The earth…it quakes in Chile. A lot.

The next night we ate and drank more. Are you sensing a pattern, yet?

Gato Pardo

Appetizer (Entrada)- Green salad with shrimp (of two different sizes) and tomatoes

 Entrée (Plato del fondo)- Swordfish filet over parsley-dill-parmesan risotto

 Dessert- Tres Leches and expresso

If you didn’t read the food description- take note of the dessert. It was the most divine thing I have ever tasted in my entire life. Be jealous. I would also like to draw your attention to the expresso. The waitress offered expresso or tea with the cake and it didn’t occur to me to pass up a free drink. I downed the expresso shot and was wired till 4:30am. This is significant because at 4:30am, Santiago was struck by an earthquake that registered a 5.8 on the scale. My bed had wheels (brilliant design- that’s Strike 3) and I rolled a few feet across the wood floor to the other side of the wall. Slightly unnerving. My first rational thought was that there were some Chilean poltergeists haunting the hotel room. Anyhow, everyone was fine.

The next morning, a few of my favorites from the group and I hiked to the top of San Cristóbal. On the top of the glorified hill is a statue of the Virgen Guadalupe who watches over the city. She’s huge. The view was well worth the climb. After the early rendezvous with Lupe, we also toured one of Pablo Neruda’s three houses in Chile (La Chascona). This was actually my favorite part of the trip so far. In college Spanish classes, I read Neruda’s poetry and have immense respect for his work. He also very led a very interesting life bountiful in world travels, women, parties, and more women. Later that afternoon we all got Chilean cell phones and braved the metro. We all huddled together and hugged our bags against our chests…how inconspicuous and so very…American.

And then our Chilean vacation was over. Sunday morning, we lugged our hefty luggage down to the lobby again (after I tried rather unsuccessfully to ride my wheeled suitcase down a flight of stairs, much to the dismay of the limpiadora) so buses could transport us to the hostel. This marked the start of our minimalist lifestyle. We joined the ranks of about a hundred other participants from different feeder programs to commence a week-long session of teacher workshops for English Opens Doors. 

My first hostel experience was tainted upon distribution of room assignments. Six per room and guess who my bunkmate is? Grace- the female linebacker from Alabama. Don’t even bother asking who has the bottom bunk. I earnestly offered to take the top bunk but she insisted on sticking to our bunk assignments. That afternoon we had another earthquake…a 7.2 magnitude shaker that lasted almost a minute. Some food for thought…where is the safest place to be during a terremoto (earthquake)? I’m not exactly sure…but it is most certainly not on the bottom of a rickety bunk bed underneath a southern belle pushing two bills.

We have a whole week of hostel-stay to go. Everyone is complaining of the tight-quarters, lack of foresight in packing shower shoes or towels, and rumors of bed bugs. Summer camp atmosphere- namely the cafeteria-style food. No more multiple course meals for us! Luckily, the market is nearby. Relative to my accommodations in Nepal, I’m happy as a clam. Every night before we drift off, we say “G’night! Don’t let the bed bugs bite!” And we mean it. I would appreciate any positive thoughts, well wishes, and/or prayers at this time. Hope this finds everyone well at home- miss you all!

10-4.

Egg Bandit Extraordinaire

The next morning, I woke at 6am with a growling stomach. Miraculously, I had slept off all of the food. I went down to the hotel lobby to find the “breakfast spread” that I had been promised upon arrival. False advertising (Strike 2!). The “spread” consisted of a tray of bread, some jam, a pitcher of Pepto-Bismal-colored yogurt, and a cereal bowl-sized portion of scrambled eggs with a giant serving spoon in it. I’ve heard that Latinos aren’t big on breakfast but COME ON!! I surveyed the scene and looked at the deserted dining room (Chileans aren’t morning people). I made a decision that I’m not proud of but I’m not sorry. I removed the serving spoon from the bowl of eggs, placed it gently on the table, grabbed a fork and high-tailed it up to my room. I ate the stolen eggs in the dark as my roommate slept. I read for two more hours until people started to head down to breakfast. I casually joined the masses and pretended to be appalled at the miniscule portion of eggs that was being rationed out (the cereal bowl had been refilled with fresh eggs). I took a modest (second) helping of eggs, had some toast, and the strongest coffee of my life. I had outsmarted them all!

I pulled the same egg stunt the next morning. It was just too easy not to…besides who am I to deny my stomach its basic needs? Success again. On the third morning I went down feeling smug and looking forward to my bowl of eggs. I turned the corner and there was an alert, little Chilean woman sitting in a folding chair by the breakfast spread. She scowled at me when I walked in. I turned on my heel and high-tailed it up to my room. It seems they have employed an egg security guard. Forced to find an alternate source of sustenance, I set out to buy some fruit from the local stand. Two for three ain’t half bad. Can’t fool a Chilean three times, ay?

