Sentimientos Encontrados

Sentimientos encontrados. That's the Spanish way of saying, "mixed feelings." However, this is one of the many times that I have found the translation to fall short. The direct translation of "sentimientos encontrados" is "feelings that are against each other." I find this more suitable because "mixed feelings" implies that several feelings are coexisting. But what I am feeling hurts. Of course I am excited to return home...to the familiarity of my native country, culture, and language. I am looking forward to seeing friends and family and taking on the next phase of my life. That said, I am also leaving a big part of me here. And the polarization of these two sentiments is more than I could attempt to articulate.

It is my last day in Chile. I am sitting in the courtyard of a hostel in Santiago, the same hostel that I stayed at when I first arrived. It certainly seems appropriate that this is the spot where I will write my last blog entry. Reflecting back on my past few months that I have spent in this country is, to say the least, overwhelming. Upon arriving, I had planned to utilize my time here to focus on personal growth, contributing to a worthwhile cause, and improving my Spanish. By immersing myself in a foreign culture,  teaching English, and exploring the sites, I had hoped to accomplish my goals. The end results were indeed achieved, although through different means. In my final weeks here, it was blatant that by far, the relationships that were forged here far superseded all other aspects of my Chilean adventure. 

People matter. And these people matter a lot to me. Before I embarked for South of the Equator, if someone were to have asked me if I would like to return to Chile again one day, my answer would have been a flat "No." Simply put, if I were lucky enough to have the opportunity to travel again, why would I waste it on a place and a culture that I am already familiar with? Nepal was a wonderful country with breathtaking views and a beautiful culture. Would I go back? Probably not. There are uncharted lands yet to be discovered! I'd opt to trade out my ticket for a trip to Greece, or Tanzania, or Australia! Here and now, ask me the same question about Chile. Would I go back? In a heartbeat. 

What is the difference between Nepal and Chile? Again, it's the people. Granted, it helped that I could communicate with my host family this time around (Gesturing doesn't count.). Although the time that I have spent here was relatively short in the grand scheme of things, it was more than enough for me to become part of a family. My host sister Ivanna is one of the most special people that I have ever had the pleasure to meet. Saying goodbye was the hardest thing that I have ever had to do. I am honored to have lived and shared with such exceptional people. For this reason, I hope and plan to one day return again to see my Chilean family. Not next year, probably not in five years, and perhaps not even in ten. But when I do make it back again, they will be waiting with open arms, doble besitos, and (most likely) a mountain of food. And I will be one happy Gringa.

So there you have it. My year of post-graduation (productive?) procrastination has come to an end. I have surfaced a much more grateful, (arguably) wiser, and significantly poorer, still unemployed post-graduate. Time for the next chapter to begin. Thanks for all of your love and support throughout all of my globe-trotting. And most of all, thanks for reading!

Con amor, 

Kelsey

...To Another

I spent the final week of my stay in Chile in the Atacama Desert with some friends from the program. I went from one extreme to another in every way possible. Lakes, ski lodges, swanky apartments with central heating, hot prepared meals to budget traveling, hostels, and sand dunes in the driest desert on the face of the planet (there’s your Fun Fact for the day!). My credit cards had stopped working about two months into my stay here (apparently you have to call and tell them that you are still out of the country every few weeks so they don’t shut them off). Anyhow, this meant that I had a fixed amount of cash and had to make it stretch through my last week. All of us were in the same boat. We stayed at a hostel that was run entirely on solar power. The water was solar-heated, there was recycling of every type, and a giant compost pile for organic waste. Very energy-efficient and therefore very cost-efficient. Conveniently, there was also a small kitchen available for travelers to use. In order to save money, we cooked in for every meal and had strict rations. Unfortunately, this meant that we survived off of lentils and egg sandwiches for an entire week. We almost cried for joy one morning when we walked into the kitchen to find that some generous traveler had left behind a surplus package of cookies. They were mediocre…and were consumed in a matter of seconds.

Again, I am running out of writing steam. Instead, I will outline the week’s events with pictures and some explanatory captions when needed.  

The Calama Airport in the middle of the desert. Slightly daunting.

Lagos Antiplánicos:

It was FREEZING.

A herd of vicuñas (relative of the llama). They're hard to spot but I suppose that's the point.

Yep...apparently there are flamingos in the middle of the desert...who knew?

