Proportions,
Portions and potions:
A dynamic, yet unknown, equilibrium.
To shift and begin
to be who we'll become.
Come now the sun is rising.
our homogeneous mixture is not the solution.
We're a bit mixed up, a tad undone.
Come now, but don't rush
as there's no one to outrun.
Come now, we've begun
with potions of portions in proportion.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Friday, November 12, 2010
Sicklical
It's sicklical; it really isHow babies have babies who have babies
It's sicklical; it really isHow babies become parents but not grown-ups
It's sicklical; it really isHow parents fail children who fail theirs
It's sicklical; it really isHow people are hostile and closed off
Take a stick and stick it in that cycle
Stop the stationary rotation
Jounce the cyclists so they fall
so they scrape their knees and elbows
so they never want to ride again
Search for alternative transportation:
Try a bike or bus or walking.
Don't walk by the sicklical biker--push him off
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Laminated Lamentation
Today, this lamentation is laminated.
It's stiff and the corners cut.
The marker's marks erase
and nothing seems to change it (lamentably).
And yet tomorrow, which is now today,
everything is different, everything has changed.
The inflexible, non-biodegradable, twinky-preservative-esque plastic
has melted away like the candy paper wrappings on Chinese candy.
Hope is very easy in retrospect.
It's stiff and the corners cut.
The marker's marks erase
and nothing seems to change it (lamentably).
And yet tomorrow, which is now today,
everything is different, everything has changed.
The inflexible, non-biodegradable, twinky-preservative-esque plastic
has melted away like the candy paper wrappings on Chinese candy.
Hope is very easy in retrospect.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Work Hard with a Vengeance
This summer I am interning with the consulting company ZS Associates in their San Mateo office. My fellow San Mateo interns are Berkeley students who are on the semester system. Thus, they finished school in mid-May and went through training/started work two weeks ago. The LA office has interns from UCLA who have the same school calendar as Stanford. After flying to SF from Chile on Monday, I flew from San Jose to LA to do training with the other interns.
Like Miss Miley, I hopped off the plane at LAX (yes, I was even wearing a cardigan but unfortunately not rockin' my cowboy kicks). Instead of thinking about Brittany and JZ, I wrote the following during the cab ride:
“I feel like John McClane when he lands in LAX in Die Hard. He knows where he needs to go, but he knows little about what to expect when he arrives—hopefully my first day of work will not be quite as exciting has John’s Christmas party. I think that’s a safe bet because my taxi driver is not nearly as cool as Argyle. Since I don’t think I’ll have the opportunity to “take off [my] shoes and socks [and] then walk around on the rug barefoot and make fists with [my] toes,” I decided to instead put a 1988 penny in my shoe to relax and for good luck.”
Shortly after writing that piece, we pull up to the Fox Plaza where ZS Associate’s LA office is located. For those of you who don’t know, Fox Plaza is the same building as Die Hard’s Nakatomi Tower! Yep. I know. And get this, training was on the top floor!
Like Miss Miley, I hopped off the plane at LAX (yes, I was even wearing a cardigan but unfortunately not rockin' my cowboy kicks). Instead of thinking about Brittany and JZ, I wrote the following during the cab ride:
“I feel like John McClane when he lands in LAX in Die Hard. He knows where he needs to go, but he knows little about what to expect when he arrives—hopefully my first day of work will not be quite as exciting has John’s Christmas party. I think that’s a safe bet because my taxi driver is not nearly as cool as Argyle. Since I don’t think I’ll have the opportunity to “take off [my] shoes and socks [and] then walk around on the rug barefoot and make fists with [my] toes,” I decided to instead put a 1988 penny in my shoe to relax and for good luck.”
Shortly after writing that piece, we pull up to the Fox Plaza where ZS Associate’s LA office is located. For those of you who don’t know, Fox Plaza is the same building as Die Hard’s Nakatomi Tower! Yep. I know. And get this, training was on the top floor!
Friday, June 11, 2010
Cymbalism
ClashA distinct timbre
that warns like "timber"
A decision
or a lesson
that resonates
and reverberates
Clash
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Growing up is an odd thing
I've never been much of a reader of junk books. Garbage like Babysitters' Club, Twilight, and Gossip Girl have never held my attention nor been of much interest to me. Rather, my zone-out-over-Christmas-or-summer-break books have always fallen in the Amy Tan/Secret Life of Bees category. They're easy reads yet they have more than one layer to sift through and I don't feel my brain rotting away while I flip through the pages.
One such book, which I'd argue is of a slightly lower caliber than Ms. Tan's books, is Love Walked in by Marisa De Los Santos (a Delawart). This book is the prequel to the book Belong to Me, which I read after my mom. She bought the book because the cover featured several sets of rainboots lined up in a row and we're total suckers for that kind of advertising!
Anyway, in that book the protagonist makes a comment about how French women always look put together. She specificially says that they can quickly tie a silk scarf around their neck and it falls in that perfect-you-could-never-achieve-this-flawlessly-careless-look-in-a-million-years kind of way. Well, this afternoon, while walking back from the Stanford center, I bought a silk(ish) scarf and I am going to try to achieve that look.
For those of you who don't know, this is a big step for me. Let me give you a bit of history:
For the majority of high school, I sported jeans, a T-shirt, and a sweatshirt, which apparently aren't couture or high fashion. When I went to Tahoe over Christmas break junior year of high school, my sister and best friend Jaclyn raided my closet, removed everything they dubbed "unacceptable," and then made a chart of everything I could and could not wear together a la Granimals. While I did not appreciate this blatant display of paternalism and disrespect for private property, I did appreciate the helpful/interventionist sentiment behind it. It's funny because come junior year of high school, my little sister Emma confessed that she now understood why I wore jeans, a sweatshirt, and T-shirt everyday--junior year is crazy busy and sometimes there's just not time to focus on fashion details.
Now, beginning senior year of high school and freshman year of college, I tried to start wearing scarves. No, not tiny silk scarves around my neck. I simply tried to wear normal scarves. However, while trying to wear these fashion accessories, I faced a problem. This adjustment process felt exactly like when I first started to wear a bra. That is, when I first started wearing a bra, all I could think was "oh my god, oh my god, I'm wearing a bra." And I felt that way until my older friend Lauren told me to try sleeping in it to grow accusotmed, which actually worked. So, my initial attempts at wearing a scarf were highly distracting because all I could think was "oh my god, oh my god, I'm wearing a scarf! I wonder if it's falling properly? I wonder if everybody thinks it's weird that I'm putting extra effort in today? Should I try to make the scarf perfectly symmetric or should I go for casual asymmetry?" Basically, wearing a scarf was too stressful, so I abandoned it.
Then, something miraculous happened! I went to London/Paris over spring break last year and it was cold. I brought a scarf and needed to wear it. With the help of Jaclyn and Laurel, I learned how to wrap/tie it so it looked nice but not too planned and, with a bit of practice, I became accustomed to scarving it up. All junior year, I have sported scarves left and right with hardly a second thought. Now, the scarves I've worn have primarily been for utilitiarian purposes of warmth. However, I am now feeling confident enough to try the purely-for-show scarf. We'll see how it goes--wish me luck!
One such book, which I'd argue is of a slightly lower caliber than Ms. Tan's books, is Love Walked in by Marisa De Los Santos (a Delawart). This book is the prequel to the book Belong to Me, which I read after my mom. She bought the book because the cover featured several sets of rainboots lined up in a row and we're total suckers for that kind of advertising!
Anyway, in that book the protagonist makes a comment about how French women always look put together. She specificially says that they can quickly tie a silk scarf around their neck and it falls in that perfect-you-could-never-achieve-this-flawlessly-careless-look-in-a-million-years kind of way. Well, this afternoon, while walking back from the Stanford center, I bought a silk(ish) scarf and I am going to try to achieve that look.
For those of you who don't know, this is a big step for me. Let me give you a bit of history:
For the majority of high school, I sported jeans, a T-shirt, and a sweatshirt, which apparently aren't couture or high fashion. When I went to Tahoe over Christmas break junior year of high school, my sister and best friend Jaclyn raided my closet, removed everything they dubbed "unacceptable," and then made a chart of everything I could and could not wear together a la Granimals. While I did not appreciate this blatant display of paternalism and disrespect for private property, I did appreciate the helpful/interventionist sentiment behind it. It's funny because come junior year of high school, my little sister Emma confessed that she now understood why I wore jeans, a sweatshirt, and T-shirt everyday--junior year is crazy busy and sometimes there's just not time to focus on fashion details.
Now, beginning senior year of high school and freshman year of college, I tried to start wearing scarves. No, not tiny silk scarves around my neck. I simply tried to wear normal scarves. However, while trying to wear these fashion accessories, I faced a problem. This adjustment process felt exactly like when I first started to wear a bra. That is, when I first started wearing a bra, all I could think was "oh my god, oh my god, I'm wearing a bra." And I felt that way until my older friend Lauren told me to try sleeping in it to grow accusotmed, which actually worked. So, my initial attempts at wearing a scarf were highly distracting because all I could think was "oh my god, oh my god, I'm wearing a scarf! I wonder if it's falling properly? I wonder if everybody thinks it's weird that I'm putting extra effort in today? Should I try to make the scarf perfectly symmetric or should I go for casual asymmetry?" Basically, wearing a scarf was too stressful, so I abandoned it.
Then, something miraculous happened! I went to London/Paris over spring break last year and it was cold. I brought a scarf and needed to wear it. With the help of Jaclyn and Laurel, I learned how to wrap/tie it so it looked nice but not too planned and, with a bit of practice, I became accustomed to scarving it up. All junior year, I have sported scarves left and right with hardly a second thought. Now, the scarves I've worn have primarily been for utilitiarian purposes of warmth. However, I am now feeling confident enough to try the purely-for-show scarf. We'll see how it goes--wish me luck!
