity.

 I also realize my immigrant students must think I'm slightly crazy to completely nuts for wanting to leave the country they've given up so much to get to. That I might choose to live in the country they wanted out of instead of America must be even more ludicrous. But at this point in my life, crazy isn't as crazy as crazy once seemed. I spent my 30s looking back on my college days, a little horrified and mostly amazed at how tenuous my livelihood and life was. Living a 9-to-5 life on my own at 33 made my 20s seem so precarious. Four years later at 37, I have even less than I did back then since at least then I had a job, but it doesn't worry me. No working no cry!