This cactus is (scientifically) named "El asiento de la suegra" or "The Mother-In-Law's Seat"

The second day there, we rented mountain bikes ($6!). I was under the impression that it would be a nice leisurely way to see the sights. How wrong I was. Turns out, I signed up for THE most physically exhausting day of my life. We started off biking on the highway out of town. It was a little hilly…nothing to complain about just yet. We had asked a local where we could bike to. He had given us some vague directions that included veering off the highway, shooting between some canyons, and “stumbling” upon a highway on the other side. After an hour or so, we found what looked to be a path forking off from the road, we starting fighting the uphill battles over sand dunes and through the canyons. The only thing more physically exhausting than trekking up sand dunes with backpacks is pushing/dragging/fighting a bike at the same time. MISERABLE. Furthermore, we had each already blown through over half (about a liter) of our water supplies. Oops. 

On the bright side (pun?), the views were stunning. And there was literally no one within miles of us…that is, until we happened upon a man sitting in his car in the middle of nowhere. He had been stuck in the desert for 7 hours. He was a photographer and wanted to capture the sunrise. We spent the next hour and a half scooping out sand from underneath his car, lugging rocks over to shove under the tires for traction, and then pushing the car back down the incline. We finally got his car back down. Our good deed for the day. The man was extremely grateful and gave us some water. As if we weren’t exhausted already. We decided it was time for lunch. After that, I suggested we turn back the way we came due to our limited water supply. I was overruled and we pressed on hoping that we would be dumped back out on the highway. Two hours later, I heard the most beautiful sound that I have ever heard…a car engine. We found a road! Did we take this road back to the town? Nope. To my horror, my companions decided to seek out a spot we had heard about from the owner of the hostel to watch the sunset. This location happened to be 14 kilometers in the opposite direction. Oy vey. The next day, I could barely walk because I was so sore but the panoramic sunset was unbeatable. 

No picture could ever do this sunset justice...but I attempted it anyhow.

Natural rock formations....

Hear No Evil, See No Evil, Speak No Evil...in front of the Monkey rock formation. Aren't we clever?

Our humble hostel:

Trying to hike off the biking soreness:

Sand-boarding on the last day...think snow-boarding but on sand. Painful and exhausting.

One Extreme...

After my busy week with the press (I just love saying that), I was ready for some family vacation. Of course you all must be used to this by now, but I need to go into a little back story for you to set the scene. Whenever I spent the weekend at Tía Gloria's in Concepción, it was not unusual for Gloria to slip out "to chat with the neighbor." I quickly learned that this was code for, "I'm hitting up the casino with my lady friends." And so it came to be that whenever 9pm rolled around and Gloria announced that she was "off to chat with the neighbor," I would say, "Buena suerte!" (Good luck!). I would hear her tiptoeing in circa 6am (no exaggeration there, folks!).

A few weeks back, I was setting the table for breakfast when Gloria emerged from her bedroom with last night's make-up and a silly grin. I ventured a guess, "You won again, eh?" 

She turned on her heel and went back to her room. I heard her rummaging through her closet. She emerged with a coffee tin. She popped it open and it was STUFFED with wadded peso bills. In response to the surprised look on my face, she informed me that since I had arrived, she had simply not lost. Every time that she went to the casino, apparently she made a killing on the slot machines. She continued, saying that she wanted to invite me (her good luck charm) to go skiing in Pucón with her, my host sister Ivanna, Dani, and Dani's boyfriend. How could I turn down an offer like that? After all, I was the reason that she won all that money to begin with [insert skeptical look here].

And that's how I won my free ski trip to Pucón...dirty casino money winnings. I'll take it!

We stayed for a week in Pucón and went skiing on an active volcano. Very bizarre. While we were skiing on the snow-covered slopes, smoke was fuming from the top. At night, the snow reflected the moonlight but you could still see a red glow from the lava within the volcano. Quite a sight!

After just learning to ski this past winter (Stateside, that is), I was extremely impressed that I only fell once…and it was off a ski lift so that doesn’t even really count.

They say that pictures speak a thousand words, so I’ll let them do the rest of the talking:

Chilean roadtrips are much the same as those in America...singalongs (ugh), junk food, and no personal space:

A view of one of the many lakes:

On the way up the volcano:

Us by the lake (I think that might be the best caption that I have ever written):

Our humble abode for the week:

Ivanna and I:

Breaking for lunch!

We went to some natural hot springs one day...we stripped down and waded in despite the fact that there was ice on the ground.

A view from the entrance to the thermals:

We stopped in a market on the way home. I was told to sit next to the wooden statue and smile for the camera. Seba did the heavy lifting and out popped a surprise. Who knew the natives were so perverted?