Ode to my Pink Umbrella
Ode to my pink umbrella
meant to shelter me from storms
meant to keep my body dry
that my body might stay warm
Ode to my pink umbrella
carried in pocket or purse
small, compact, transportable
useful when weather turns worse
Ode to my pink umbrella
I´m sorry for having left
you on the floor of the cab
by means of Anne-on-Anne theft
Ode to my pink umbrella
I hope you are not alone
I hope you´ve been adopted,
used and loved in your new home
meant to shelter me from storms
meant to keep my body dry
that my body might stay warm
Ode to my pink umbrella
carried in pocket or purse
small, compact, transportable
useful when weather turns worse
Ode to my pink umbrella
I´m sorry for having left
you on the floor of the cab
by means of Anne-on-Anne theft
Ode to my pink umbrella
I hope you are not alone
I hope you´ve been adopted,
used and loved in your new home
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Asados Pasados
In the opening scene of the movie (not book) Gone with the Wind, Mammy helps Miss Scarlet prepare for the picnic at the Wilke´s house. With the use of a corset, Mammy helps Scarlet achieve her desired tiny waist and tries to convince her to eat a bit before the party because no boy wants to see a girl stuffing her face. Scarlet reluctantly takes two bites to appease Mammy.
This scene has come to mind each time I have attended a barbeque (asado) here in Chile as I always wish I had taken Mammy´s advice to have eaten a bit before hand. No, this is not because I am afraid of eating in front of boys. Rather, it is because each asado has plenty of food but that food is usually served at least one hour after we were told it would be. And if I don´t eat, I get a bit grumpy/snarky.
The first asado I attended was at a hostel in Pucon called el refugio (this name keeps occurring throughout my Chilean adventures). The hostel director invited my three friends (Lauren, Jason, and Zach) and I to join him and the other guests for an asado and we eagerly accepted the invitation to enjoy a hearty meal of steak, fish, salad, and beer and wine. That day was a particularly active one as Jason, Zach and I had spent the afternoon river rafting. Lauren chose to forego this event in favor of being productive and not getting her hair wet. Rafting was awesome and at one point in time we had to get out of the boat and jump from a cliff into the water. For those of you who don´t know, I do NOT do things like that (27 waterfalls anyone?). Thus, throwing myself off of the precipice into the freezing water was quite a feat. Apparently while I was contemplating how I could climb down rather than jump, the guide was behind me making pretend kicking/pushing threats.
When we returned to the hostel, the idea of the warm Franklin stove, good food, and a nice evening with my friends and Negra was increasingly appealing. Negra is the hostel´s dog. I used to say that I do not like dogs. Now I say, ¨I don´t like dogs, but I love Negra.¨ She is sweet and social and I might go back to Pucon just to kidnap her. But I digress. We had been expecting to eat at about 8PM, which was feeling late on its own merit. However, I think Peter did not even leave for the store to purchase asado materials until about 7:30. To pass the time and cover our hunger, we began to play some cards. We played 13 (also called killer) and hearts. We were all pretty grumpy and one person in our group, who shall remain nameless, is used to winning. However, said person was not winning and I believe humorless death threats were made. Hehe.
We finally ate at 9:00ish and I am almost willing to say that the feast was worth the wait. If the food wasn´t worth the wait, the company certainly was. This was the first weekend that I stayed in a hostel with only a few Stanford students rather than the huge crowd. This was particularly wonderful because we were able to make friends with the other guests and more easily share travel stories and tips. Honestly, I´d be fine remaining in the smaller group all of the time.
The second asado I attended was at the la Universidad Catolica, one of the premier Chilean universities. One Stanford student studied in Chile winter quarter and he decided to stay on an extra quarter, enabling him to take classes at Catolica (he´ll be here until July). Thus, he arranged for us to get together with some of his engineering friends. As I have mentioned in previous posts, it´s been pretty difficult to meet/get to know Chileans and so we were all particularly excited for this Thursday night barbeque. Yet again, it was pretty late by the time we ate and when I´m hungry my ability to speak/listen to any language (especially a foreign one) diminishes in a non-linear fashion. I was also a bit off because on the metro ride to Catolica, my purse got slashed. Fortunately all of my purse possessions were in inside pockets and so I didn´t lose anything. I was really upset though because 1. I really like that bag (now I´ve had to pin it shut and I look like a freaking hipster) 2. I was clutching the bag close to my body, which means the knife was close to me and 3. I hate the destruction of others´ property/theft and I believe very firmly that property rights are necessary (but not sufficient) for a stable community and world. I believe that even little acts like that are reflections of larger corruption and corruption is problematic because it inhibits goodness and improvement. I hate that one person´s success make one a target. Thus, I was a deeply peeved in addition to being hungry. Just as at the first asado, there was plenty of food--some boys had two hamburgers and two choripans (sausage in a bun). Yet again, I wished I had taken Mammy´s advice and had eaten a bit before leaving so I could have better engaged our hosts and potential friends.
The third asado I attended was last Friday and it was quite possibly my favorite evening here in Chile. Earlier in the day we had a day trip to Isla Negra where Pablo Neruda (one of Chile´s most famous poets) had is favorite house. Contrary to the name, Isla Negra is not an island. Rather, it is a coastal town much like Monterrey and there are huge black rocks that stick out of the water. Neruda thought these rocks looked like little black islands, hence ¨isla negra.¨ I was not expecting much from this little day trip, but I was quite impressed. First of all, Monterrey/Asilomar are my favorite beaches in the world. I´ve been to Hawaii, the Cook Islands, and the most pristine beaches of the Dominican Republic and yet Monterrey remains my favorite. Simply going to this beach and having the opportunity to climb over the rocks and watch the sapphire blue water crash would have made the day more than satisfying. However we also went on a tour of Neruda´s house, which is more like a peculiar natural history museum or a personal Smithsonian than a regular house. Shortly after being torn from the beach and the tour, we loaded onto the bus for our late lunch. Our 3PM meal consisted of the largest empanada I´ve ever had, two glasses of fresh cantaloupe juice, and pastel del choclo (which is essentially a corn-based pot pie with onion, chicken, ground beef, egg, and olive). We ate in a large building with a dirt floor and a thatched roof and faded Chilean flags. While others were still chatting and eating, I spotted a hammock hanging in the corner and I made good use of it (I´m so looking forward to the hammock at home after a late summer evening BBQ). Our lunch was so filling that it more than met Mammy´s recommendation and I was not hungry at all for dinner.
This third asado occurred in the hills outside Santiago at the house of one of the professors who teaches at Catolica. Apparently he hosts large get-togethers every few weeks and this time he invited us because he is friends with the Stanford visiting professor. He also invited many Catolica students, several of whom were familiar from the previous asado. Since we had all had a relaxing and filling (both on soul and food based level) day, we were eager to meet and chat with real Chileans (WOAH! Real Chileans!?!?). This evening was definitely one of my favorite and we are all hoping that, with enough thank you letters, our more-than-generous host might feel inspired to invite us again. Nonetheless, many of us have already or have plans to spend more time with our Catolica friends and some even have plans to do a volunteer trip to help build houses next weekend—I´m 90 percent certain I am going to join!
This scene has come to mind each time I have attended a barbeque (asado) here in Chile as I always wish I had taken Mammy´s advice to have eaten a bit before hand. No, this is not because I am afraid of eating in front of boys. Rather, it is because each asado has plenty of food but that food is usually served at least one hour after we were told it would be. And if I don´t eat, I get a bit grumpy/snarky.
The first asado I attended was at a hostel in Pucon called el refugio (this name keeps occurring throughout my Chilean adventures). The hostel director invited my three friends (Lauren, Jason, and Zach) and I to join him and the other guests for an asado and we eagerly accepted the invitation to enjoy a hearty meal of steak, fish, salad, and beer and wine. That day was a particularly active one as Jason, Zach and I had spent the afternoon river rafting. Lauren chose to forego this event in favor of being productive and not getting her hair wet. Rafting was awesome and at one point in time we had to get out of the boat and jump from a cliff into the water. For those of you who don´t know, I do NOT do things like that (27 waterfalls anyone?). Thus, throwing myself off of the precipice into the freezing water was quite a feat. Apparently while I was contemplating how I could climb down rather than jump, the guide was behind me making pretend kicking/pushing threats.
When we returned to the hostel, the idea of the warm Franklin stove, good food, and a nice evening with my friends and Negra was increasingly appealing. Negra is the hostel´s dog. I used to say that I do not like dogs. Now I say, ¨I don´t like dogs, but I love Negra.¨ She is sweet and social and I might go back to Pucon just to kidnap her. But I digress. We had been expecting to eat at about 8PM, which was feeling late on its own merit. However, I think Peter did not even leave for the store to purchase asado materials until about 7:30. To pass the time and cover our hunger, we began to play some cards. We played 13 (also called killer) and hearts. We were all pretty grumpy and one person in our group, who shall remain nameless, is used to winning. However, said person was not winning and I believe humorless death threats were made. Hehe.
We finally ate at 9:00ish and I am almost willing to say that the feast was worth the wait. If the food wasn´t worth the wait, the company certainly was. This was the first weekend that I stayed in a hostel with only a few Stanford students rather than the huge crowd. This was particularly wonderful because we were able to make friends with the other guests and more easily share travel stories and tips. Honestly, I´d be fine remaining in the smaller group all of the time.
The second asado I attended was at the la Universidad Catolica, one of the premier Chilean universities. One Stanford student studied in Chile winter quarter and he decided to stay on an extra quarter, enabling him to take classes at Catolica (he´ll be here until July). Thus, he arranged for us to get together with some of his engineering friends. As I have mentioned in previous posts, it´s been pretty difficult to meet/get to know Chileans and so we were all particularly excited for this Thursday night barbeque. Yet again, it was pretty late by the time we ate and when I´m hungry my ability to speak/listen to any language (especially a foreign one) diminishes in a non-linear fashion. I was also a bit off because on the metro ride to Catolica, my purse got slashed. Fortunately all of my purse possessions were in inside pockets and so I didn´t lose anything. I was really upset though because 1. I really like that bag (now I´ve had to pin it shut and I look like a freaking hipster) 2. I was clutching the bag close to my body, which means the knife was close to me and 3. I hate the destruction of others´ property/theft and I believe very firmly that property rights are necessary (but not sufficient) for a stable community and world. I believe that even little acts like that are reflections of larger corruption and corruption is problematic because it inhibits goodness and improvement. I hate that one person´s success make one a target. Thus, I was a deeply peeved in addition to being hungry. Just as at the first asado, there was plenty of food--some boys had two hamburgers and two choripans (sausage in a bun). Yet again, I wished I had taken Mammy´s advice and had eaten a bit before leaving so I could have better engaged our hosts and potential friends.
