In Argentina as it is in Chile

When I go on these weekend excursions, like the current one, in Mendoza, Argentina, there are any number of reasons I go, but one of them is always for better/faster/devil-may-care use of wifi. I'm at a small bed & breakfast, where the host Marcelo is very nice, and said he likes his guests to feel like they are at home. Little did I know that he intended to help make that happen by having wifi worse than what I have at home. And since my phone is roaming without an Argentina sim card, there's an excellent chance I will be completely unreachable this weekend. Which isn't the worst thing, except that it kind of sucks. I was hoping to have plenty of time to just hang around Casa Aristides and do all manner of internetty things.

There is plenty to do in or probably more accurately around and from Mendoza: bicycle wine tours (so apparently, drinking and driving isn't a thing here), horseback riding with unlimited barbeque (which is the one most appealing to me right now, only because of the last part), white water rafting... but I came largely unprepared for 4 summer days in a tourist/expat renewal post, in that I did not pack jeans as I always do (it's supposed to be hot in Argentina!), nor did I pack a bathing suit. Honestly, I didn't think about needing a bathing suit, since I didn't think I'd be doing much of anything but laying around wherever I was staying. And I thought of packing jeans briefly, but as I said, hot. It's actually more pleasant than hot, but likewise, I didn't think I'd really be doing anything that would really require jeans.

No, I came prepared to do what I always like to do during my weekend trips: use the damned internet. Now that that isn't an option, I'm not quite sure what to do. While Mendoza is a little cleaner and nicer looking, ultimately I'm not optimistic that I'll be finding better fare here. Oh, also? Thanks to my not being a hippy in at any point in my current or former lives (despite the nonsense that Mark & Bill are so fond of spewing), I don't have a backpack. I likely will go walking in a bit to see what's around, but the only way to do that is with a plastic shopping bag I brought to carry food & my tablet while on the bus.

Speaking of, I was in temporary freak-out mode for a little bit. As I alluded to before, the Mendoza trip is made very often by expats like me because if you DON'T want to go through the Migracion office in Santiago like I did that first time to renew your tourist visa, the other option is to take a bus through the Andes (which is lovely scenery)

for about 5 hours, and get a whole new tourist visa on re-entering Chile. Because there can be traffic & waiting at the border, I guess, the ride is billed as about 6-8 hours, and they strongly suggest you bring your own food, since stops along the way aren't really a thing. So I brought the last of 2 meals, only to start filling out the customs forms in the bus & see that familiar thing about not bringing food across borders. Shit. Thanks Lonely Planet! I was fairly freaked out, until we got there. The shopping bag kind of fit under my seat, and what was visible looked only like there were some papers on the floor. Fortunately, they didn't go through the bus, nor do you have to take everything with you. In fact, after getting our stamps (oh, which they forgot to change to 2015, so everyone who went through customs today actually came here a year ago... not that any of us noticed 'til we were on our merry way in Argentina), our bus driver collected a "tip" for the customs officers, probably a total of CP$10,000 so we didn't have to take out our bags. So I am relieved to say that while customs on Monday may be a bitch since it appears I overstayed my visa by over 9 months (assuming they change the year on their stamps by then), at least I didn't get stopped for bringing the ever-illegal produce/meat/food. Or jeans. Or a bathing suit. Or a backpack....

I have seen the wizard!

 seen the wizard!
 and he lives in Chile!
Yeah... this was a long time ago, but it's a story that bears being told because it continues, first, and second, it's one of the examples of what Chile and every other country in the world does better than the US. Naturally, I can only be talking about healthcare.

Most of you know (I THINK) that my always-broken-out chin is a form of rosacea. Dermatogolists in the US just told me it was rosacea, and gave me a prescription for antibiotics, which could help for a while, but not entirely. And other than the mystery of totally clear skin in Asia, my skin breaks out with ot without meds, forever & ever amen.

Naturally, when a doctor in the US tells you you have something you haven't really heard of, you do research on your own because the doctor either: doesn't tell you what the hell what you have means/is caused by/how to treat it, etc., or gives you only a tiny amount of information. Such indepedent research will usually lead you to other sufferers, some of whom inevitably go the way of aliens building the Great Pyramids, as in, some weirdos, attributing the problem to some unscientific/seemingly unrelated thing as the source. Hence, years ago when I looked up rosacea and found a support group, I read, scoffed, and dismissed the naturalists, who all swore that borax was the natural aid for a skin problem caused by mites. I took my pills, applied my gels, and hoped for the best, just as my doctors told me to do. It helped, but never all that much. After time, I'd need the prescription renewed. But once I lost my insurance and was getting ready to leave the US, there simply wasn't time, or money.