I'm teaching you all the Chilean virtue of PATIENCE...

More posts are on the way, I promise. This past week that I spent in the middle of the desert impeded my blogging and picture-uploading.

Stick with me...we're almost home!!!!!!

More than I signed up for...

We are on Winter Break right now. During school vacations, the Ministry (of Education, that is) hosts day camps in every region for the kiddies. Local high schoolers apply to spend one of their two weeks off of school, back in school. Sounds a bit illogical to me, but hey, I'm just a counselor, so what do I know. I showed up at the Ministery for our "briefing" before camp on the first day. Going into it, I had no clue what the camps were like, the schedules, the activities, etc. Utterly clueless. There were eight counselors at the meeting...and over a hundred campers. Of these counselors, four spoke only Spanish (perfect for English Winter Camp!), one girl from India who spoke broken English, one girl from London who spoke too much English, and one normal guy from Michigan. The director was a very timid Chilean with a very large nose, who could speak very good English if you could strain your ears enough to make sense of his whispers. Glancing around the tiny office and doing the math in my head, I did not like the direction this week was going to go...besides myself, only one other bilingual speaker...or mutterer, I should say. Furthermore, the schedules we were provided with were as follows: 8am- Campers Arrive, Activity, 11am- Snack, Activity, 1pm- Lunch, Activity, 4pm- Snack, 6pm-Campers Leave. Being that only a half hour was allotted for the meeting, and practically everyone arrived twenty minutes late, the campers began to trickle in just as we were handed our schedules.

After the campers and counselors were registered and given their t-shirts (free t-shirts always make things a little better), the kids just sat there. After about a half hour of nothing, I walked over to the director and asked him what we were supposed to do. He started rifling through his clipboard and stammered something about not liking big groups. Whose idea was it to put this guy in charge? I sighed, dragged a chair out the the middle of the floor, and shouted until I had everyone's attention. I made up a few games on the fly and managed to occupy the time till the first Snack, hoping that the Director would use this window to plan something for the rest of the day. After the campers were done eating, The Director approached me and asked ME what I had in mind next. DUDE! YOU'RE THE ONE WITH CLIPBOARD AND THE T-SHIRT THAT SAYS "DIRECTOR" ON THE BACK.

And so, the rest of the day went a little something like that. When the last camper finally shoved off at 7pm, The Director came over to me and handed me his phone, "It's for you." The person on the phone was the Minister of Education telling me that the next day all of the camps across the country had to make a music video. It was a contest and the rules were that all campers and counselors had to appear in the video, all had to be lip-syncing the lyrics to "Moves Like Jagger," the school in which the camp was taking place had to be represented in every shot, and the video could only be ONE TAKE (How´s my film lingo, Brett??). The last criteria meant that the camera had to roll the entire way through the song...without stopping. Do you know how difficult it is to film an entire music video in one day, using a very large school, teaching the lyrics to the campers, making props for the set, choreographing dances, and somehow getting one hundred plus non-English speaking teenagers to perform on camera without messing up? Luckily the counselor from Michigan had a video camera. Since no one seemed to take the initiative with getting the ball rolling the next morning, guess who started her directing career?

The entire day, I was in fifty places at once, making up dance moves (apparently "dance coach" is one of the other duties under the "volunteer" job title), tracking down art materials, and boosting the morale of girls that were crying because another group stole their red marker (yes, these are high schoolers). Somehow, miraculously, all of the individual scenes were coordinated (which involved a lot of me sprinting up and down several flights of stairs) and we managed to capture a decent take just as 6pm rolled around. We emailed our video in that night to be evaluated against all of the other camps...the winner gets a "special lunch." More special than the food we have been eating? (Who wouldn't want to eat Tuna Surprise or Meat Product Stew??) Hardly worth it! By the way, if you would like to see the video, here it is for your enjoyment. (Note: I only make one appearance...in the red car...as I was madly sprinting around, positioning campers, and....well...you know, directing.)