The third asado I attended was last Friday and it was quite possibly my favorite evening here in Chile. Earlier in the day we had a day trip to Isla Negra where Pablo Neruda (one of Chile´s most famous poets) had is favorite house. Contrary to the name, Isla Negra is not an island. Rather, it is a coastal town much like Monterrey and there are huge black rocks that stick out of the water. Neruda thought these rocks looked like little black islands, hence ¨isla negra.¨ I was not expecting much from this little day trip, but I was quite impressed. First of all, Monterrey/Asilomar are my favorite beaches in the world. I´ve been to Hawaii, the Cook Islands, and the most pristine beaches of the Dominican Republic and yet Monterrey remains my favorite. Simply going to this beach and having the opportunity to climb over the rocks and watch the sapphire blue water crash would have made the day more than satisfying. However we also went on a tour of Neruda´s house, which is more like a peculiar natural history museum or a personal Smithsonian than a regular house. Shortly after being torn from the beach and the tour, we loaded onto the bus for our late lunch. Our 3PM meal consisted of the largest empanada I´ve ever had, two glasses of fresh cantaloupe juice, and pastel del choclo (which is essentially a corn-based pot pie with onion, chicken, ground beef, egg, and olive). We ate in a large building with a dirt floor and a thatched roof and faded Chilean flags. While others were still chatting and eating, I spotted a hammock hanging in the corner and I made good use of it (I´m so looking forward to the hammock at home after a late summer evening BBQ). Our lunch was so filling that it more than met Mammy´s recommendation and I was not hungry at all for dinner.
This third asado occurred in the hills outside Santiago at the house of one of the professors who teaches at Catolica. Apparently he hosts large get-togethers every few weeks and this time he invited us because he is friends with the Stanford visiting professor. He also invited many Catolica students, several of whom were familiar from the previous asado. Since we had all had a relaxing and filling (both on soul and food based level) day, we were eager to meet and chat with real Chileans (WOAH! Real Chileans!?!?). This evening was definitely one of my favorite and we are all hoping that, with enough thank you letters, our more-than-generous host might feel inspired to invite us again. Nonetheless, many of us have already or have plans to spend more time with our Catolica friends and some even have plans to do a volunteer trip to help build houses next weekend—I´m 90 percent certain I am going to join!
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Buenos...
This last summer, I did interview-based microfinance research and almost every time I would ask a thought-provoking question, the interviewee would start her answer with “Bue-no…”
Anyway (no “s”), I spent the last weekend in Buenos Aires, Argentina and Montevideo, Uruguay. As I mentioned in an earlier post, we do not have Friday classes, meaning every weekend is automatically a three-day weekend. Well, this past weekend had a Monday holiday, meaning we had a four-day weekend (my life is so difficult here). As soon as I realized that the first weekend of May would be an extra long weekend, I earmarked it for Buenos Aires. My older brother and his wife are avid travelers. Before they met, they’d each traveled about Europe, etc. Since dating and marriage, they have taken on the world—even taking a one-year break dedicated to world travel. After they returned from this vacation (?), they told me that Buenos Aires was quite possibly their favorite city in the world. While Eric and Mariah certainly have the travel bug and often itch to venture to new places, I do not, in general, feel this impulse on such an instinctual level. The two places I have felt this type of urge to see are Buenos Aires and a place in China that Amy Tan describes in Joy Luck Club. I’ll have to re-read Joy Luck to remember the name of that place, but she described a placid and crystal-clear lake that had giant rocks sticking out of the water that look like giant fish leaping to catch a mosquito. And, ever since Eric and Mariah (muffin and muffin) told me about Buenos, I’ve yearned to visit it. It’s not that I don’t want to visit and explore other places; it’s just that I don’t feel a deep yearning to do so.
One might ask: Anne, if you felt this unbearable need to visit Buenos Aires, then why would you waste some of your long weekend in Uruguay!?! Well, the answer is fairly economic. If you fly into Buenos Aires from Santiago directly, you can only stop at the main Buenos airport. In the main Buenos airport, you must pay a reciprocity fee of $131. However, if you stop in Uruguay first, you can fly into a more minor airport in Argentina and thus avoid this nasty tax. Thus, at the dark hour of 4:00 AM, I woke up, showered, and trekked to Manuel Montt where a large group of us met to take a shuttle to the airport to fly to Montevideo for one day before heading on to Buenos Aires. The flight to Montevideo took about two hours and I was able to read, sleep, and chat a bit.
In Santiago, the weather has changed such that it very much feels like late fall/early winter. I wear long pants, boots, long sleeve shirts, scarves, and jackets. The weather in Montevideo was much more pleasant. I sported a dress and flip-flops and even had to put my hair up for a bit because it was a tad toasty. This change of weather was well welcomed and I’m beginning to grow excited for California’s summer. We spent one day and one night in Montevideo. And as soon as we had checked into the hostel, organized our belongings, and took out a few Uruguayan pesos, we set out for our day. Most of our group of six was hungry and so we settled upon a restaurant in a park that was bustling with people, full of flowers, and complete with fountain. On Tuesday of that same week, I had begun to feel a bit ill and, when I woke up for class on Wednesday, I felt atrocious. I somehow managed to take my morning shower but as soon as I put on my clothes, I realized that attempting to go to class was utterly futile. I was weak, exhausted, and had an unstable-at-best stomach. Unfortunately, that Wednesday was also the morning of my Spanish midterm and I had studied and was ready to take it and do well. I have never missed a test in my life but that morning I did not even care if the teacher would or would not let me make it up. I called the program director who talked with the Spanish professor who told me that we could reschedule for next week. I then slept the rest of the day and ate nothing but a few saltine crackers and a mug of tea. Thus, on Friday even when everybody else in our group was quite hungry by the time we ate in Montevideo, my stomach was still a sensitive and I did not have much of an appetite.
After finishing up our lunch—one boy, Kenan, had a steak that was bigger than my head—we decided that we would like to spend the day walking along the water. I say “water” because it is unclear whether it was a river or an ocean. My main group of four often gets into little debates and spats that last a few minutes and pass as a distant memory. However, our “river or ocean” disagreement was by far the most contentious and long lasting of all our disagreements. Our group was evenly divided (Zach and I against Lauren and Jason) and each side was equally fervent in our convictions. The water flowed like a river, but there was not a visible side to the river. The map called it a river, but the tidepools had saltwater animals living in them. The water was brown like a river, but the coast looked a lot like the Caribbean coast in the Dominican Republic. Etc. etc. etc. After several days of bickering and arguing we learned several things. 1. Montevideo is on an estuary (where a river and ocean meet) and 2. The river that runs into the ocean is, in fact, the widest river in the world. It is comforting to know that our most vehement fight had merit on both sides and that, in truth, we were both half wrong and half right. Yeah, yeah, yeah I hate games where everybody wins, but still at least one side wasn’t stubborn AND completely off base.
Our day of walking along the water was lovely. There was a sidewalk that ran along the coast and along the way there were people fishing, sitting and chatting, and enjoying mate. Mate is loose leaf, highly caffeinated, and bitter tea. The way it works is a person has mate cup, usually wooden, and it is filled with mate leaves. You then add water to the leaves and drink the tea through a special straw that filters out (most of) the leaves. Then, since the tea is so strong, after you finish the tea, you just add more water and you do this on repeat until the leaves loose their flavor and strength or until you’re bored. Apparently drinking from second day mate is a recipe for disaster and you’ll surely become sick. Anyway, we saw dozens upon dozens of people sitting or walking around town/the coast with their cup and straw and thermos full of hot water.
I fell in love with the idea of mate. I was swept up in the romance of people’s killing a whole day just chatting and sharing this tea that you drink with a special, silver straw. I was determined to try mate and then purchase all of the accessories so that I could enjoy the quintessential Uruguayan/Argentinean cultural experience whenever I wanted. I’ll have a 50-minute commute this summer and I had imagined myself driving to work while listening to my book-on-tape with my mate in my cup holder. In Argentina I finally had the chance to try mate and, try as I might, I could not like it. It was too bitter and woody. Even after sweetening it with sugar, I could not stand the taste. In Steinbeck’s East of Eden, he writes (paraphrased) that it is as if the gods have fallen when children first realize their parents are not perfect. While the fallibility of my parents has never been a personal stumbling block, the tea gods lost a good deal of their power when I discovered my distaste for mate. Ultimately, I decided that I appreciate the cultural role that mate plays, but the flavor was enough of a deterrent to keep me from purchasing any mate paraphernalia. I guess I’ll be sipping my homemade café au laits on the way to work this summer.
After walking along the coast for a little over an hour, we came upon a nice grassy spot. Several people wanted to take a nap but I had spotted a pier and decided I would rather explore that area then sleep. One other intrepid traveler, Zach, went with me and we climbed over some rocks as we made our way to the pier. Once on the pier we decided to walk to the very edge and sit with our feet dangling. Literally seconds after Zach expressed concern that we might get splashed, a wave hit a rock beneath us, drenching Zach and sprinkling me. Being the good friend that I am, I let him use my sweater to dry off a bit. It was particularly funny because he had been the one who was most concerned about getting wet and most disturbed by the quality (or lack thereof) of the water. I guess karma exist because while walking back down the pier, I put my hand in some gross brown thing on one of the beams.
We then ambled back to the group and together ventured back to the hostel. We met up with the rest of the big, big group and went out to dinner. As I mentioned in a prior post, there is not much that is efficient about a large group of people. However, I was ultimately quite happy with where we settled for dinner. I had sausage and bread was seated such that I could see into a tango club. It was called Tango Joven, which could be interpreted two ways 1. Young tango or 2. I am young. There were only older couples in the club so I suppose the idea is that you are never too old to learn how to dance and/or that dancing keeps you young. I believe both. There are few things I openly proselytize, but dance in one of those things. I believe it is good for your body and your soul and there are many important life lessons that apply to dance and visa versa. Between mate and old couples dancing tango, my romantic senses were thoroughly peaked in Uruguay.