The next few days were jam-packed. After my protein-packed egg breakfast the second day, I also went for a lovely run. Mornings in Santiago are glorious. We had lessons at the CIEE office every day until lunch. We had lunch at the same place (multiple courses, naturally). Bolded description follows.

Café Lastarria

Appetizer (Entrada)- gazpacho and some greens

 Entrée (Plato del fondo)- gravina (with a mushroom cream sauce) with brown rice

 Dessert (Postre)- dulce de leche gelato sprinkled with cocoa powder

From lunch, a tour guide named Sergio showed us the ins and outs of Santiago. Hands down the worst tour guide that I have ever had. He only stopped to talk three times but each one of his info sessions lasted 45 minutes or longer. He spoke in Spanish which was only a problem because he also talked to us as if we were deaf and moronic yet became absurdly agitated if we answered one of his questions incorrectly. He’s probably disgusted that our only constructive contributions all day were about the city’s impressive population of stray dogs and the Chileans’ complete disregard for censoring their intimate affections in public. Anyhow, it was nice to get around the city and see the sites- namely Plaza de Armas, Palacio La Moneda, and the outdoor market. The market (el mercado) was “across the river,” which as I have come to understand it, is the dodgy side of town.

Before arriving in Chile, I read that this country is the least “Latin” of the South American countries and cat-calling and female objectification is minimal. I’m writing to the authors of the Lonely Planet Travel Guide to inform them that they are sorely mistaken. If you’re ever feeling unattractive and are in need of an ego boost, ladies…jet on down to Cheeelay! When we walked down the street, people came out of stores and stopped traffic mid-intersection to say things like “HI BEAUTIFUL WOMEN! Be my PRINCESSA! My REINA! I dream of you!” As if we weren’t a spectacle already. To make matters worse, the town drunkard (one of many, I’m sure) threw himself to the ground in front of me and tried to kiss my feet. I gave the phrase Speedy Gonzalez a new meaning and proved that sandals can double as track shoes. After I had put some distance between my feet and the Rum Tum’s lips, I went to a fruit stand to try my luck (a second time) with Chilean bargaining. 

I bought some delicious white-peachy-nectarine-esque fruits for a fair price and as I was walking away, the vendor chased me down with two apples, “regalitos para mi amorita.” I wonder how many times a day he uses that line! I smiled and gave him a little arm squeeze…two apples is enough to win my heart over any day (boys back home, are you taking notes?). That earned him some whooping calls from his buddies. The lovely courtship came to a halt when a very angry Sergio popped up and scolded me for straying from the group. Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful, Sergio. 

Salud!

Got my bearings in Santiago. Apparently that takes me 4-5 days (Hence why I have taken so long to blog new posts). I suppose I’ll try and sum up the highlights of the past couple days for you insatiable readers. Also, I apologize that I got a jumpstart on the entries before sending out the link to my blog…for the life of me, I could not figure out how to type the @ sign using a Chilean keyboard and hence did not have a convenient way to type in a bunch of addresses.

I will start off by saying that I kicked off my entrance into the country by lying to the officials of the Chilean government. They saw my container of granola buried in my suitcase with the security scanner and asked me about it. I told them I had no food in my bag. The ornery woman with the hairy lip said, “Bah!” and waved me through. I also smuggled in a jar of crunchy peanut butter.

Back to my busy update. All of the volunteers were picked up at the airport by our program coordinator. Turns out another girl on my Toronto flight was also in the program. She is 6’2’’, platinum blonde, has shoulders like Schwarzenegger , and introduced herself as, “Graaaayce. From Al-uh-bay-muh. Roll mother effin’ tide.” Her handshake caused me to drop my 50 lb suitcase on my left foot. The fact that she was wearing hot pink emphasized her abrasive introduction. Needless to say, our cute little Chilean coordinator named Claudia was rendered speechless when the pair of us rolled out of customs.

There was a bus waiting for us that scooped us up and took us to the charming Hotel Montecarlo. All 20 of us were paired off and hauled our respective 3-4 bags up anywhere from 5-7 flights of stairs (Strike 1: no elevator). At least I was only on the fifth floor. Throw in Santiago’s current 90 degree afternoons, the Chilean aversion to household AC units, empty stomachs, and you’re left with a group of very disgruntled, world travelers. Luckily after that, it was lunch time.

