Sorry about that-- ended up sleeping more than I really ought to, and spend a few hours fighting my way through the first pages of "Historias de la Penumbra y lo Invisible" by Arthur Conan Doyle, a neat little tome I picked up from the used-book shop next to the house. Three spaced notebook pages of words I didn't recognize for two pages worth of writing. The whole book will be quite the task.
This week was my first week of classes. How'd it go? Not bad, all things considered. My first class ever in Chile, Antropología Generál, was canceled and I spent half an hour sitting in the appointed classroom in the History Castle with six fellow US citizens and a pair of Mexicans before realizing this fact. The following class, however, was not canceled and I managed to take a few Spanish notes on the vertical geography of Chile as concerning early peoples of the area (in sum, Chile is really narrow and really vertical, with completely different vegetation and climate only a few thousand meters of elevation apart).
My first class concerning the Spanish language: I arrived an hour late. The time change had thrown me off-- I was firmly convinced I was on time and wondered why the class was so short before the gal from Germany sitting next to me informed me of my error.
My next class concerning the Spanish language, the next day: I arrived an hour early. Sat through the class before it, after enduring a rebuke by the teacher for being late again (but for a different class, see), and exited just in time to see my actual classmates walk through the door.
My third and final class of the week concerning the Spanish language: I arrived ten minutes late in the right class. Now all I need is a faster micro (bus). Or to leave earlier.
I will not be taking the Physics and Humor class because it is in Valparaíso at 8:15 in the morning and I can´t wake up in time to get there, much less stay awake for the full two-hour duration. As promising as it looked (and still looks), the time requirements simply aren´t kind to my sensibilities and scholastic capacity. Not sure about the architectural workshop, as well, as it starts at roughly 8:00 pm some distance away in Viña, which strikes me as rather perilous an hour to be out and about by myself.
My Language, Cognition, and Society class started off on a fine footing-- the teacher gave everyone a basic evaluative science test (logic problems involving different-sized cups and weights and tokens in a bag, that sort of thing, in which I discovered to my embarrassment I´ve forgotten how to multiply fractions-- yes, laugh, I don´t multiply fractions in everyday life), which, being an extranjero, I didn´t have to undergo. There´s only two of us foreigners in the class. I asked to take the test while the other girl split, which I think reflects rather well upon my studiousness and willingness to learn. I was the second-to-last person finished, of course, because I had to look up words in the dictionary, but I think it went well.
Afterwards a group of kids from the class invited me to a get-together of sorts in Valparaíso, apparently not an unusual occurrence-- the class structure here is more regular than in the US, and people in the same disciplines all get to know one another very well by the end because they all take the exact same classes in the exact same order.
Unfortunately I had a previous engagement. Next time....
This previous engagement was with a gal from ISA, someone who´s been here for about five months and knows people. Shaina (for that´s her name) is part of a non-denominational church group composed mainly of college students which congregates at the very same red edifice I can see from my front door. She´d invited me and about four others to come along for a gathering thing on Friday night.
She didn´t tell me, of course, that this gathering was an hour-long homily framed on either side by a half-hour of rock-band worship music. This came as a bit of a shock. In retrospect I probably should have anticipated it (this being a CHURCH GROUP and all) but I was thinking it wasn´t an organized thing, maybe just some wandering about town with people from the group and maybe cookies, I didn´t know.
In sum: the music was good (all in Spanish, of course) but the hour-long unanticipated lecture on salvation was a let-down and the downright rapturous attitude of some of the people there during the singing was a bit frightening.
So was the mosh pit, actually.
Call me staid and traditionalist, but I´m of the opinion that a person should keep their blissful ecstasy to themselves. It´s like they´re deliberately trying to call attention to how faithful they are, how worshipful and utterly convinced and joyous, and if it´s real, okay, I´m sorry, but at the same time you´d think it would be possible to be in rapture without throwing your arms up and crying and mouthing tongues.
Maybe it comes from being Catholic-- the unrelenting general Protestant emphasis on Jesus and happiness and bliss can get a bit grating. If all the world is love, people, why was Chile flattened by a terremoto a few weeks ago? Sing, dance, fine, that´s cool-- I´m all for that-- but if I wanted a life lecture from some gal in a T-shirt with the aid of Powerpoint I´d attend one of those Think Positive seminars. If there´s going to be a mosh pit, I´d like some warning. And aside from the big wooden cross on the wall (lit by a red spotlight at appointed times during the songs, themselves accompanied by video of dolphins and rainforests and clouds and such), you´d hardly be able to tell the place was a church at all. And... well, there´s spotlights and a mosh pit.
The local Catholic church is roughly a hundred years old. It´s got an adobe-plastered steeple, the exterior of which is slightly cracked from the terremoto, narrow stained-glass windows, and a spiky black iron fence around it.
The name: Nuestra Señora de los Dolores. This translates roughly to Our Lady of Suffering.
I think that about sums up the difference in attitude.