Since we were only in Montevideo for one night and since it was Jessie’s 21st, many people wanted to go out in full force. I, however, was exhausted from the early morning, still coming off of being sick, and eager to make sure I could “go out in full force” while in Buenos Aires. Thus, I ended up crashing at about midnight. I rose before the rest of the group, was one of the few to have a piping hot shower, and enjoyed the breakfast spread of fruit, cereal, and coffee before we left for the airport.
Now, as I had mentioned, I had been itching to go to Buenos Aires and I had three goals for that trip: 1. Eat lots and lots of steak. 2. Try mate, love it, and bring it home. 3. Watch and/or dance lots of tango. The first I fulfilled several times over. Eric and Mariah had tempted me with fairy tales of steak and wine dinners for less than $10 USD and those fairy tales turned into a very sweet (and savory) reality. I fulfilled the first part of goal number two but, as I said earlier, parts two and three did not really materialize. Little did I know that brief glimpses of tango that I caught in Uruguay would be the only tango I watched during that weekend. I could very much go back to Buenos because I would be happy to eat more food and would like to actually experience Argentine Tango.
However, in not seeing any tango, I learned a good lesson about myself. On Sunday night, we were walking to check out three different tango places, all of which were closed because we got too late a start. While our group of four was talking, somebody made a quip about needing to have made better plans. I felt personally insulted and not supported in these efforts because people had been napping and had not really helped with tango research while we were discussing what to do earlier. Thus, I stepped aside, walked around in a couple of circles, and took a few deep breaths. When I returned to the group, they all looked at me a bit weird and asked what was wrong. I just said I needed to cool down a bit and that I was good now. However, they did not let me get away with that. They told me it was important for me to tell them what was bugging me and for me to be open. That comment hit me like a 2x4 to the head. I realized that I am not very good at expressing my desires or frustrations. Instead, I try to persuade my friends through other forces so that they realize what I want them to realize. What I realized in that moment is sometimes my wanting to do something can be enough of a reason for my friends. Of course, the same is true for me with respect to them--not all of the time and certainly not with everything, but sometimes it’s ok just to do something to make another person happy and sometimes I get to be the recipient of that happiness.
Other tid bits from Buenos:
My favorite ice cream in the whole world is chocolate malted crunch. In Buenos I tried vanilla, caramel with chololate-covered malted crunch balls…and that was awesome.
I also went to a club on Saturday night and requested a song. The DJ played my request almost immediately and I felt rather triumphant.
The stop lights go from green to yellow to red and then from red to yellow to green. I have always thought that it would be so much more convenient if there were a color in between the red and the green.
The widest street in the world is in in Buenos Aires and you basically would have to run to make it all the way across with one cross light. Lauren tried speed walking and just barely did not make it. In one weekend we saw the widest river and widest street in the world. Pretty damn epic if you ask me.
In addition to debates and story swapping, our group of four likes to play various word games while traveling. This trip we developed a new one. It’s called trivia question. Basically, one person asks a trivia question, if you get it right, you get a point and you have to ask the next one. Just so y’all know. I’m currently in the lead with 15!
Some of our questions:
-Where is Coca-Cola headquartered?
-What does “L” represent in Roman numerals?
-What country are we in? (no, Lauren, the answer is not Chile)
-a teeter-totter physics/balance problem
-What is Dr. Seuss’s real name? What fraternity was Dr. Seuss in?
-What famous author navigated the Mississippi?
-What was the first country in South America to have a railroad?
Sorry, this post kind of drops off, but I’m not really sure how to tie it up properly
So *Insert beautiful conclusion here*
Thursday, April 22, 2010
The Pisco Standard
In Steinbeck´s Cannery Row, Mac and the boys embark on a quest for frogs because Doc, who works as a marine biologist and Hopkins Marine Center in Monterrey, has promised them 5 cents for each frog they bring back. After the sun sets, Mac and they boys begin their frog Easter egg hunt. As they fill their sacks with more and more frogs, they make plans for how they will spend their earnings. Their economy takes on a frog standard as they express items´ value in terms of frogs. A cold beer might be x frogs and feast for a dinner is worth y frogs.
Similarly, my friends and I are slowly developing a pisco sour economy. If I walk to, from, and to the Stanford center instead of taking the metro and bus, I´ve saved the equivalent of a pisco. Jason agreed to edit Zach´s Spanish paper for one pisco sour, however, I expect that service to increase in price as the quarter progresses. One night at the hostel where I stayed in Pucon (an outdoor wonderland) was worth four piscos each night—a pretty good deal actually. When Lauren repelled down the waterfall using Aussie style (accidental or not), she earned herself a pisco—though I personally think that should have been worth two.
Bribes, bets, and pisco payments. I like this market and hope it continues to thrive.
Similarly, my friends and I are slowly developing a pisco sour economy. If I walk to, from, and to the Stanford center instead of taking the metro and bus, I´ve saved the equivalent of a pisco. Jason agreed to edit Zach´s Spanish paper for one pisco sour, however, I expect that service to increase in price as the quarter progresses. One night at the hostel where I stayed in Pucon (an outdoor wonderland) was worth four piscos each night—a pretty good deal actually. When Lauren repelled down the waterfall using Aussie style (accidental or not), she earned herself a pisco—though I personally think that should have been worth two.
Bribes, bets, and pisco payments. I like this market and hope it continues to thrive.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
The problem with a kitten is that eventually it becomes a cat—Ogden Nash
Forget da Vinci, DiCaprio, and Ninja Turtles, Leonardo is a cat. In fact, Leonardo is the three-month-old quirky kitten that lives with me. He is the only man in the house and he watches over us four women. Lauren and I are frequently greeted by Leo’s majesty as we enter our fifth-floor apartment home—he’ll often sit upright and attentive as he waits for us at the front door.
Now, I don’t want you to think that Leonardo is some flawless knight in furry armor. Au contraire, he is feisty, mischievous, and sometimes downright obnoxious. When one enters the country of Chile, one pays a reciprocity fee, obtains a passport stamp, and receives a ninety-day tourist visa which one must maintain on one’s person at all times. While moving in, Lauren had her tiny, yellow tourist visa among a collection of other papers. She once saw Leonardo playing with the yellow paper and thought nothing of it. Later that day, she realized that Leo had been playing with a paper that she was 1. Supposed to have with her at all times and 2. Needed in order to exit the country. After turning the room and then the house upside down with my and Cecilia’s assistance, we determined that the paper truly was lost. Fortunately it was free to replace at the police station. However, Leonardo and Lauren’s relationship has been rocky to downright frigid ever since. Lauren is convinced that Leo masked his mal intentions in a guise of kitten playfulness—perhaps he really is a ninja.
Not only does Leonardo hide his true intentions, but he is an excellent hider and he waits ever so patiently. He continually catches me off guard. Three times now, I have been in a bit of a rush and pulled my suitcase out from under my bed to grab something out of it only to be greeted by an outstretched paw and tiny, but razor sharp claws, of none other than Leonardo. One of his favorite spots to plot and sleep is the in hammock-esque cloth of my suitcase.
In addition to his ninjutsu skillz, Leonardo is an attention whore. He likes to be fawned over and admired. He likes to be pet and adored. He likes to be bathed in warm water with soft soap. If you do not obey Leo’s wishes, you will suffer the wrath of an angry kitten. While this has not (and hopefully will not) manifest itself in the form of territorial spraying, this vexation demonstrates itself in the several ways. The first in the form of loud and persistent meowing. When Lauren and I walk in the door in the wee hours of the morning, it is not our turning the key, opening the door, or quite shuffling to our respective rooms that we fear will awaken Cecilia, Danielle, and Catalina. Rather, it’s Leonardo’s demanding meow that is the most likely disruptive force. Leo is particularly aggressive when Lauren or I are wearing our boots. Perhaps it is the leather, but he meows, pounces, and attacks with admirable, but loud persistence. Additionally, I sleep with my door closed and, I don’t know how, but as soon as I wake up, Leo can sense it and he’ll begin to cry at my door—what a whiney prince. And, when Lauren was taking a shower one evening, he was quite insistent on gaining the attention of a person whom he knew to be awake. He literally threw himself at the door time and again. A few times he reached up with his paws with the clear intentions of turning the knob. Lauren thought it was Cecilia banging at the door (which would so be out of character for Cecilia) and so she sped her showering process a bit. Cecilia has a friend who told me that if she had a cat who meowed as much as Leonardo, she might accidentally toss him out the window.
Another way Leonardo will try to secure attention is by distracting me from my tasks. If I am reading or writing, he will attempt to vanquish the interruption by eating it—several of my books and pens have Leo teeth marks. Apparently the task of sleeping is not even safe from Leonardo’s attempts at love and affection. He will play with my hair, gently bat my face, and climb over me. I have found that lying unnaturally still can sometimes deter him. However, when I really want to sleep I’ll toss him the hallway and close the door. Thank God I’m bigger than he is.
Now, I don’t want you to think that Leonardo is some flawless knight in furry armor. Au contraire, he is feisty, mischievous, and sometimes downright obnoxious. When one enters the country of Chile, one pays a reciprocity fee, obtains a passport stamp, and receives a ninety-day tourist visa which one must maintain on one’s person at all times. While moving in, Lauren had her tiny, yellow tourist visa among a collection of other papers. She once saw Leonardo playing with the yellow paper and thought nothing of it. Later that day, she realized that Leo had been playing with a paper that she was 1. Supposed to have with her at all times and 2. Needed in order to exit the country. After turning the room and then the house upside down with my and Cecilia’s assistance, we determined that the paper truly was lost. Fortunately it was free to replace at the police station. However, Leonardo and Lauren’s relationship has been rocky to downright frigid ever since. Lauren is convinced that Leo masked his mal intentions in a guise of kitten playfulness—perhaps he really is a ninja.