Lunch in Chile is a multiple course, 3-hour affair. After dal bhat galore, I am A-okay with this cultural nuance. After one meal, I am already dubbed the “sarcastic girl who takes pictures of her food.” There are worse things. At least I’m not the blonde Hulk from Bama…? Anyhow, I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll bold all of my food descriptions so you can skip them if you so wish. You can’t, however, stop me from posting hundreds of food pictures.

Café Lastarria

Appetizer (Entrada)- ceviche

 Entrée (Plato del fondo)- roasted chicken with the most amazing couscous that I have ever eaten

 Dessert (Postre)- leche asada (a dessert similar to flan) with blackberry sauce

After that we did lots of fun things that I’m sure I can sum up in one sentence. No- a sentence fragment. Ready? Wandered, exchanged money, got lost, found a park, heladería with homemade ice cream (yum), bought an adaptor. Boom! Also- my first peso exchange with a Chilean resulted in me paying double for a bottle of water. Apparently the bargaining skills that I acquired in Nepal have gone dormant.

Since lunch is the big meal in Chile and lunch had been our first meal together, we had thought that it was an extra special fancy welcome shindig. WRONG. Dinner was at the wondrous Café de Opera, a fancy schmancy restaurant where a table for 20 was reserved for us on the roof patio. In addition to multiple courses, we were (aggressively) offered drinks during the intervals of feasting. In one sitting, I tried the famous pisco sour, some Chilean red (tinto vino), and some Chilean bubbly. Oy. When in Rome? You say “Salud!” in Chile when you make a toast. Salud times three and I was ready for bed.

Café del Opera

Appetizer (Entrada)- cheese platters and dumplings

 Entrée (Plato del fondo)- tilapia over a root vegetable pureé 

 Dessert (Postre)- maracuya (it’s a local fruit that tastes like guava) meringue and the girl next to me’s chocolate gelato (nobody’s perfect)

So apparently that’s what my volunteer fees went toward. Staying in a nice hotel and being wined and dined on rooftop restaurants. No complaints.

¡Qué suerte!

After borrowing a rather disgruntled Canadian man’s phone (which had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I couldn’t figure out how to use the pay phone…), I was told by her father that Caitlin was on her way to pick me up. Feeling helpless without a phone and extremely skeptical that we would be able to find each other the old fashioned way, I stepped out into the carpool lane. Within a matter of seconds, Caitlin came bumping up in her little blue Honda and scooped me from the curb. I hadn’t even set my bags down yet. Surely it can’t always be that easy.

We narrowly avoided the onset of rush hour, the weather was uncharacteristically warm and sunny, and the whole day was before us! What luck, ay? We went to a restaurant called Earth to Table for lunch and although they were fresh out of the token Canadian delicacy known as poutine (hope I got the spelling right), we had a delicious lunch. Then my lovely hostess took me down to the waterfront (of Lake Ontario, that is) where we got coffee and perused the ship yard. After we wore ourselves out, she took me back to her humble abode in Hamilton and I saw firsthand how Canadians live…the same as Americans.

After that, we were ready to eat again! On the way to the airport we stopped at the Bean Café for dinner. The food was scrumptious (kudos to Caitlin…2 for 2 on restaurant selection!) and we may or may not have gotten a huge slice of chocolate almond mousse cheesecake for dessert. It was around this time that I decided that I like layovers in Toronto much better than in New Delhi. Caitlin dropped me back off at the airport with a hug and a promise of Tim Horton’s and poutine upon my return trip. DEAL.

Not much to report back at the airport. I breezed through security (hand grenades and all!) and got situated at my gate. Sidenote: I’m convinced that the Canadians have better commercials. Or rather, their marketing directors seem to cater to my unwavering appreciation for slapstick humor.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OX5sXVNa_PE

As far as layovers are concerned:

Enjoying spotty free WIFI and side-splitting TV ads with full belly of yummy Toronto cuisine…trumps paying to use restrooms and sipping overpriced instant coffee at the Delhi airport for 17 hours.

The true test of my lucky streak would be the seating arrangement on the overnight flight to Santiago. I was genuinely shocked that I was not in the last row of seat by the bathroom. As I made my way to row 33, I spotted a large Chilean with a questionable large sweat stain on his back despite the chilled cabin temperature. Here we go, I thought…ten hours with the Sweatmeister. But NO! As fate would have it, I found myself seated between a tall and good looking American who I had spotted before boarding and a very benign elderly man. Ok, someone definitely made a mistake.