Craig, being Craig, would probably say that this approach is more "metal." In that vein, I have this observation to give: there exists a micro driver in this city who has three big black stickers above his dashboard and they are, in order, a skull, a ninja, and the thorn-crowned head of Jesus Christ.
Religion aside, this coming week will be my first full week of (hopefully) non-canceled classes. I have to find the FIN building in Valpo and sit through almost six hours straight of class on Monday, which will be interesting. I need to swipe some music in Spanish from the cabinet outside my door so I can listen to it while trying to read my book in Spanish. I need to get my camera looked at, because it can't seem to focus anymore and any picture it takes is almost inevitably blurry and indistinguishable (which is why I don't have any pictures at the moment). I need to take a shower. I need to drag María-José to the Fonk Museum in the next few days so I can have a look at that Easter Island moai, and I need to find that sushi shop.
I did pick up a laptop cooling fan for a cool 8600 pesos (about 18 bucks), and it does its job well in the heat.
The last student arrived today, one Diego from the north, and now all I have to do is wait for Roberto and Nicolás to return from wherever it is they´ve gone to get a group photo of the the six of us.
I also have to eat this banana on my desk.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Friday, March 19, 2010
Remember Me?
I suppose I should apologize for the lack of updates over the past week. Except that I've been told to limit my contact with English in favor of full Spanish immersion, and writing a long letter in English every night is something like self-sabotage.
So I won't be updating every day. The letters will now be weekly. This is just a heads-up-- I just got back home, it's past midnight, and I woke up this morning at eight to take a bus to my Language, Cognition, and Society class (which, by the way, is full of friendly people who tried to invite me to a get-together after class and were disappointed to learn I had a previous obligation).
Tomorrow I have nothing to do until eight pm and therefore I will write the real update sometime in the morning.
Again, my apologies, but this is one of those recommended study-abroad things for learning languages: don't use your own if you can avoid it.
So I won't be updating every day. The letters will now be weekly. This is just a heads-up-- I just got back home, it's past midnight, and I woke up this morning at eight to take a bus to my Language, Cognition, and Society class (which, by the way, is full of friendly people who tried to invite me to a get-together after class and were disappointed to learn I had a previous obligation).
Tomorrow I have nothing to do until eight pm and therefore I will write the real update sometime in the morning.
Again, my apologies, but this is one of those recommended study-abroad things for learning languages: don't use your own if you can avoid it.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
As for today
Pretty much the only event of note was a power outage for about thirty minutes during dinner... almost an hour in our case. Depended on location-- the outage knocked out most of the country. What caused it, I don't know, but apparently Chile's powergrid is interconnected as the food web.
We ate homemade pizza by candlelight and discussed the absence of Cristobal, who was out shopping at the mall at the time (he lived to return home safely, in the dark, thinking it was another tsunami warning or a quake he somehow hadn't felt).
I want a camera that can take pictures at night without flash. What I did manage to capture is... interesting, but not exactly easy to identify. Mostly cars (lights of cars) and what buildings that had generators.
Flickr pictures updated with pictures of the university, class registration, and tonight's outage. Any pictures of a church chapel are also part of the university (it's a Catholic university, you've gotta have a Catholic church inside somewhere).
For questions answered, email me.
Classes (and more happenings) tomorrow~
We ate homemade pizza by candlelight and discussed the absence of Cristobal, who was out shopping at the mall at the time (he lived to return home safely, in the dark, thinking it was another tsunami warning or a quake he somehow hadn't felt).
I want a camera that can take pictures at night without flash. What I did manage to capture is... interesting, but not exactly easy to identify. Mostly cars (lights of cars) and what buildings that had generators.
Flickr pictures updated with pictures of the university, class registration, and tonight's outage. Any pictures of a church chapel are also part of the university (it's a Catholic university, you've gotta have a Catholic church inside somewhere).
For questions answered, email me.
Classes (and more happenings) tomorrow~
As for yesterday...
I spent my time recovering.
Which meant sleeping, mostly.
Nothing to see here, folks, move along....
Which meant sleeping, mostly.
Nothing to see here, folks, move along....
Friday, March 12, 2010
I knew this day would come
Figured after three weeks of repeated disaster I was long-due for something like this. I mean, earthquakes and tsunamis are special events: the sort of events that you can look back upon and tell your kids you survived with pride in your eyes and faint trauma scars across the back of your mind, the kind that makes you assume any unanticipated motion (truck on the road, someone shaking the bed, the background operation of your own body) is another quake on its way. Not everyone gets to live through that.
I was very special.
This day actually starts last night. This will not be an entirely normal update because it was not an entirely normal night, and it cascaded into a morning that deceived in its cheeriness and general good will towards mankind.
You won't be finding these disasters on the news. They are entirely mundane.
I present to you my masterwork from last night, written in the bathroom (of which I am now more than a passing acquaintance) under the influence of frustration, fear, and exhaustion. The time was 5:20 am. The following words are unedited.