Not only does Leonardo hide his true intentions, but he is an excellent hider and he waits ever so patiently. He continually catches me off guard. Three times now, I have been in a bit of a rush and pulled my suitcase out from under my bed to grab something out of it only to be greeted by an outstretched paw and tiny, but razor sharp claws, of none other than Leonardo. One of his favorite spots to plot and sleep is the in hammock-esque cloth of my suitcase.
In addition to his ninjutsu skillz, Leonardo is an attention whore. He likes to be fawned over and admired. He likes to be pet and adored. He likes to be bathed in warm water with soft soap. If you do not obey Leo’s wishes, you will suffer the wrath of an angry kitten. While this has not (and hopefully will not) manifest itself in the form of territorial spraying, this vexation demonstrates itself in the several ways. The first in the form of loud and persistent meowing. When Lauren and I walk in the door in the wee hours of the morning, it is not our turning the key, opening the door, or quite shuffling to our respective rooms that we fear will awaken Cecilia, Danielle, and Catalina. Rather, it’s Leonardo’s demanding meow that is the most likely disruptive force. Leo is particularly aggressive when Lauren or I are wearing our boots. Perhaps it is the leather, but he meows, pounces, and attacks with admirable, but loud persistence. Additionally, I sleep with my door closed and, I don’t know how, but as soon as I wake up, Leo can sense it and he’ll begin to cry at my door—what a whiney prince. And, when Lauren was taking a shower one evening, he was quite insistent on gaining the attention of a person whom he knew to be awake. He literally threw himself at the door time and again. A few times he reached up with his paws with the clear intentions of turning the knob. Lauren thought it was Cecilia banging at the door (which would so be out of character for Cecilia) and so she sped her showering process a bit. Cecilia has a friend who told me that if she had a cat who meowed as much as Leonardo, she might accidentally toss him out the window.
Another way Leonardo will try to secure attention is by distracting me from my tasks. If I am reading or writing, he will attempt to vanquish the interruption by eating it—several of my books and pens have Leo teeth marks. Apparently the task of sleeping is not even safe from Leonardo’s attempts at love and affection. He will play with my hair, gently bat my face, and climb over me. I have found that lying unnaturally still can sometimes deter him. However, when I really want to sleep I’ll toss him the hallway and close the door. Thank God I’m bigger than he is.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Authentic Storybook
Upon our evening arrival to Valpariaso, we shuttled in taxis to our hostels. Our group of 19 divided into a large and smaller group, each of which stayed at a different hostel. Ours was called Millennium House or Milhouse for short (there were many Simpsons window paintings throughout the house).
In Chile, lunch is typically around 2PM and dinner is later as well. My homestay family usually eats at about 7:30 but I know of several people who eat at 8:30. Thus, when dinner is actually late, it is quite late indeed. On two separate occasions, I have not eaten until 10 or 11 (not my homestay fam’s doing—these were independent ventures). Let’s just say I’m substantially more pleasant to be around when I am not hungry. Following our 11PM dinner of empendadas de camarones (basically a shrimp calzone), my disposition had lightened significantly.
We then went back to the hostel for drinks. Pisco is a liquor made from distilled grapes and I discussed pisco sours in my first blog post. This night, we shared piscolas (pisco y coca-cola) and played a game that engaged most everyone in our group, which is often hard to do. Post piscolas, we left in search for a club. We found one, but when the bouncer tells the 6’7’’ boy in the group that we don’t actually want to go there, we thought it better to seek another. We settled upon a place called Huevos, which is better known and more reputable, and danced—primarily to reggaetone—until the wee hours of the morning.
I woke up fairly early on Saturday morning and enjoyed the breakfast of toast, yogurt, and tea that the hostel hostess provided. Since few people were awake, we were able to chat and I learned about her passion for painting the ocean and arranging flowers, about how she came to own a hostel, and about where she lived previously. In a large group, it’s often difficult to have these conversations, so I am ultimately quite happy that I woke up early.
Once the majority of our crew had risen, showered, and breakfasted, we herded out of the hostel to explore Valpariaso. The city, which is on a hill that is adjacent to the ocean, is known for its brightly colored houses and elaborate graffiti. Since it is on a hill, navigating can be a bit confusing a times. In some areas, there are steep sidewalk-esque staircases that you can climb to pass to higher streets. Residential Berkeley has these as well and I’ve always been a fan. There are also several trams/elevators that you can pay to use to achieve the same effect. The trams look similar to the one at Shadowbrook in Capitola, California. Shadowbrook if a foofy restaurant on the hill that borders the Soquel River that runs into the Pacific Ocean. To reach the dining area, one might walk down the aesthetic garden path or take the tram that is reminiscent of an AP physics problem: a box slides down a frictionless ramp that has a 35-degree angle. I digress. The point is that we did take the tram up once, but only once. The tram was so rickety that the only thing I could think about as we scaled the hillside was “dear God, I hope there’s not an aftershock because if there is, I’m going to die and I can’t remember if I bought insurance that will cover the repatriation of my remains or not.”
Having survived the treacherous tram (yay alliteration), we had a fantastic view of Valparaiso’s mosaic of different colored houses and the coastline. In fact, we enjoyed that view while we dined in a slightly more upscale restaurant—certainly not street vendor empenadas. For lunch, I had garlic shrimp. They were very garlicy, like garlic fries from bottom of the bin. I personally do not mind strong garlic, but I’m more dubious about how those around me felt.
Unlike US restaurants, water is not complimentary. In addition to swearing and making biting remarks, it also costs money (stupid joke, I know). This is problematic for two reasons. The first is that I will often forego a drink and end up being thirsty. The second is that water costs the same as a soft drink or juice so I am more apt to choose among the latter than to order my usual free/healthier water. However, one loophole we’ve discovered is that pretty much all restaurants give free ice. So, especially at our fancy-schmancy lunch spot, I opted to order one water and added more and more ice to it.
After lunch, five other people and I broke off from the larger group. Traveling in a large pack is stressful and not nearly as enjoyable. I find I count and re-count people more than take in the sites when I am in crowd. Also, we were anxious to get to the beach and it was unclear when the masses would actually make it to the ocean. Whilst broken off, I ran into a young woman I recognized from our hostel and I said “hello.” This girl, also an American, fiercely chastised me and the rest of my group for being too loud too late and for being generally inconsiderate of the others in the hostel. Whether she was rude or not is a moot point; she was completely right. We had been loud and we had been inconsiderate, both of which were inexcusable forms of behaviour. My fellow group mates and I had gotten sucked into our game. It was not that we forgot that there were other people and that it was late. No. Rather, we (or at least I) did not even think about that element. (My mom’s favorite Stanford joke: How many Stanford students does it take to screw in a light bulb? One! She just holds it up and expects the world to revolve around her) I made an apology that I believe landed on deaf ears. However, I also took with me that reprimand and passed along the message. It was a good, though somewhat pathetic, lesson to learn early on in our experience here. Fortunately, the owner of the hostel did not seem peeved at us. I apologized later that afternoon and she commented on our being young and that youth need to be a bit wild. Necessary or not, I’d prefer to do it without being rude and aim to be more thoughtful in the future.
Viña del Mar is slightly north of Valparaiso and is known for beautiful beaches. However, I had another mission in mind with respect to Viña del Mar. A couple years ago, my grandma and grandpa were on a South American cruise and my grandma became very sick and had to disembark and stay in a Chilean hospital for close to two weeks before she was sufficiently stable to transfer to one in the states. During that time, my grandpa stayed in a hotel in Viña del Mar and apparently became good friends with the concierge—a Canadian expat named Andrea. Some of my cousins had visited Viña del Mar and Andrea specifically and she remembered my grandpa. My mission was to find the hotel and Andrea. While I fulfilled the first half of this mission, I failed to make manifest the second, missing Andrea by half an hour. I left a note and contact information and, one week later, have yet to receive a response.
The rest of the afternoon consisted of people watching and playing word games on the beach. We saw one group of boys who were practicing flips and other tricks. Two boys were trying to teach another how to do a back flip. We waited for several minutes but the gymnastic student kept hesitating so we ultimately left. I would bet that he never did the flip. I believe he is fully capable of it, but he kept reaching the brink and backing down. He had thoroughly psyched himself out.
Later that evening, our group met up with the larger group for drinks at a place called Pub Matriz. Pub Matriz is a four-storey house that has been converted into a pub. Each level has its own bar and the walls have been modified such that only the structural wood is in place and you can clearly see from one room into another. We pushed together several of the trapezoidal tables and enjoyed another evening of getting to know one another.
At one point in the evening, we started to play ten fingers. I actually hate this game and chose not to partake. The way the game works is everybody starts with ten fingers and each person shares “never have I ever done X” If you have done X, then you clap and put a finger down. The first person to put all ten fingers down wins(loses? I don’t even know. Hehe). ANYway, I detest this game not because I am afraid of being called out or judging, but because I think it confuses what it means to get to know people. With a fixed form answer, you lose people’s communication styles and personal stories. You substitute away from nuance, depth, and character. I am fine playing ten fingers with my nearer and dearer friends; however, I simply refuse with groups of new people.
What I prefer is to either ask more probing questions or play non-get-to-know-you games. My two favorite questions for right now are: 1. What makes you tick and what ticks you off and 2. (Harry Potter inspired) If a sea of dementors surrounded you and they were about to suck out your soul, what form would your patronus take and what memory would you use to conjure it. Hehe.
The following morning we all gained an extra hour of sleep as it was fall daylight savings (remember, I’m in the southern hemisphere). Daylight savings was scheduled to occur a few weeks prior, but due to the earthquake and repairs, it had been postponed. That Sunday was also Easter Sunday and there was a small group that wanted to find an Easter service. I woke up earlier than everyone else, showered, put on my Easter best (a pastel purple dress of which I am quite fond), and set out to find a service to attend later that day. My friend Spencer accompanied me. We climbed the Berkeley-esque stairs/pathway and passed a family who was watching their three-year-old daughter hunt for Easter eggs. As we curved around the quiet morning streets, we found magnificent views of the ocean and what turned out to be my favorite graffiti in the city: against a brick wall, there were several shadow characters playing various games, which reminded me of my favorite children’s poem “My Shadow” by Robert Louis Stevenson. We ultimately found a church and, several hours later, I led a group of five other people to the service. It was a short service and forty-five minutes later we were out. I was surprised by the fact that there were not many people in the service and that people were dressed rather casually. I have found that people tend to dress rather sharply in Chile and I expected that to influence Easter dress as well.
