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.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
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.
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