"Can't sleep. When I sleep I'm defenseless. When I sleep they come for me, and they come for me even as I try. They're everywhere-- everywhere flitting shapes bloodsuckers buzzing wings in my ears-- I can't escape. I'm in the bathroom door shut window shut watching... they'll get me here, too, eventually.
They only come for me. Twenty bites in two days, all along one arm. Elbow. Wrist. Fingers. Forehead neck shoulders they're eating me alive and I can't do anything about it I'm slathered in chemicals and hiding beneath sheets and still they come they come they come
I startle at the least motion. Least sound. Hypersensitive waiting for the whine in my right ear-- always my right ear.
No internet. I wanted to talk to someone. Look into purchasing a mosquito net burning candles something anything but there's no internet and everyone's asleep.
Somewhere along the way I took a wrong turn: this isn't Chile, this is Hell.
Silly, sure. Overreacting, sure. Cowering in the bathroom writing for lack of contact at 5 am.
But there aren't any in here. I think. Yet.
Letting insects dictate my life. Sleep. Don't sleep. Where, when, how-- open to the air or hiding beneath cloying sheets hoping this time it will work. They've driven me out of my room out of my bed fleeing with my pillow like a child crying.
Silly.
Stupid.
But I can't sleep. I can't do it. I can't I can't I can't.
Why must the internet fail at night when I need it most, not for something meandering and useless but for survival. Every night it goes down. This night.
I look over my shoulders, waiting. Wonder if the prickling of my legs is cold or them and don't want to check.
It's fine, they said. Just mosquitoes. No fleas in this house, just mosquitoes. Here: buy some of this repellant. It's good. It'll work.
It didn't.
It's toxic and I ate some of it during dinner, smeared on my fingers left over, and it doesn't work.
Bites on my hands, my fingers, my neck, my shoulders my forearms and elbows... I covered them with chemicals and yet suffer check my skin for more pulpy patches of dark red surrounded by rings of itchy pink.
Only annoying, right? Just itchy. No diseases, no West Nile or malaria.
But they're everywhere. And they're eating me. And I can't sleep.
In the morning I play it down-- yeah, I'm from a state with no mosquitoes, this is all new to me, it itches but its not that bad....
Night is a siege.
Stupid, stupid. What else to do? There are machines that spray Raid into the rooms while you sleep, making them slower and easier to kill, but do I want to breathe poison for a year in exchange for slower terrors?
Net. I want a net. I want veils of shrouding white around my bed, a wall, a fortress to match my paranoia, a Lace Curtain through which none shall pass. Good God, do I want a net. I am a silly weak foreigner in a foreign land and people might laugh-- look at the gringa, can't handle a few bugs-- but I would be safe.
I would be able to sleep. Five days I haven't slept. Not really. Make do with four-hour naps during the day when they aren't awake and hungry and buzzing. Five hours, maybe, if I'm lucky.
Letting bugs scare me away from what is mine but here I am with my pillow in the bathroom typing.
I want to go home.
Earthquake, tsunami, abject poverty, entirely too much bread... this I can handle. I can ignore tremors in the night, picture frames shaking, CD cases clattering in their cabinet. Disaster is a way of life. It happens.
Despair is a keening in your ear and the knowledge that they're waiting.
There are no mosquitoes at home.
Lucky, they said.
Yes.
Very.
Why did I leave?"
The next morning (this morning) I informed Myriam of my plight over breakfast. Rather more calmly, I might add, having had time to compose myself after fleeing weeping to the water closet three hours before.
Results: my room now smells faintly of Raid and I nearly fumigated myself trying to drop my bag off inside after signing up for classes at the college. Also, there are now two thin poles duct-taped to the back of the headboard, over which is laid a great deal of white filmy fabric. My fortress raised at last. Hallelujah.
After my time at the college signing up for classes, I returned to discover a new fellow in the house, a fellow whose name I sadly cannot remember at the moment for lack of much contact. He's tall enough, we joked over dinner, to paint the roof with his hair and thin as an anemic coyote. Bearded. Seems nice, but like I said I didn't see much of him: he immediately retired to his room to unpack and afterwards fled to the college to choose his own classes before the weekend rush.
By this point I wasn't feeling well-- tired, stomachache, and I spent most of the day asleep. Brief dinner (tea and nothing else for me) at nine, and then more attempted sleep. What was curious about this attempt was that the upset in my midregions induced a very specific and peculiar hallucination whenever I closed my eyes: some sort of religious ceremony, presided over by people in cloaks, involving cups and and a big table and a lady beside me who'd pat my shoulder every so often and inform me that whatever it was they were doing was extremely significant and I should pay attention.
I wondered if pain-induced fever dreams was how religion came to be.
Then I returned to the bathroom and threw up.
I'm feeling marginally better now.