This is when the good luck got kicked into high gear. When the plane started taxiing, I looked around and realized that only about a third of the seats were full and several rows in the back were EMPTY (prime for sprawling). I apologized to my short-lived seat buddies, collected my bag, had the tall hunk check to make sure the coast was clear, and sprinted back to claim a row for myself. I spotted the one I wanted and came in for a landing…which would have been smooth aside from the fact that there was a man already laying there. I had plopped my bag on his chest and sat on his chins before I registered that there was a human beneath me. Oopsies. He was very good-natured about the whole thing and we ended up chatting for an hour or so…in SPANISH!!! He was a Chilean who was returning after having worked at a ski resort all winter. Turns out he was my age, studying electrical engineering, and also happened to be rather attractive. Although he was keen to converse with me and practice his English for the duration of the flight, I left him after a bit in search of a makeshift bed.

I passed up two studly guys in favor catching some Z’s in an empty row of seats. I staked a claim on three empty seats. I glanced over and there was a gorgeous and chiseled young man in the next row. I hope all of the Chilean men are this attractive! I LOVE THIS COUNTRY ALREADY!!! So here I am, fully reclined and well-rested, typing away, and casually stealing glances at the lovely Latino to my left. Life is good. And will be even better when the breakfast cart makes its way back to me.

That’s all for now…I’ll update again once I get my bearings in Santiago!

Off like a Herd of Turtles!

When I was younger, my grandmother always used to say, “And we’re off like a herd of turtles!” as soon as my sister and I buckled up in the backseat. If you can imagine a young avid Discovery-Channel-viewer trying to rationalize this statement, then you might see why I was never a fan of this expression. Now a wizened and mature 22 year-old, I can honestly and ever-so-victoriously state that I understand the profound meaning behind the aphorism. I know that was a teaser. Stay tuned for my revelation.

I am a penny-pincher and I’m not ashamed. Seeing as how I haven’t yet entered that little thing known as the “Real World” yet, I am currently running on limited funds and am always up for saving a dollar…or in this case…two hundred dollars. How, you ask? When purchasing airfare to Chile, I found that the cheapest direct flight was $200 more expensive than a connecting flight. The catch: tacking on extra 1500 miles and 14 hours onto my travel route.  After all, it makes complete sense that flying from Atlanta ALL THE WAY UP to Toronto and ALL THE WAY BACK DOWN to Santiago would be more fuel and economically efficient than a direct flight. Naturally, I opted for the Canadian route and keep my two Benjamins. Besides, I’m not one to turn down another stamp in the ole passport.

Clearly, to be “off like a herd of turtles” is to swing by Toronto en route from Atlanta to Santiago de Chile. If only someone had explained this to my naïve childhood self. What clarity!

The good news?  My friend Caitlin lives in Toronto and I have made plans to meet up with her during my ten hour layover. Definitely worth it.

After some frantic last minute packing and a solid 1.5 hours of sleep, my poor mother took the brunt of my pre-departure stress fest. (Sorry, momma! I love you!) So, it worked out that my good friends Brett and Alex so selflessly sacrificed their sleep to brave Atlanta rush hour and drive me to the airport. They even parked and helped me carry my bags inside…what stand-up guys! Good thing they accompanied me inside or they would have missed out on seeing the largest and firefighter ever known to man. I swear he was flirting with the 7-foot height marker. Anyways, we said our goodbyes at the check-in counter and then there I was…alone and facing 5 months…on my own. My self-pity party lasted approximately 20 seconds and came to a screeching halt when I tried to kick my suitcase forward and the line moved up and instead fell on top of it. I was openly laughed at. I blame my sleep deprivation. Let the journey begin.

Boring is Better

Reasons this blog will be significantly less interesting than Easy Peasy Nepalesey:

1.       The Chileans believe in plumbing and daily hygienic practices. (adios weekly icy cold bucket showers, welcome flushing toilets and water heaters)

2.       Food is eaten at a table with utensils.

3.       Chile’s pumas are kittens compared to Nepal’s leopards and tigers (and cobras and malarial mosquitoes).

4.       Himalayas > Andes.

5.       Although it’s a struggle sometimes, I do consider myself to be at least proficient in the Spanish language…thus eliminating the language barrier and subsequent complications (village sex scandals, for instance).

6.       I am generally less interesting (and probably a lot let stressed out) as a person without Allison around to keep me on my toes. By the way, I saw her the night before I left and her summer endeavors include BIKING from Portland, ME to Portland, OR. Typical.

7.       Santiago is in the Central Time Zone (no jet lag for me!) and I will have regular access to the glorious creation that is internet. WAHOOOOOO!!

Conclusion: I must act as recklessly as possible to generate interesting blog-worthy material. Chilean drug rings, Patagonia adventure sports, Latino romances, make way!