After church, we headed back to the hostel, hung out for a bit, packed, and left for the bus station. A few others and I decided to grab lunch closer to the bus station because sometimes food can be slow and we figured it would be better to risk slow food closer to our destination. We ordered empenadas to go and some people asked for sodas, which came in glass bottles. After paying and receiving the empenadas we left the restaurant. My friend Zach had yet to finish his ginger ale (can’t blame him as I personally find ginger ale to be rather horrid) and thus he also took his drink to go. After we left the restaurant, the waiter ran out, chased Zach down, and demanded he give back the bottle. I guess they reuse the glass bottles and so it was nor the taking, which is strange to me because he paid for the bottled beverage rather than a fountain drink.
Two of my favorite things to do are to 1. Find perfect words to describe things/situations/people and 2. Determine whose love child someone/something is (for example I had an econ teacher who was the exact mix of my friend Sanna and Bernard the Elf from the Santa Claus). Throughout the entire trip, I had been toying with different words and mixes for Valparaiso. I’d tried Europe-esque and “a cross between Monterrey and Berkeley”; however, none of the words and mixes fit properly. I brought this up at Pub Matriz’s on Saturday night and we discussed various categorizations for the city. My friend Kintu suggested “authentic,” which I liked better than any I had come up with on my own. Nonetheless, “authentic” did not settle completely right. As we drove away on the bus, I decided Valparaiso is a mix of authentic and storybook. I ran it by Kintu and he agreed.
In Chile, lunch is typically around 2PM and dinner is later as well. My homestay family usually eats at about 7:30 but I know of several people who eat at 8:30. Thus, when dinner is actually late, it is quite late indeed. On two separate occasions, I have not eaten until 10 or 11 (not my homestay fam’s doing—these were independent ventures). Let’s just say I’m substantially more pleasant to be around when I am not hungry. Following our 11PM dinner of empendadas de camarones (basically a shrimp calzone), my disposition had lightened significantly.
We then went back to the hostel for drinks. Pisco is a liquor made from distilled grapes and I discussed pisco sours in my first blog post. This night, we shared piscolas (pisco y coca-cola) and played a game that engaged most everyone in our group, which is often hard to do. Post piscolas, we left in search for a club. We found one, but when the bouncer tells the 6’7’’ boy in the group that we don’t actually want to go there, we thought it better to seek another. We settled upon a place called Huevos, which is better known and more reputable, and danced—primarily to reggaetone—until the wee hours of the morning.
I woke up fairly early on Saturday morning and enjoyed the breakfast of toast, yogurt, and tea that the hostel hostess provided. Since few people were awake, we were able to chat and I learned about her passion for painting the ocean and arranging flowers, about how she came to own a hostel, and about where she lived previously. In a large group, it’s often difficult to have these conversations, so I am ultimately quite happy that I woke up early.
Once the majority of our crew had risen, showered, and breakfasted, we herded out of the hostel to explore Valpariaso. The city, which is on a hill that is adjacent to the ocean, is known for its brightly colored houses and elaborate graffiti. Since it is on a hill, navigating can be a bit confusing a times. In some areas, there are steep sidewalk-esque staircases that you can climb to pass to higher streets. Residential Berkeley has these as well and I’ve always been a fan. There are also several trams/elevators that you can pay to use to achieve the same effect. The trams look similar to the one at Shadowbrook in Capitola, California. Shadowbrook if a foofy restaurant on the hill that borders the Soquel River that runs into the Pacific Ocean. To reach the dining area, one might walk down the aesthetic garden path or take the tram that is reminiscent of an AP physics problem: a box slides down a frictionless ramp that has a 35-degree angle. I digress. The point is that we did take the tram up once, but only once. The tram was so rickety that the only thing I could think about as we scaled the hillside was “dear God, I hope there’s not an aftershock because if there is, I’m going to die and I can’t remember if I bought insurance that will cover the repatriation of my remains or not.”
Having survived the treacherous tram (yay alliteration), we had a fantastic view of Valparaiso’s mosaic of different colored houses and the coastline. In fact, we enjoyed that view while we dined in a slightly more upscale restaurant—certainly not street vendor empenadas. For lunch, I had garlic shrimp. They were very garlicy, like garlic fries from bottom of the bin. I personally do not mind strong garlic, but I’m more dubious about how those around me felt.
Unlike US restaurants, water is not complimentary. In addition to swearing and making biting remarks, it also costs money (stupid joke, I know). This is problematic for two reasons. The first is that I will often forego a drink and end up being thirsty. The second is that water costs the same as a soft drink or juice so I am more apt to choose among the latter than to order my usual free/healthier water. However, one loophole we’ve discovered is that pretty much all restaurants give free ice. So, especially at our fancy-schmancy lunch spot, I opted to order one water and added more and more ice to it.
After lunch, five other people and I broke off from the larger group. Traveling in a large pack is stressful and not nearly as enjoyable. I find I count and re-count people more than take in the sites when I am in crowd. Also, we were anxious to get to the beach and it was unclear when the masses would actually make it to the ocean. Whilst broken off, I ran into a young woman I recognized from our hostel and I said “hello.” This girl, also an American, fiercely chastised me and the rest of my group for being too loud too late and for being generally inconsiderate of the others in the hostel. Whether she was rude or not is a moot point; she was completely right. We had been loud and we had been inconsiderate, both of which were inexcusable forms of behaviour. My fellow group mates and I had gotten sucked into our game. It was not that we forgot that there were other people and that it was late. No. Rather, we (or at least I) did not even think about that element. (My mom’s favorite Stanford joke: How many Stanford students does it take to screw in a light bulb? One! She just holds it up and expects the world to revolve around her) I made an apology that I believe landed on deaf ears. However, I also took with me that reprimand and passed along the message. It was a good, though somewhat pathetic, lesson to learn early on in our experience here. Fortunately, the owner of the hostel did not seem peeved at us. I apologized later that afternoon and she commented on our being young and that youth need to be a bit wild. Necessary or not, I’d prefer to do it without being rude and aim to be more thoughtful in the future.
Viña del Mar is slightly north of Valparaiso and is known for beautiful beaches. However, I had another mission in mind with respect to Viña del Mar. A couple years ago, my grandma and grandpa were on a South American cruise and my grandma became very sick and had to disembark and stay in a Chilean hospital for close to two weeks before she was sufficiently stable to transfer to one in the states. During that time, my grandpa stayed in a hotel in Viña del Mar and apparently became good friends with the concierge—a Canadian expat named Andrea. Some of my cousins had visited Viña del Mar and Andrea specifically and she remembered my grandpa. My mission was to find the hotel and Andrea. While I fulfilled the first half of this mission, I failed to make manifest the second, missing Andrea by half an hour. I left a note and contact information and, one week later, have yet to receive a response.
The rest of the afternoon consisted of people watching and playing word games on the beach. We saw one group of boys who were practicing flips and other tricks. Two boys were trying to teach another how to do a back flip. We waited for several minutes but the gymnastic student kept hesitating so we ultimately left. I would bet that he never did the flip. I believe he is fully capable of it, but he kept reaching the brink and backing down. He had thoroughly psyched himself out.
Later that evening, our group met up with the larger group for drinks at a place called Pub Matriz. Pub Matriz is a four-storey house that has been converted into a pub. Each level has its own bar and the walls have been modified such that only the structural wood is in place and you can clearly see from one room into another. We pushed together several of the trapezoidal tables and enjoyed another evening of getting to know one another.
At one point in the evening, we started to play ten fingers. I actually hate this game and chose not to partake. The way the game works is everybody starts with ten fingers and each person shares “never have I ever done X” If you have done X, then you clap and put a finger down. The first person to put all ten fingers down wins(loses? I don’t even know. Hehe). ANYway, I detest this game not because I am afraid of being called out or judging, but because I think it confuses what it means to get to know people. With a fixed form answer, you lose people’s communication styles and personal stories. You substitute away from nuance, depth, and character. I am fine playing ten fingers with my nearer and dearer friends; however, I simply refuse with groups of new people.
What I prefer is to either ask more probing questions or play non-get-to-know-you games. My two favorite questions for right now are: 1. What makes you tick and what ticks you off and 2. (Harry Potter inspired) If a sea of dementors surrounded you and they were about to suck out your soul, what form would your patronus take and what memory would you use to conjure it. Hehe.
The following morning we all gained an extra hour of sleep as it was fall daylight savings (remember, I’m in the southern hemisphere). Daylight savings was scheduled to occur a few weeks prior, but due to the earthquake and repairs, it had been postponed. That Sunday was also Easter Sunday and there was a small group that wanted to find an Easter service. I woke up earlier than everyone else, showered, put on my Easter best (a pastel purple dress of which I am quite fond), and set out to find a service to attend later that day. My friend Spencer accompanied me. We climbed the Berkeley-esque stairs/pathway and passed a family who was watching their three-year-old daughter hunt for Easter eggs. As we curved around the quiet morning streets, we found magnificent views of the ocean and what turned out to be my favorite graffiti in the city: against a brick wall, there were several shadow characters playing various games, which reminded me of my favorite children’s poem “My Shadow” by Robert Louis Stevenson. We ultimately found a church and, several hours later, I led a group of five other people to the service. It was a short service and forty-five minutes later we were out. I was surprised by the fact that there were not many people in the service and that people were dressed rather casually. I have found that people tend to dress rather sharply in Chile and I expected that to influence Easter dress as well.
After church, we headed back to the hostel, hung out for a bit, packed, and left for the bus station. A few others and I decided to grab lunch closer to the bus station because sometimes food can be slow and we figured it would be better to risk slow food closer to our destination. We ordered empenadas to go and some people asked for sodas, which came in glass bottles. After paying and receiving the empenadas we left the restaurant. My friend Zach had yet to finish his ginger ale (can’t blame him as I personally find ginger ale to be rather horrid) and thus he also took his drink to go. After we left the restaurant, the waiter ran out, chased Zach down, and demanded he give back the bottle. I guess they reuse the glass bottles and so it was nor the taking, which is strange to me because he paid for the bottled beverage rather than a fountain drink.