The next day, the press showed up. I am not talking about a harmless photographer from the local newspaper...we're talking two news channels with cameras, microphones, and reporters with notepads, three regional newspapers, and a man from the ministry scoping footage for a promotional documentary. Again, I desperately hoped that someone (perhaps the man in charge) would step up to the plate. Completely futile. So there I was, standing on a chair, organizing an activity...shouting directions, running from group to group, being SUPER PEPPY AND POSITIVE (Yay! English is the best and we are just thrilled to be here!), smiling for the flashing cameras, and conducting interview after interview in both Spanish and English. The "Director" never even showed up that day. Despite myself, I actually had fun. Later that night, I was changing into pajamas (at last!) when I heard my voice echoing from the living room. It was the most bizarre experience. I ran into the other room and there was my awkward and very flustered self blabbing away on the television about the importance of English and how enthusiastic the campers had been. Gloria was crying and jumping up and down and clutching my arm, while Dani was calling as many of her friends as she possibly could. The house line rang at this time. It was my "abuelita" calling from another town saying that she was watching me on T.V. On a different channel. Sure enough, we changed the channel, and there I was again. What a day. So very cool, yet so very laughable at the same time.

It didn't stop there. The next day on the way to camp in the morning, I stopped at a newsstand to buy a pack of gum. When I was digging through my backpack for exact change, the man in the window was staring at me suspiciously. When I finally produced the correct peso pieces, he slid the newspaper and a pack of gum towards me. I pushed the newspaper back and said "Thank you, but I am only buying gum." He smiled and said the newspaper was free. I shrugged and stuffed it into my backpack, thanking him over my shoulder as I scurried off to make the green flashing "walk" sign. (Trust me, you do not want to get stuck in the middle of a Chilean intersection...yielding to pedestrian is quite literally a foreign concept.) When I arrived at the school, one of the kids shouted, "There she is!!" Within seconds, I was swarmed by the campers, all waving newspapers in my face. Apparently, it had been a dismal news day in Chile because we made the front page. There was a giant picture of me talking to a bunch of students smack dab on the cover. Furthermore, there was additional media coverage that evening on the various news channels, featuring more footage of me acting like an idiot, playing a game with the campers. A few people actually stopped me on the street to tell me that I made the news. Humiliating.

On the final day of camp, we had a talent show. I hate talent shows because they are contingent upon singing and dancing and music-playing. I can walk on my hands...but my talents end there. So naturally, I opted for comedic relief. I "danced" to "Sexy and I Know It" with a bunch of other campers. The whole number was rather ridiculously choreographed but the kids seemed to enjoy it. And it only cost me my dignity!

That concludes my work week. Now I have two weeks of travel ahead of me...and then HOME (that is, if they let me out of the country)! Over and out.

A few pictures from my week at camp:

All of the counselors:

My mini-group (apologies for the poor quality):

My front cover campers:

The front cover:

The talent show (what shame):

Proof of my desperation for blog material...

Since venturing south of the Equator, I have been...erm...making up for by Nepal weight deficit. Don't get me wrong, I am perfectly okay with this. In fact, I foresaw the weight gain and even had the sense to pack some bigger clothes. Good thing...as two pairs of my slacks no longer fit. Heh. All of the teachers at work have been commenting on my tighter pants and these remarks are usually followed up with a "high five" for my host mom. She beams every time and takes great pride in these moments of recognition.

So anyways, as I probably need to explain again, I stay in Concepción (the city that's about an hour or so away from my pueblito) on the weekends. When I arrived the other Friday, Gloria...before even saying hello, told me that my bum has gotten bigger. She also called me "gordita" in the same sentence. As I said before, I definitely needed to put on a few pounds but at the same time, it's hard not to get defensive when people keep patting my rear end and calling me "fatty." These Chileans could use a little tact...they are shameless when it comes to weight gain. They say that they are going to send me back with my new "poto chileno." I have seen my share of Chilean potos, and I most certainly have not accomplished such a feat. I have put on a little weight but they are blowing this (and me) WAY out of proportion. I keep having to remind myself that they are teasing me in an endearing way.

I have also adopted the nickname "Chanchita." Chancho is the Spanish word for "pig."  Just what every girl wants to hear. They did have the decency to tack on the -ita...so at least I can take solace in the fact that I am a cute, little piggy. In all fairness, the way this flattering diminutive came to be was not entirely what you may think. Allow me to defend myself.

For the most part, Chilean meals are community-style. The majority of the time, I have no problem with this whatsoever. Double-dipping has never fazed me. However, my host father has had a nasty cold for about three weeks now. He will take a spoon jelly straight from the jar into his mouth, lick it "clean", hack a few times, and then put the same back in the jar, give it a few good stirs, and repeat the process. This ritual goes for pretty much any dish set on the table. Not wanting to get sick, I assessed the situation and developed (what I thought was) an effective strategy. Every meal, I would beat him to the table, and immediately use clean utensils to serve myself portions big enough to get me through the whole meal without having to go back for more using utensils that had been contaminated by Bernardo's saliva. This behavior, a breach in Chilean table etiquette, did not go unnoticed and started earning me comments such as, "My, someone's got a big appetite..." and most unfortunately, "our chanchita."