Once I was in Chile, the ever-resourceful Rita had the name of a dermatologist here that a doctor she knows in Boston recommended to her. Scheduling an appointment was one of those major accomplishments when you're living in a country where you're not fluent in the language that you feel high from for weeks. But getting to the clinic and finding that without insurance, the ENTIRE COST of your visit is only CP$44,000 or US$88, is kind of astounding. I confused the kind cashier by asking how much more it was at the end. Because after they do... anything in the US, it's considered surgery (popping zits? Actually considered surgery in the US) or a special treatment that would hike up what you owe AFTER the visit (if you don't have insurance).

Dr. Guardia spoke very good English, and saw me in his office. He immediately blew my mind by having me stand right in front of him so he could look at my skin with a large magnifying glass with a light. Never in my life has a dermatologist ever looked that closely at my skin. He stared at my chin for a bit and made a sound of surprise. This is when he told me aliens HAD actually built the Great Pyramids. Or almost, because what he actually said was, "You have a lot of mites on your chin, hence the rosacea." He proceeded to tell me that rosacea is inflammation caused by the demonix mite, which is one of those millions of microorganisms that everyone has on their skin. The skin on my face is particularly hospitable to them, so I have a lot more on my face than most people, and the high concentrations of the mite cause inflammation. Which is what rosacea is. Huh. HUH! First time anyone who wasn't a weird deranged online hippy had suggested anything of the kind to me.

He prescribed me an antiflammatory, rather than the usual antibiotics from US derms, a gel I had been prescribed often in the US, and another cream. He said it was a long process to get rid of them that requires patience. He asked me to come back in 2 months, and at that time, we'd see how the current regimen was working, and tweak if necessary.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
So I wait two months. In this time, Rita also goes to see the doctor, which is when I learn how Chile ensured that Chilean healthcare still has those added nonsensical, illogical, irritating steps that is part of living here. The doctor sent her to get blood drawn. The procedure goes as follows: she goes to the lab; the woman doesn't wear gloves as she draws her blood to test; and then it is explained to Rita that the bloodwork will be processed in 7-10 days, at which time Rita must return to the lab (1 floor down from the doc's office in the clinic), get the results, and WALK THEM UPSTAIRS TO THE DOCTOR HERSELF. Yep, Rita has to make a special, 1-hour-each-way-trip to the clinic, just to walk her test results upstairs to the doctor herself. It cannot be interoffice-mailed, emailed, walked up by the lab personnel nor by the doctor or his staff. The patient themself must do it.

No matter how many times I repeat it, I am floored anew by this ridiculousness. I am still waiting for such inefficiencies to stop being a shock to me.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

At the start of December I saw Dr. Guardia again, where he again blew my mind by doing shit no Western doctor ever did. After the magnifying glass inspection, he said that the number of (apparently it's not demonix, it's demodics, or something like that) on my face has DEFINITELY reduced, but there's still excessive activity. He wanted to know how many exactly, so he sent me to the derm offices labs FOR THEM TO COUNT THEM. That doctors CAN do this isn't surprising, with all the technology we have today. That a doctor would CHOOSE to do it, in this case, was the shock, since again, never has anything of the sort been suggested or done in the US.

So basically Dr. Guardia told the lab to test a square cm of my chin to see what the concentration is. She very thoroughly scraped one of the inflamed bumps, put it on a slide, and sent me to wait in the lab's waiting room. 10 minutes later, she brought me an envelope, which I walked directly back to Dr. Guardia. The official number was 7, when 1, maybe 2, is normal. Meaning there are about 7 mites on 1 square cm of my chin, whereas you have like 1 or so.

He added one more cream that I put on Saturday & Sun nights, and I go back just before my birthday, and just before I leave Chile. At that time, should it appear we need bigger guns, he'll prescribe a new pill that, as usual, requires I don't become pregnant because its potency is dangerous to fetuses.

So that's where we are now. The new cream does seem to be creating more inflammation, or at least my skin is worsening in the inflammation department. But we'll see, because before this new cream, my skin was the best it has been, other than when I was in Asia. (He had no explanation for that.) I'm still enamored by the not-the-US system where I get one, to ME, affordable price to see the head of dermatology at one of the Chile's best clinics, who treats the problem and me far differently than US docs, explains shit, and gives me a road map to how we'll work on this over time. Finally, Chile is soundly beating the US at something!

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?"