Two of my favorite things to do are to 1. Find perfect words to describe things/situations/people and 2. Determine whose love child someone/something is (for example I had an econ teacher who was the exact mix of my friend Sanna and Bernard the Elf from the Santa Claus). Throughout the entire trip, I had been toying with different words and mixes for Valparaiso. I’d tried Europe-esque and “a cross between Monterrey and Berkeley”; however, none of the words and mixes fit properly. I brought this up at Pub Matriz’s on Saturday night and we discussed various categorizations for the city. My friend Kintu suggested “authentic,” which I liked better than any I had come up with on my own. Nonetheless, “authentic” did not settle completely right. As we drove away on the bus, I decided Valparaiso is a mix of authentic and storybook. I ran it by Kintu and he agreed.
Es un mundo pequeño
As I mentioned in my first blog post, the Bings heavily subsidize all Stanford abroad programs such that the program is even called BOSP (Bing Overseas (though oversees could work too) Stanford Program). Every BOSP program has a welcome event, usually a welcome dinner. However, Group 1106 of Santiago, Chile had a BOSP welcome trip. At 10 AM on Friday morning, we climbed onto a bus and traveled to a winery called Viña Indómita. I was particularly excited because I know next to nothing about wine and would like to.
Over the past school year, my friends and I have shared bimonthly-weekly wine and cheese nights on Wednesdays. This was a major highlight of junior year because I find few things more enjoyable than catching up with my dearest friends in a cozy, preferably nook-ish, space. These nights are often late evenings and one wine and cheese night went until 4 AM. These nights are not raucous evenings of debauchery and drunkenness. Rather, they are nights of story swapping, wine swirling, cheese munching, and good community. They are good nights.
While driving to Viña Indómita, I felt like we were passing through The Grape Vine in California. The terrain is so similar: chaparral and mountains. The long driveway of the vineyard had palm trees on each side of the path a la Palm Drive at Stanford. While in the DR, I constantly felt on edge and a bit unsettled. Here, I have not felt that way at all. Perhaps it is because the landscape is California. Though perhaps it is not because the cities where I spend the majority of my time certainly are not pure California.
At Viña Indómita, we went on a brief tour and learned about how they collect, process, and store the grapes and wine. They will finish picking the last of the grapes in the next two weeks or so. Indómita said they’re behind schedule because normally they hire seasonal laborers from the south for this task. However, due to the earthquake (el terremoto) many people in the south have been otherwise occupied and the lack of labor supply has pushed back their usual schedule. While Viña Indómita lost some wine in the quake, they did not lose that much compared to some of their competitors, which is good for this newer winery.
After the formal tour, we were able to explore for a bit. While sitting on the porch I spotted a parked car with license plates from Santa Cruz, California. Then, my friend Zach said he met a couple inside from Los Gatos. For those of you who don’t know, I’m FROM Los Gatos. People always talk about these small world run-ins, but I had never had one personally. I introduced myself to the couple and learned that they have spent the last ten months driving from Alaska to Patagonia! Jack’s a retired bio teacher from SJ State and Sharon is a retired trainer of science teachers. They live in the LG Mountains and travel quite a bit. We’ve exchanged blog info and emails and hopefully will swap more stories once we’re all back in LG, yet another reason I’m happy to be living at home this summer. Our chat was relatively brief because Sharon and Jack were commencing their wine tasting and our group of thirty-five had already sat down to lunch. Lunch was fantastic. I have been spoiled, which is lovely.
Post lunch, we explored the vineyards a bit more and then climbed onto the bus to travel back to the Stanford center. From there, we left for a weekend trip to Valpariaso.
Over the past school year, my friends and I have shared bimonthly-weekly wine and cheese nights on Wednesdays. This was a major highlight of junior year because I find few things more enjoyable than catching up with my dearest friends in a cozy, preferably nook-ish, space. These nights are often late evenings and one wine and cheese night went until 4 AM. These nights are not raucous evenings of debauchery and drunkenness. Rather, they are nights of story swapping, wine swirling, cheese munching, and good community. They are good nights.
While driving to Viña Indómita, I felt like we were passing through The Grape Vine in California. The terrain is so similar: chaparral and mountains. The long driveway of the vineyard had palm trees on each side of the path a la Palm Drive at Stanford. While in the DR, I constantly felt on edge and a bit unsettled. Here, I have not felt that way at all. Perhaps it is because the landscape is California. Though perhaps it is not because the cities where I spend the majority of my time certainly are not pure California.
At Viña Indómita, we went on a brief tour and learned about how they collect, process, and store the grapes and wine. They will finish picking the last of the grapes in the next two weeks or so. Indómita said they’re behind schedule because normally they hire seasonal laborers from the south for this task. However, due to the earthquake (el terremoto) many people in the south have been otherwise occupied and the lack of labor supply has pushed back their usual schedule. While Viña Indómita lost some wine in the quake, they did not lose that much compared to some of their competitors, which is good for this newer winery.
After the formal tour, we were able to explore for a bit. While sitting on the porch I spotted a parked car with license plates from Santa Cruz, California. Then, my friend Zach said he met a couple inside from Los Gatos. For those of you who don’t know, I’m FROM Los Gatos. People always talk about these small world run-ins, but I had never had one personally. I introduced myself to the couple and learned that they have spent the last ten months driving from Alaska to Patagonia! Jack’s a retired bio teacher from SJ State and Sharon is a retired trainer of science teachers. They live in the LG Mountains and travel quite a bit. We’ve exchanged blog info and emails and hopefully will swap more stories once we’re all back in LG, yet another reason I’m happy to be living at home this summer. Our chat was relatively brief because Sharon and Jack were commencing their wine tasting and our group of thirty-five had already sat down to lunch. Lunch was fantastic. I have been spoiled, which is lovely.
Post lunch, we explored the vineyards a bit more and then climbed onto the bus to travel back to the Stanford center. From there, we left for a weekend trip to Valpariaso.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Accion Emprendedora, please meet Anne and Ian. (Into Spanish: An y y An. Back to English: Anne and and Anne)
For those of you who don’t know I worked in/conducted research in/yadda yadda yadda in the Dominican Republic last summer. I partnered with a microfinance organization called Esperanza International. My main duties entailed posting Kiva profiles and doing interviews to learn about/make recommendations for the training programs that Esperanza offers its loan recipients (for more information, chat me up or read earlier blog posts).
After being admitted to the Stanford Santiago program, we learned that we could potentially do an internship during the study abroad. As I grow older, I realize I am more and more like my dad: I lose my keys, I sometimes wear sandals and socks, and I like to keep my options open. Wanting to keep my options open, but not really desiring an internship, I uploaded a copy of my resume just in cases (yes, case is plural on purpose). I then received information about Accion Emprenadora. They’re a non-profit MFI. I figured it would be great to have a comparative microfinance experience, so I applied. I was accepted and as I corresponded with Accion and Stanford students who had interned in the past, it became clear that Accion is not so much a micro lending organization (though they’re trying to develop that aspect) as they are a micro business-training organization, which is exactly what I focused on while in the DR. Too perfect.
Today, after a much needed sleep-in, Lauren and I grabbed lunch and then I jetted off to Accion for orientation. ¬¬¬I met up with Ian who is another Stanford student who will be interning with Accion. Apparently, he was way more motivated/on his stuff because he began talking with Accion in the fall. Despite both being juniors, both being econ majors, both having taken some of the same classes, and both having lived in FloMo this year, Ian and I were completely oblivious of the other’s existence until about two days ago. This is particularly strange because he’s at least 6’7’’ and, well, hard to miss. I thought I’d be the only one interning, but I am glad I was wrong. While introducing ourselves, the office found it hilarious that we were Anne y Ian.
Accion’s mission is to break Chile’s cycle of poverty through helping people start businesses or improving current ones. Their current model is a three-phase one: 1. Business owners take several weeks of classes in whatever business training they want and Accion offers 2. Business owners partner with tutors/consultants with whom they meet once a week for four months 3. Accion helps these businesses secure funding. It’s impressive because most businesses owners believe that working with Accion has helped them improve their productivity, the majority have seen increased income, and about 30% have hired additional employees (the last data point is most impressive to me).
I’m now especially excited to work with Accion because
1. Studying abroad with thirty-two Stanford students is very different than working more or less alone whilst abroad. We roam in large packs and I was having a difficult time foreseeing opportunities to connect with Chileans in an even close-to-similar way. Working with Accion will foster those possibilities and will also help me not feel like I’m part of a herd of cattle.
2. I had forgotten that I really, really love and care about these kinds of initiatives and that I really, really love and enjoy working with smart, hardworking people who also care about these initiatives.
3. I’ll get to design and work on a project that will be personally and meaningful and genuinely beneficial to Accion. We’re going to meet again on Monday to determine what that will look like.
I’m guessing my internship with Accion will be way more important to me than I had initially thought it would be. I had gone into it fairly flippantly but am now eager to more fully dedicate myself to this project. I like projects; I like ‘em a lot.
After being admitted to the Stanford Santiago program, we learned that we could potentially do an internship during the study abroad. As I grow older, I realize I am more and more like my dad: I lose my keys, I sometimes wear sandals and socks, and I like to keep my options open. Wanting to keep my options open, but not really desiring an internship, I uploaded a copy of my resume just in cases (yes, case is plural on purpose). I then received information about Accion Emprenadora. They’re a non-profit MFI. I figured it would be great to have a comparative microfinance experience, so I applied. I was accepted and as I corresponded with Accion and Stanford students who had interned in the past, it became clear that Accion is not so much a micro lending organization (though they’re trying to develop that aspect) as they are a micro business-training organization, which is exactly what I focused on while in the DR. Too perfect.