Needless to say, my brilliant tactic (and my immune system) failed me. The price: a nasty cold and a less-than-favorable moniker. I now answer to Meeesssss Kelsey, Gringa, and Chanchita.

So not only am I starting to sound more like a Chilean, but apparently I am starting to look like one, too. Move over, J.Lo., there's a new bum on the block (ok...that's a stretch).

P.s. There will be no pictures to accompany this entry so don't ask.

Oops...I Did It Again

We need to play some catch-up. I know that I have been slacking in a major way. The spotty posting can be attributed to: 1. My laziness, 2. A lack of blog-worthy material, and 3. The fact that I've been planning my wedding with my new Chilean fiancé. The first two are the reasons that I have chosen to write this entry in the following format, and the third was a lie.

This is a collection of semi-interesting things that I have noted/done/experienced in the past few months. They weren't quite worthy of an individual entry but hopefully the compilation will be mildly entertaining.

1. Every time I leave the house...be it for school, for a weekend trip, or to buy bread (a daily necessity here)...and my host mother is left alone with my unattended room, my things seem to mysteriously move in my absence. It's the strangest thing. All of the clothes in my closet refold themselves and sometimes switch places (including...ahem...my delicates, if you will). My shoes (all three pairs!) rearrange themselves and sometimes polish each other. Most affronting is that my clandestine jar of American peanut butter seems to be eating itself. Even though peanut butter is available here, it's just not the same. I am very opinionated when it comes to peanut butter...go crunchy or go home. However, in my particular case, it seems to be "go creamy or go home" because creamy is the only variety sold in Chilean super markets. That said, I have been self-rationing my crunchy American peanut butter. Upon realizing that I wasn't the only one consuming it, a brief wave of rage swept through me. Then, I immediately felt guilty and made a rash and regrettable decision. The jar resided in the family refrigerator for approximately 12 hours before the contents were exhausted and the empty container retired.

2. The other week in school, one of my students (who I am not particularly fond of), made her way over and informed me that I "should watch out" because I had died in her dream the night before. Not knowing quite how to respond, I patted her on the head and said, "Erm...gracias?" I shared the story about the arguable threat that I had received with my family that night. They reacted with genuine concern and asked me if I was feeling alright. Apparently, dreams are considered to be genuine omens and are taken quite seriously. In order to prevent the events of a bad dream from realizing, one has to relay The dream to the person(s) in danger. Fear not, I made it through my day...although I have made a personal note to avoid the creepy girl/Grim Reaper.

3. There must be something in the water here. That, or there are some strange hybrid of mosquitoes that don't seem to die off with colder temperatures. The mosquitoes that I have always been familiar with disappear with summer. The Chilean sancudo, however seems utterly resistant to the cold. The fly swagger on my bedside and I have become fast friends. Two to three times a night I am awoken by the unmistakable buzz of a hungry mosquito by my head. It has become second nature to flick the lamp switch, grab the fly swatter, hunt my prey, and return to bed within a matter of seconds. One night I was feeling lazy, I simply slept with the sheet over my head, leaving a small breathing hole. As a result, i went to school the next day with some very swollen, bug-bitten lips (I kid you not). Ladies, if you were considering a lip job, I have found a quick fix. My midnight mosquito murders and the fact that I accidentally caught a fly in my hand at the dinner table the other night (I was only joking, but I actually caught the darn thing, awing my Chilean family) has earned me yet another nickname. I am La Cazadora (The Hunter). Lovely.