On a positive note, I do have my classes:
1. Español Comunicacional y Cultura Chilena (6 créditos)
2. Fisica y Humor (2 créditos)
3. Arte y Sociedad en Chile Prehispánicos (3 créditos)
4. Introducción a Geografía (4 créditos)
5. Taller de America: Espacio Urbano (2 créditos)
6. Lenguaje, Cognición, y Sociedad (3 créditos)
7. El Universo (2 créditos)
8. Antropología General (3 créditos)
For my esteemed readers who do not know Spanish, these translate as:
1. Communicational Spanish and Chilean Culture
2. Physics and Humor
3. Art and Society in Prehispanic Chile
4. Introduction to Geography
5. Workshop of America: Urban Space
6. Language, Cognition, and Society
7. The Universe
8. General Anthropology
All will be going to U of I as Spanish credit, regardless of actual topic-- and 400-level Spanish credit in all cases but two, at that. Figured I'd just take whatever looked interesting and pick and choose the classes that I end up liking the most.
School starts Monday.
A sidenote:
While boarding the bus back home from the University, the driver asked me if I was French. I suspect it was the orange headscarf that threw him off-track (orange headscarves are not part of the stereotypical "American" ensemble) and suggested as much to Maria-José. She told me, quite definitively, he probably made the mistake because bus drivers are not very high-class people.
Hmmm...
I was very special.
This day actually starts last night. This will not be an entirely normal update because it was not an entirely normal night, and it cascaded into a morning that deceived in its cheeriness and general good will towards mankind.
You won't be finding these disasters on the news. They are entirely mundane.
I present to you my masterwork from last night, written in the bathroom (of which I am now more than a passing acquaintance) under the influence of frustration, fear, and exhaustion. The time was 5:20 am. The following words are unedited.
"Can't sleep. When I sleep I'm defenseless. When I sleep they come for me, and they come for me even as I try. They're everywhere-- everywhere flitting shapes bloodsuckers buzzing wings in my ears-- I can't escape. I'm in the bathroom door shut window shut watching... they'll get me here, too, eventually.
They only come for me. Twenty bites in two days, all along one arm. Elbow. Wrist. Fingers. Forehead neck shoulders they're eating me alive and I can't do anything about it I'm slathered in chemicals and hiding beneath sheets and still they come they come they come
I startle at the least motion. Least sound. Hypersensitive waiting for the whine in my right ear-- always my right ear.
No internet. I wanted to talk to someone. Look into purchasing a mosquito net burning candles something anything but there's no internet and everyone's asleep.
Somewhere along the way I took a wrong turn: this isn't Chile, this is Hell.
Silly, sure. Overreacting, sure. Cowering in the bathroom writing for lack of contact at 5 am.
But there aren't any in here. I think. Yet.
Letting insects dictate my life. Sleep. Don't sleep. Where, when, how-- open to the air or hiding beneath cloying sheets hoping this time it will work. They've driven me out of my room out of my bed fleeing with my pillow like a child crying.
Silly.
Stupid.
But I can't sleep. I can't do it. I can't I can't I can't.
Why must the internet fail at night when I need it most, not for something meandering and useless but for survival. Every night it goes down. This night.
I look over my shoulders, waiting. Wonder if the prickling of my legs is cold or them and don't want to check.
It's fine, they said. Just mosquitoes. No fleas in this house, just mosquitoes. Here: buy some of this repellant. It's good. It'll work.
It didn't.
It's toxic and I ate some of it during dinner, smeared on my fingers left over, and it doesn't work.
Bites on my hands, my fingers, my neck, my shoulders my forearms and elbows... I covered them with chemicals and yet suffer check my skin for more pulpy patches of dark red surrounded by rings of itchy pink.
Only annoying, right? Just itchy. No diseases, no West Nile or malaria.
But they're everywhere. And they're eating me. And I can't sleep.
In the morning I play it down-- yeah, I'm from a state with no mosquitoes, this is all new to me, it itches but its not that bad....
Night is a siege.
Stupid, stupid. What else to do? There are machines that spray Raid into the rooms while you sleep, making them slower and easier to kill, but do I want to breathe poison for a year in exchange for slower terrors?
Net. I want a net. I want veils of shrouding white around my bed, a wall, a fortress to match my paranoia, a Lace Curtain through which none shall pass. Good God, do I want a net. I am a silly weak foreigner in a foreign land and people might laugh-- look at the gringa, can't handle a few bugs-- but I would be safe.
I would be able to sleep. Five days I haven't slept. Not really. Make do with four-hour naps during the day when they aren't awake and hungry and buzzing. Five hours, maybe, if I'm lucky.
Letting bugs scare me away from what is mine but here I am with my pillow in the bathroom typing.
I want to go home.
Earthquake, tsunami, abject poverty, entirely too much bread... this I can handle. I can ignore tremors in the night, picture frames shaking, CD cases clattering in their cabinet. Disaster is a way of life. It happens.
Despair is a keening in your ear and the knowledge that they're waiting.
There are no mosquitoes at home.
Lucky, they said.
Yes.
Very.
Why did I leave?"