Today, after a much needed sleep-in, Lauren and I grabbed lunch and then I jetted off to Accion for orientation. ¬¬¬I met up with Ian who is another Stanford student who will be interning with Accion. Apparently, he was way more motivated/on his stuff because he began talking with Accion in the fall. Despite both being juniors, both being econ majors, both having taken some of the same classes, and both having lived in FloMo this year, Ian and I were completely oblivious of the other’s existence until about two days ago. This is particularly strange because he’s at least 6’7’’ and, well, hard to miss. I thought I’d be the only one interning, but I am glad I was wrong. While introducing ourselves, the office found it hilarious that we were Anne y Ian.
Accion’s mission is to break Chile’s cycle of poverty through helping people start businesses or improving current ones. Their current model is a three-phase one: 1. Business owners take several weeks of classes in whatever business training they want and Accion offers 2. Business owners partner with tutors/consultants with whom they meet once a week for four months 3. Accion helps these businesses secure funding. It’s impressive because most businesses owners believe that working with Accion has helped them improve their productivity, the majority have seen increased income, and about 30% have hired additional employees (the last data point is most impressive to me).
I’m now especially excited to work with Accion because
1. Studying abroad with thirty-two Stanford students is very different than working more or less alone whilst abroad. We roam in large packs and I was having a difficult time foreseeing opportunities to connect with Chileans in an even close-to-similar way. Working with Accion will foster those possibilities and will also help me not feel like I’m part of a herd of cattle.
2. I had forgotten that I really, really love and care about these kinds of initiatives and that I really, really love and enjoy working with smart, hardworking people who also care about these initiatives.
3. I’ll get to design and work on a project that will be personally and meaningful and genuinely beneficial to Accion. We’re going to meet again on Monday to determine what that will look like.
I’m guessing my internship with Accion will be way more important to me than I had initially thought it would be. I had gone into it fairly flippantly but am now eager to more fully dedicate myself to this project. I like projects; I like ‘em a lot.
Far, Far Away from Here.
Hi Y’all,
For those of you who don’t know, I am studying abroad in Santiago, Chile this quarter. It is a Stanford program, which means it is heavily organized and subsidized, the latter of which is and will continue to be amazing. I will be in Santiago until mid-June.
Between two flights and an eight-hour lay over, I traveled for 24 hours. I was totally ready to do it all by myself. However, I very much appreciated the fact that my dad walked into SFO with me and made sure I sent off my bags and checked in with ease. Just because I can do things completely on my own doesn’t mean it’s not a lot nicer when someone else (particularly someone I love and care about) helps me.
While on the 8:25 AM flight from SFO to Atlanta, I asked the flight attendant for tea. He kind of rolled his eyes and made a fake ordeal about tea being so much work. I posed a fake apology for making him do his job and then he accused me not having a sense of humor. When he passed by with the drink cart a couple hours later, I said that I did not want anything to drink because the last time I asked for something he had given me such a hard time that I wasn’t interested in pressing the issue. He then asked if he could beg my forgiveness by buying me a drink. 10 AM or not, I said yes and quite enjoyed my baby-sized bottle of white wine. It was kind of symbolic because the wine was called “gato” and is Chilean: the liquid emblem of a gringa passing from Los Gatos, California to Chile.
Also on the flight, I took out my tour book and map. As I read and highlighted, I became increasingly more excited for this quarter. These some of the main things that I decided want to accomplish during the quarter:
1. Dance. I love dancing and didn’t get to do nearly enough latin dancing while in the DR. I’ve been hitting up a lot of the Stanford salsa events and a local Salsa club ever since I turned 21. I went the Tuesday before I left and danced with an Andre the Giant look-a-like.
2. Drink a lot of wine and develop preferences, perhaps.
3. Improve the Spanish, specifically the grammar.
4. Travel most every weekend
5. Make new friends, but keep the old (yeah girl scouts)
6. Journal regularly, which will be much more difficult than last summer because
a. I have internet in my house
b. I’m not going to be lonely/uncomfortable
c. I’m going to be a lot busier
7. Think about the possibility of writing a thesis (ick). The only reasons I would truly consider it are
a. working on a project is the only way to get any real and sustained attention from Stanford professors.
b. hashing through and writing succinctly about ideas that are genuinely interesting to me could be valuable/interesting (duh).
Post the cross-country flight, I spent eight hours in the Atlanta airport. Luckily it’s large and there are a few bookstores. I read some junk magazines, thumbed through Freakanomics, and watched some guy fail in flirting with a girl from Honduras.
Over the airport’s loud speakers, a voice would occasionally announce a plane that had changed terminals, a flight that was about to leave, or a person who needed to check in. One time, that voice called for a Bueller repeatedly. Hehe.
After seven and a half hours of bumming around the airport, I finally stood in line for the flight. While waiting in the queue to board the airplane, a Chilean woman asked if I was Latina. I said no, but I was quite bolstered that she mistook me for a Chilean. While in the Dominican Republic, there was no chance of mistaking me for a local, so this is boding well for me.
There were two particularly memorable parts of the eight-hour flight from Atlanta, Georgia to Santiago, Chile. I sat next to a man who initially reminded me of an older Clint Eastwood. I was a bit intimidated and resultantly worried that the flight would be an uncomfortable one. To try and minimize this potential awkward tension, I attempted to strike up a conversation by asking him if he was going to Santiago for travel purposes or not. He enthusiastically responded that he was indeed a traveler. In fact he has traveled all over the world and is just now taking on South America. He does motorcycle tours. Thus, he’ll ship his bike to x destination, pick it up, join a group of nine to ten other people and they’ll ride a specific route, allowing them to explore more rural parts as well as the regular city destinations. This current tour will be just short of two months. He was particularly excited because “my lady” was going to meet up with him the next day and ride on the back with him. She (unclear whether it was his wife or girl friend) too has accompanied him on many of these treks and though she is a well-educated and beautiful (he showed me a couple photos) Persian woman, she is not averse to roughing it a bit.
Motorcycle tours sound quite fun. After using motos as one of my primary mode of transportation this past summer, I could really see myself owing some sort of motorized bike, especially if I lived in a slightly more rural area.
The second element of the flight that was particularly memorable was a sunrise I saw from the plane. Ever since my 3rd grade best friend rode on her first plane during which she saw “the most amazing sunset,” I’ve been eager to see the sun rise or set from a plane. While I’ve certainly ridden on planes during dawn and dusk, I have either been asleep or on the wrong side of the plane to catch the phenomenon. This time, however, I was both on the proper side and awake; I had just woken up from one of my several naps I managed to take while flying. I also caught the sunrise at its earliest phase: when it was simply a red line stretching across the sky. As I watched, the red line became thicker and melted into orange and yellow. It was stunning.
After landing, passing through customs, and paying the reciprocity fee, I sought out a cab to drive me to my homestay. The driver’s name was Pedro, which was completely appropriate because Pedro was my neighbor during the summer and he too was my taxi (though he was also my ice cream and billiards date). While driving into the city I was struck by a few things in particular. The first was a billboard for the consulting firm Accenture. I have a couple of friends who will intern for Accenture this summer and the sign, with the same advertisement I’d seen online, made the world feel small and made me smile. The second was that cars don’t really stop for pedestrians. As we nearly missed a few, all I could think about was how I would stand on the sidewalk until there was quite a lull in traffic. The third was how the foliage is very California: jacaranda trees, palm trees, pepper trees, etc. etc. etc. The more time I spend here, the stronger that impression grows.
I easily found the apartment where I would be living and took the elevator to the fifth floor. I was immediately greeted by Catalina, the nine-year-old daughter with whom I living. Cecilia, her mother was out and so I moved into my room. Lauren Carter, one of my dear friends who lives with Cecilia as well, had arrived earlier that morning and was sound asleep. Since I had found independent travel to be completely not romantic during the summer, living with a friend is super appealing. Also, Lauren and I are close enough that we don’t have to be together 100% of the time and we can also tell each other to get out of our hair, which is crucial to a good relationship. It’s been great living with Lauren because we can walk to the Stanford center together and always have someone to go home with after a night (or early morning) out.
Let me share a bit about my homestay family. I live with Cecilia and her two daughters who are fourteen and nine. Catalina is nine and is very sweet. Apparently she dislikes studying but is smart enough to still take top marks. I always wished I were one of those people who didn’t have to study. I have yet to meet Daniella (the fourteen-year-old) because she is quite grown up and has thus been spending the past few weeks at her friend’s house. I believe she’ll be home next week. Cecilia is kind and welcoming. We began communicating via facebook and email prior to my arrival in Chile, so it was great to finally meet her. She has family and fiancé in Miami and has visited them several times. One of my favorite conversations we shared was about the merits of TJ Max and Nordstrom Rack. A thrift shopper, Cecilia is a woman after my own heart.
Cecilia is a tremendous and healthy cook. The second part is particularly wonderful. Lauren and I both feel like the portions have been perfect and are thankful that we don’t have to beat off offerings of food with stick. After talking with others, this seems to be a rare phenomenon. Several members of Cecilia’s family have diabetes and thus she is extremely cautious, which is fine (and delicious) by me.
The first full three days in Chile have certainly been full. The first two were crammed with Stanford orientation. Some of it was helpful, but the majority just felt a bit too much like a lecture. After the first day of orientation, a huge group of us went out for Pisco Sours, a quintessential Chilean drink. They are very yummy indeed. Right now, we seem to travel in a huge pack. If we had lanyards with nametags it would basically be freshman year 2.0. After the second day of orientation we went on a hike to the top of Cerro San Cristobal. There’s a park where apparently every Sunday there are free salsa lessons. I’ll have to hang around one weekend to check it out. Also at the very top of the hill is a huge white statue of The Virgin Mary. Slightly lower, and significantly smaller, is a statue of Jesus on the cross. I guess he’s ok too.
Later that night, a group of us went out. We first stopped by a pub called Fozzy. It was great because there were several nooks where we were able to sit, chat, laugh, and generally get to know each other. After that, we took a few cabs to another area called Bellavista and found a dance club. It was good to dance, though I still have yet to salsa (they played a few merengue songs however). The wonderful thing about this night was that we had both talk and dancing; often it’s one or the other. Conversation and dance are my favorite forms of caffeine.
I’ll be sure to share many more updates and am happy to cater them according to your wishes.
Besos y abrazos,
Anne
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