4. Although this is technically a tangent of (3.), I wanted to keep these little blurbs short and sweet. A few weeks ago, I woke up one morning with itchy red bug bites. At first they were just on my legs. However, before I knew it, there were spots appearing on my stomach..and back...and arms...and my hands. It was quite alarming. I tried to wait it out and be a big girl about it but after about two weeks, I just couldn't take it anymore. I took a deep breath, went into the kitchen, pulled up my shirt, and showed my host mom my bug bites (?). Just as I expected, I got quite the earful ("...should have told me earlier!!!") and then she was off. I had to jog to keep up with her as she speeded off to the garage and started digging through a suspicious old garbage bin full of unmarked tin cans, paint brushes, and used cleaning supplies. I did not like where this was going. She pulled out an ancient can of Extra Strength Raid and marched into my bedroom. She set to work, dousing the walls, corners, floor, curtains, closet, etc. Did she stop there? Of course not. She peeled back my covers and began to spray my sheets with noxious insect repellent. (Note: Lots of American products make their way to Chile...meaning the packaging, instruction manuals, and most unfortunately WARNING labels are all in English.) That said, I suppose that she had missed the blatant, bold print, red sticker on the side of the can that explicitly read "WARNING: TOXIC. SEEK MEDICAL ATTENTION IMMEDIATELY UPON SKIN CONTACT OR INGESTION." My suppositions were confirmed when, to my horror, there was a brief cessation in the extermination process when she turned to me and gave me an "up-down." There was a few seconds where we seemed to be suspended in time. We stood there in silence and I saw her index finger still flexed menacingly on the Raid spray can. I read her mind and we both made a move at the same time. She raised her weapon as I was turning on my heeling and sprinting to the bathroom. I made it safely, shut the door and jammed the lock just as I heard the unmistakable clink of a metal Raid can slamming against the door. She jiggled the door handle, trying to coax me out, saying that the spray would surely kill the bugs on my skin as well. Half-laughing at the ridiculousness of her proposition, I argued back through the door crack that the can very clearly stated that the spray is poisonous to humans. Only when she promised to put down her weapon, and Ivanna gave me the "all-clear," did I emerge. I changed my sheets before going to bed that night and vowed never again to mention insect bites to a Chilean.

5. Earthquakes. There are lots of them. I have lost count of how many have shaken the Earth since I've been here, but it's a lot. Sometimes I sleep through them, sometimes I wake up (like the one that shook my bed Exorcist-style), and sometimes I am in school when the tremors rupture the power lines and we have no electricity for three days. In the latter instance, I find the Chileans' reactions to be a bit dramatic. In the event of a power outage, school is also cancelled...sometimes for 3 whole days like last time. I find this almost laughable as there is virtually no teaching technology used in the classroom, the lights are only turned on if the students are taking a test (sometimes not even then), and it's not like there is a heating system that will go down without power (a few of the classrooms have wood stoves although mine, unfortunately, is not one of them).

6. So I know that this is a male-dominated society and all...and that it is not my place to try and change their ways...but the other night I think my host father struck an all-time low. He had gotten home around 6 had my host mother serve him dinner in bed.

7. I'm concerned for the Chilean children. Any odd behavioral tendencies can surely be attributed that they are all raised on these two kids television programs: this and this. While we were all watching Barney and Sesame Street, these Chilean giant, singing, demented mascots and puppets were amassing a cult-like following. 

8. My host father announced the other night that he was in the market for a new car. Good call, I thought in my head. He sent Ivanna and I outside with some maroon nail polish to paint over the many scratches on the car. The next morning he came home triumphantly waving a set of keys in the air. He said he traded cars with a colleague at work. I peeked out onto the street and saw a green Toyota in pretty decent condition. His poor colleague most definitely got the raw end of the stick shift. I doubt if I will ever fully understand the way business is conducted down here.

9. Piedras de la Cruz. This means "Stones of the Cross." Since being down here, I have heard of them often. It took me awhile to pfigure out that they were actually a real thing. There is a little town with a river that contains millions of the same this particular type of rock. The cross-section features a black and white cross and the stones are buffed and made into jewelry. The other weekend, Gloria, Dani, and I set off to find this town with the river with the stones. We did end up finding the right place but not before Gloria got pulled over for making a U-turn on a four lane highway. When the officer her accused her of the illegal U-turn, she said, "No I didn't." Very interesting and very ineffective tactic. Then she went through the normal steps of ticket-evasion ("Get over yourself, you're just a kid with a badge," and then, "My Dad's a cop," batting the eyelashes, threatening him, etc.). When she got down to the now all-too-familiar, "I was just trying to show this AMERICAN (head jerk toward the backseat) around our country," I was all too prepared. We had a homemade basket of empanadas. I smiled, acted bashful, offered him an empanada, and complimented his sunglasses. Success!! No ticket for Gloria, and we were on our way. Surprisingly, we did find a good number of "piedras de la cruz" while sifting through the riverbed. The highlight of the trip was first hearing the birth of (it sounded like a mix of Chewbacca and an alien being murdered), and then seeing, a newborn baby cow. What an exciting day, right!?

10. My host mom sneezed the other. I seized the opportunity to reprimand her for not drying her hair. Vengeance is sweet.