The next morning (this morning) I informed Myriam of my plight over breakfast. Rather more calmly, I might add, having had time to compose myself after fleeing weeping to the water closet three hours before.
Results: my room now smells faintly of Raid and I nearly fumigated myself trying to drop my bag off inside after signing up for classes at the college. Also, there are now two thin poles duct-taped to the back of the headboard, over which is laid a great deal of white filmy fabric. My fortress raised at last. Hallelujah.
After my time at the college signing up for classes, I returned to discover a new fellow in the house, a fellow whose name I sadly cannot remember at the moment for lack of much contact. He's tall enough, we joked over dinner, to paint the roof with his hair and thin as an anemic coyote. Bearded. Seems nice, but like I said I didn't see much of him: he immediately retired to his room to unpack and afterwards fled to the college to choose his own classes before the weekend rush.
By this point I wasn't feeling well-- tired, stomachache, and I spent most of the day asleep. Brief dinner (tea and nothing else for me) at nine, and then more attempted sleep. What was curious about this attempt was that the upset in my midregions induced a very specific and peculiar hallucination whenever I closed my eyes: some sort of religious ceremony, presided over by people in cloaks, involving cups and and a big table and a lady beside me who'd pat my shoulder every so often and inform me that whatever it was they were doing was extremely significant and I should pay attention.
I wondered if pain-induced fever dreams was how religion came to be.
Then I returned to the bathroom and threw up.
I'm feeling marginally better now.
On a positive note, I do have my classes:
1. Español Comunicacional y Cultura Chilena (6 créditos)
2. Fisica y Humor (2 créditos)
3. Arte y Sociedad en Chile Prehispánicos (3 créditos)
4. Introducción a Geografía (4 créditos)
5. Taller de America: Espacio Urbano (2 créditos)
6. Lenguaje, Cognición, y Sociedad (3 créditos)
7. El Universo (2 créditos)
8. Antropología General (3 créditos)
For my esteemed readers who do not know Spanish, these translate as:
1. Communicational Spanish and Chilean Culture
2. Physics and Humor
3. Art and Society in Prehispanic Chile
4. Introduction to Geography
5. Workshop of America: Urban Space
6. Language, Cognition, and Society
7. The Universe
8. General Anthropology
All will be going to U of I as Spanish credit, regardless of actual topic-- and 400-level Spanish credit in all cases but two, at that. Figured I'd just take whatever looked interesting and pick and choose the classes that I end up liking the most.
School starts Monday.
A sidenote:
While boarding the bus back home from the University, the driver asked me if I was French. I suspect it was the orange headscarf that threw him off-track (orange headscarves are not part of the stereotypical "American" ensemble) and suggested as much to Maria-José. She told me, quite definitively, he probably made the mistake because bus drivers are not very high-class people.
Hmmm...
Thursday, March 11, 2010
I would like to report to all of you once again...
...that I am not dead. Despite the country´s many and varied attempts to make that so. Chile, Chile... what did I ever do to you?
To tell the truth, I didn´t even know about the tsunami warning until almost an hour after the fact. I was at the university, filling out paperwork for my student ID card and the like, and there was a fairly strong temblor while we were in the courtyard but no one thought anything of it. Later I met up with Ragini, one of the ISA gals, so she could come to my house and use the shower (her house still has no water) and we took a bus back to Viña. There was one section of road that seemed even bumpier than usual, but again, we thought nothing of it. We got off the bus, began walking up all the hills to her house to fetch her toiletries (and her house is very much on top of those hills, quite some distance), and commented a few times on how many people were standing around in the streets. Why? We speculated. The temblors, maybe. Or maybe everyone was gathering to see the new president, who was inaugurated today in Valparaíso.
Eh.
We got ice cream.
When we finally arrived at her house and informed her host family of our plan, they put us under house arrest. No, no, they said, you can´t go to Arlegui-- that´s at sea level, and everyone´s been evacuated at least ten meters above that, into the hills. Maremoto warning, you know. Tsunami.
Great, I thought. Now the ocean as well as the land is out to get me. There is nowhere on Earth I can hide now, save for maybe the sky, and unfortunately a private jet runs a bit more on the costly side than I can handle. Also: it would have to land sometime, at which point a wave of either rock or water would do its best to demolish it and me both.
So I hung around Ragini´s house for three hours. Called Myriam, discovered that they were waiting it out on the next hill over (fortunately for a country with such a long tsunami-prone coastline, Chile has a LOT of steep hills), and that I couldn´t go back to the house even if I wanted to, because the police had cordoned everything off. That, and the evacuation of Congress, had been the first official act of Piñera, Chile´s new president. I like to call this the "OH GOD GET EVERYONE TO HIGHER GROUND NOW" declaration, and it's a heck of a way to enter office. There were signs along the route to Valpo this morning-- "Bienvenido Presidente Piñera"-- and at this point I expect the reverse side will be changed to "And Sorry About That, But We Really Hope You'll Come Back Soon (maybe when the ground stops shaking?)".
There wasn't a tsunami. I am in my house, and there are no fish flopping about on the patio. This is a relief. Despite the fact that a good fish would be most welcome right now (cubes and tuna just aren't cutting it).
In other less disastrous news:
There are several hundred extranjeros studying at PUCV, most of them from the US but a decent number from Europe and Central/South America. Germany, France, Italy, Belgium, Canada, Mexico, Columbia, Argentina, and so forth. As well as one rather confused-looking fellow from Japan. In the welcome speech, the word "terremoto" was mentioned at least twenty-six times. And also the university buildings are secure, in case you were wondering. Because we were. Most assuredly.
As part of the welcoming ceremonies, everyone was treated to a show demonstrating some folk tunes and dances of various parts of Chile (North, Center, South). While the crowd was initially not terribly enthusiastic-- it was quite early in the morning, still, for people who'd grown accustomed to waking at 11 or later, and standing around in a courtyard filled with cigarette smoke for an extended period wasn't helping-- this attitude changed after the dancers started swiping people from the front ranks.
Let's just say that my one-semester dance class came in handy.
I've chosen my classes. The schedule is daunting. Most of my destinations are in Valpo, which will mean extremely intimate acquaintance with the bus system in short order. Also, all of the times and locations for classes are in code. CC 0-15 at 7-8, for instance, means the class is in la Casa Central on the first floor, room 15, from 14:00 to 16:45, and yes all time is written out military-fashion and classes run two hours long at the very least.
I sign up tomorrow at 9:00 sharp.
Actually, speaking of which, it's past midnight and I almost slept through my appointment this morning. Best be off.
Here's hoping for lack of a tsunami alarm in the night~
To tell the truth, I didn´t even know about the tsunami warning until almost an hour after the fact. I was at the university, filling out paperwork for my student ID card and the like, and there was a fairly strong temblor while we were in the courtyard but no one thought anything of it. Later I met up with Ragini, one of the ISA gals, so she could come to my house and use the shower (her house still has no water) and we took a bus back to Viña. There was one section of road that seemed even bumpier than usual, but again, we thought nothing of it. We got off the bus, began walking up all the hills to her house to fetch her toiletries (and her house is very much on top of those hills, quite some distance), and commented a few times on how many people were standing around in the streets. Why? We speculated. The temblors, maybe. Or maybe everyone was gathering to see the new president, who was inaugurated today in Valparaíso.
Eh.
We got ice cream.
When we finally arrived at her house and informed her host family of our plan, they put us under house arrest. No, no, they said, you can´t go to Arlegui-- that´s at sea level, and everyone´s been evacuated at least ten meters above that, into the hills. Maremoto warning, you know. Tsunami.
Great, I thought. Now the ocean as well as the land is out to get me. There is nowhere on Earth I can hide now, save for maybe the sky, and unfortunately a private jet runs a bit more on the costly side than I can handle. Also: it would have to land sometime, at which point a wave of either rock or water would do its best to demolish it and me both.
So I hung around Ragini´s house for three hours. Called Myriam, discovered that they were waiting it out on the next hill over (fortunately for a country with such a long tsunami-prone coastline, Chile has a LOT of steep hills), and that I couldn´t go back to the house even if I wanted to, because the police had cordoned everything off. That, and the evacuation of Congress, had been the first official act of Piñera, Chile´s new president. I like to call this the "OH GOD GET EVERYONE TO HIGHER GROUND NOW" declaration, and it's a heck of a way to enter office. There were signs along the route to Valpo this morning-- "Bienvenido Presidente Piñera"-- and at this point I expect the reverse side will be changed to "And Sorry About That, But We Really Hope You'll Come Back Soon (maybe when the ground stops shaking?)".
There wasn't a tsunami. I am in my house, and there are no fish flopping about on the patio. This is a relief. Despite the fact that a good fish would be most welcome right now (cubes and tuna just aren't cutting it).
In other less disastrous news:
There are several hundred extranjeros studying at PUCV, most of them from the US but a decent number from Europe and Central/South America. Germany, France, Italy, Belgium, Canada, Mexico, Columbia, Argentina, and so forth. As well as one rather confused-looking fellow from Japan. In the welcome speech, the word "terremoto" was mentioned at least twenty-six times. And also the university buildings are secure, in case you were wondering. Because we were. Most assuredly.
As part of the welcoming ceremonies, everyone was treated to a show demonstrating some folk tunes and dances of various parts of Chile (North, Center, South). While the crowd was initially not terribly enthusiastic-- it was quite early in the morning, still, for people who'd grown accustomed to waking at 11 or later, and standing around in a courtyard filled with cigarette smoke for an extended period wasn't helping-- this attitude changed after the dancers started swiping people from the front ranks.
Let's just say that my one-semester dance class came in handy.
I've chosen my classes. The schedule is daunting. Most of my destinations are in Valpo, which will mean extremely intimate acquaintance with the bus system in short order. Also, all of the times and locations for classes are in code. CC 0-15 at 7-8, for instance, means the class is in la Casa Central on the first floor, room 15, from 14:00 to 16:45, and yes all time is written out military-fashion and classes run two hours long at the very least.
I sign up tomorrow at 9:00 sharp.
Actually, speaking of which, it's past midnight and I almost slept through my appointment this morning. Best be off.
Here's hoping for lack of a tsunami alarm in the night~
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
New gal
She arrived late yesterday from Iquique, a city in the north of Chile. She´s pale, a bit on the heavy side. Wears a striped shirt. Smokes, one or two cigarettes a day. She´s quick to smile, quicker to laugh, and listens to punk rock. Her name is Maria-José, and she´s the second student after myself to arrive in the house.
After waking this morning to discover both forearms and my head covered in bugbites, I spent a few minutes in my room moaning, complaining, trying not to itch, and contemplating tears.
I like cold. I like snow. I hate bugs. Why, I wanted to know, why had I chosen to study in a warm country?
Because there are no cold countries that speak Spanish.
Why did I have to choose a language spoken only in tropical and semi-tropical parts of the world? Where it´s warm? Where there are BUGS??
*sigh*
I finally dragged myself out to breakfast after putting on a long-sleeved shirt and a bandanna to hide the bites on my forehead. Maria-José was there, calmly buttering her toast. Hóla, she says. Hóla, I say. I try not to look too uncomfortable and fail, as she asks what´s wrong. Bugs. I show her the bites. She commiserates and agrees that, since she needs to go out and buy toothpaste anyway, the two of us can go look for a pharmacy that sells OFF, an insect repellent cream.
So we go. This is my first time out in the city with someone who does not know where we are, but we manage: she deciphers some of the more confusing conversations and signage while I map our way around the neighborhood, with which I´m a few days more familiar. The house really is right in the middle of downtown-- less than ten minute´s walk to the central square, of which I have pictures from a later outing that day with Cristobal in tow (he wanted to buy formal pants and a shirt and ended up buying neither, but I picked up some sweet sunglasses from a street stand). We went to the supermercado and a number of farmacias, as they´re called, found the cream, and then decided to look for the local PUCV building (the History Institute, for history majors).
It´s a castle. On a hill. With turrets.
Regrettably, I left my camera´s memory card in the computer.... but don´t worry! I will take a history class this semester specifically so I can walk by that row of old mansions and up three flights of winding stairs to a castle. I will take pictures then.
Other highlights of the day:
I watched Myriam light a candle, and asked if the house had a smoke detector (I hadn´t spotted one in the house yet; in fact, anywhere in Chile). It doesn't. Most places don't-- you have to be either a skyscraper or some rich person's mansion to warrant a smoke detector. It was slightly awkward confessing that my house in the States has three.
A gringo, in Chile, is specifically a person from the US-- not any foreigner as I had been told. Something to do with the Mexican War. So, while the pair of ladies from France who came to dinner today were foreigners, they were not gringas.
I am the only gringa in the house.
I try not to be too offended, but it was a bit of a set-back to learn that people from my country are singled out more than from anywhere else. I mean, heck, I'm supposed to be an ambassador for my nation here and all, and I immediately get stuck with a special nickname given to us and us only? What did I ever do to deserve this, aside from being born in a certain place?
I catch myself wishing I was from somewhere else on occasion, just to reduce the level of special attention I keep getting. I order an avocado in Spanish, I don't want the fruit-seller to try and negotiate in English. I may be a gringa, but I'm speaking Spanish, dammit! I have a horrible accent and hilarious grammar, but I am making an effort to appreciate you and your language and your country!
I try to be calm about this for the most part, or laugh it off. It's better to laugh it off. Never mind that every so often I feel like a tourist from the future where machines wash dishes and warn of fires and people wear seatbelts and aren't bitten to death by bugs.
Good God, the bugs. I'm whining, I know, but I'm really not happy about this aspect of the country.
Oh-- there were people from France at the dinner table today. Friends of Myriam. Conversation was conducted in a mishmash of Chilean and French-accented Spanish, French, and mine and Cristobal's occasional comments in English-accented Spanish, Spanish-accented English, or American English. I didn't really talk much because it was difficult to keep up and it was even more bizarre being from the US with people from Europe at the table. Talking about free schooling and healthcare, or the lack of, wouldn't you know.
Hi. I'm from the US. I have three smoke detectors in my house and have to pay for college and all my medical expenses not covered by company insurance. I'm from a nation simultaneously so far advanced and so far behind that no one is quite sure what to make of me, but no one dares to speak up because, if slighted, we might invade them.
I didn't talk much.
I miss peanut butter.
Pictures from now on will be uploaded to that flickr account-- here's the link again, for anyone who might have misplaced it somehow: http://www.flickr.com/photos/48182168@N05/
Today's installment features the central plaza of Viña del Mar. The gal in stripes is Maria-José. Dude with the cyborg headpiece is Cristobal. I'm in green. The big black statue guy is Sr. Vergaras, who is credited for founding the city. The church is not in the plaza, but it's nearby. There were two guys playing some sort of amazingly long game of checkers-- I went to the plaza twice, separated by at least three hours, and they were there both times. Multiple games, perhaps. Different guys? Dunno. The board remains.
Always, the board remains.
After waking this morning to discover both forearms and my head covered in bugbites, I spent a few minutes in my room moaning, complaining, trying not to itch, and contemplating tears.
I like cold. I like snow. I hate bugs. Why, I wanted to know, why had I chosen to study in a warm country?
Because there are no cold countries that speak Spanish.
Why did I have to choose a language spoken only in tropical and semi-tropical parts of the world? Where it´s warm? Where there are BUGS??
*sigh*
I finally dragged myself out to breakfast after putting on a long-sleeved shirt and a bandanna to hide the bites on my forehead. Maria-José was there, calmly buttering her toast. Hóla, she says. Hóla, I say. I try not to look too uncomfortable and fail, as she asks what´s wrong. Bugs. I show her the bites. She commiserates and agrees that, since she needs to go out and buy toothpaste anyway, the two of us can go look for a pharmacy that sells OFF, an insect repellent cream.
So we go. This is my first time out in the city with someone who does not know where we are, but we manage: she deciphers some of the more confusing conversations and signage while I map our way around the neighborhood, with which I´m a few days more familiar. The house really is right in the middle of downtown-- less than ten minute´s walk to the central square, of which I have pictures from a later outing that day with Cristobal in tow (he wanted to buy formal pants and a shirt and ended up buying neither, but I picked up some sweet sunglasses from a street stand). We went to the supermercado and a number of farmacias, as they´re called, found the cream, and then decided to look for the local PUCV building (the History Institute, for history majors).
It´s a castle. On a hill. With turrets.
Regrettably, I left my camera´s memory card in the computer.... but don´t worry! I will take a history class this semester specifically so I can walk by that row of old mansions and up three flights of winding stairs to a castle. I will take pictures then.
Other highlights of the day:
I watched Myriam light a candle, and asked if the house had a smoke detector (I hadn´t spotted one in the house yet; in fact, anywhere in Chile). It doesn't. Most places don't-- you have to be either a skyscraper or some rich person's mansion to warrant a smoke detector. It was slightly awkward confessing that my house in the States has three.
A gringo, in Chile, is specifically a person from the US-- not any foreigner as I had been told. Something to do with the Mexican War. So, while the pair of ladies from France who came to dinner today were foreigners, they were not gringas.
I am the only gringa in the house.
I try not to be too offended, but it was a bit of a set-back to learn that people from my country are singled out more than from anywhere else. I mean, heck, I'm supposed to be an ambassador for my nation here and all, and I immediately get stuck with a special nickname given to us and us only? What did I ever do to deserve this, aside from being born in a certain place?
I catch myself wishing I was from somewhere else on occasion, just to reduce the level of special attention I keep getting. I order an avocado in Spanish, I don't want the fruit-seller to try and negotiate in English. I may be a gringa, but I'm speaking Spanish, dammit! I have a horrible accent and hilarious grammar, but I am making an effort to appreciate you and your language and your country!
I try to be calm about this for the most part, or laugh it off. It's better to laugh it off. Never mind that every so often I feel like a tourist from the future where machines wash dishes and warn of fires and people wear seatbelts and aren't bitten to death by bugs.
Good God, the bugs. I'm whining, I know, but I'm really not happy about this aspect of the country.
Oh-- there were people from France at the dinner table today. Friends of Myriam. Conversation was conducted in a mishmash of Chilean and French-accented Spanish, French, and mine and Cristobal's occasional comments in English-accented Spanish, Spanish-accented English, or American English. I didn't really talk much because it was difficult to keep up and it was even more bizarre being from the US with people from Europe at the table. Talking about free schooling and healthcare, or the lack of, wouldn't you know.
Hi. I'm from the US. I have three smoke detectors in my house and have to pay for college and all my medical expenses not covered by company insurance. I'm from a nation simultaneously so far advanced and so far behind that no one is quite sure what to make of me, but no one dares to speak up because, if slighted, we might invade them.
I didn't talk much.
I miss peanut butter.
Pictures from now on will be uploaded to that flickr account-- here's the link again, for anyone who might have misplaced it somehow: http://www.flickr.com/photos/48182168@N05/
Today's installment features the central plaza of Viña del Mar. The gal in stripes is Maria-José. Dude with the cyborg headpiece is Cristobal. I'm in green. The big black statue guy is Sr. Vergaras, who is credited for founding the city. The church is not in the plaza, but it's nearby. There were two guys playing some sort of amazingly long game of checkers-- I went to the plaza twice, separated by at least three hours, and they were there both times. Multiple games, perhaps. Different guys? Dunno. The board remains.
Always, the board remains.
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