Cathy's Big Adventure!

Friendship

2012-01-02T18:47:00.003-03:00

Lately I've been feeling really blessed to be living in a place where friends and family are a short phone call and drive away. Over the holiday, I ran into friends at a local coffee shop and hung out with them and caught up. I went to a 2 year olds birthday celebration, and thought, this is really nice to hang out with my friends and their kids. I went to SF with my work friends. I went to a New Year's bash - held by my brother's girlfriend's sister and met a whole slew of new people!

I forget that not everyone has the opportunity of a support network. Not everyone can make fast friends quickly, can find people that are supportive and will be there for you if you need them. So to bring in the new year, I'm writing this thankful blog. I really am thankful for my friends and family. I'm thankful for a life that is so rich with blessings that I get the luxury of boredom.

And I hope for the new year I can continue make incredible memories and be their support like they have been for me.

Thanks my friends and family!!!

Three Weeks of Vacation is Awesome...Sort of...

2011-10-26T20:12:00.005-03:00

I don't understand people who never take vacations. I was meant for vacation!

I think it's one of the main reason I've stayed a freelancer - I don't want to have to beg for more than two weeks of vacation a year. And luckily, I don't!

And here's why I love vacations:

It is on vacation (see my latest one below!) that we begin to unwind. The ties that bind us loosen their grip: our habits are forgotten, as are our roles we play as friend, sister, girlfriend, co-worker. The stress of work and responsibility, disagreements and misunderstandings - all are paused while we walk in cities with people who don't know us, barely understand our language and just want to take our cash - ahhh heaven!

But as silly as vacations are, they are such an important part of refreshing ourselves.

Think about it. How often are you only worried about where you're going to eat, where you're going to sleep and what cool thing you're going to do. That time is precious. Not the self-absorbed part, but just the forgetting of all things "YOUR LIFE" for a while.

In those moments, things that seemed so convoluted suddenly clear right up - even sad things like why a relationship doesn't seem to be gelling like you had very foolishly hoped.

So here's to vacations and clarity...even though sometimes what you get clear on totally sucks. And enjoy my pics - I had a really fun time in Indonesia; I really did!

Accomplishing my dream of seeing monkeys in the wild

Weird Menwi temples - practicing roofing I guess

Farmer in the rice paddy who wanted to sell me a woven corn-husk-like hat.
My friends said I should've gotten it but I'm not sure how I would've pulled that look off.

The famous rice paddies of Ubud on the island of Bali.
This is where Elizabeth Gilbert of Eat Pray Love fame stayed.

This paradise scene was everywhere - almost ridiculous how pretty it was.

Where should this blog go?

2011-08-31T14:00:00.002-03:00

It has been a long, long time since I've written anything. Lately I've had more time on my hands than I know what to do with and my blog has come into my mind.

So I thought you might be able to help me. What should I write about? Before, my blog was all about Chile and the experience there. Now that I'm home, I feel at a loss.

Should it be about spirituality and finding or searching for God?
Gratitude?
Food and Fitness?
America and technology and politics?

Here's your chance to weigh in! Help!

Farewell Mel

2011-02-28T14:45:00.004-03:00

A good friend of mine, Melissa Heagerty, passed away on Thursday, February 24, 2011. I am so sad.

I wrote this as soon as I found out:

Some of my best moments I've had with Mel. She was just this amazingly cool, calm and collected person. In 1998, Mel and I went to Europe for three weeks - london, paris, madrid and barcelona. She had the best sense of direction and seemed to be soooo capable. I was amazed because I had no idea how the subways worked. If it hadn't been for Mel, I would've ended up in Germany instead of Paris, for sure.

The best part of the trip was watching the musical RENT in London. We lined up 2 hours early to get standby tickets - and managed to get second-row seats. At the time, one of the actors in the show was Jesse L Martin, who was also playing Ally McBeal's boyfriend on TV. We both had huge crushes on him. After the show, we waited outside the cast door for an hour. I was losing hope, but Mel wasn't. And, then suddenly, Jesse was there! We got him to sign our program and take a photo with him. We were on cloud nine for the rest of trip. I loved that Mel had enough gumption to accomplish whatever she wanted. Whether it was doctoring or getting an actor's autograph, if anyone could do it, she could!

We just had so much fun together. We drank too much together on numerous occasions, talked about guys - or the lack therof, attended slam poetry competitions, took Ju Jitsu together, hung out at Barefoot or the original Coffee, and took trips to her family's Tahoe cabin.

One time, Tiff, Mel and I went to karaoke. I now know I wasn't drunk enough to sing but then I thought, sure why not. We chose Love Shack. But when I got up there I was scared out of my mind. Thank god Mel can carry a tune and can belt out that song like nobody's business! Because she was good. The more I realized how good she was the more my karaoke-ing became lip syncing. At the end, she laughed at us, "Thanks for leaving me hanging!" What could I say besides, "But you were doing so good on your own..."

We really tried to help each other out with our careers too. I read and edited her essay for med school. She hooked me up with an interview at her dad's advertising agency when I was thinking of going into to ad copywriting. And when I went Chile, I begged for Christmas cards, and she actually sent me one. She said it was her only card she sent that year. I was not surprised that it was a picture of her entire family. She loved them. I've never seen someone closer to their family.

In the past few years, it has been such a joy for me to watch her grow into her own. It was so funny because we started to look to her for the truth. Which she gave. It didn't even have to be a medical question. But if there was ever a fact in doubt, all heads would swivel to Mel. "Is that true?" And Mel always had an answer, "Actually, the Dixie Chicks formed in ...." And then the matter would be settled.

It's hard to not be angry about her death. She was just getting to where she wanted to be - back at work being a doctor, losing the weight that had always been a struggle for her, giving up drinking and smoking for a healthier lifestyle. But maybe that's why we needn't be angry - she was doing what she wanted to do, gaining confidence, and really living life.

So now comes the task - where Mel used to occupy this space in my life, I am beginning to fill it with the memories of the joyful times I had with her. And my goodness, there was so many. I feel lucky and grateful to have called her my friend. She was adored and cherished.

In our hearts, she will always be adored and cherished.

Always.

I miss you Mel.

Beautiful California

2010-09-06T13:06:00.009-04:00

All I gotta say is that California is one beautiful state!!!!

First up, a special trip up to Yosemite with my dad to see the falls in Yosemite at the beginning of summer. The water was craaazzzzyyyyy!!! We walked up the mist trail to the top of Vernal Falls. I was soaked to the skin by the time we got to the top. There was so much water that it was running down the trail like a creek. It was so fun!

Second up was the Los Altos Art and Wine Festival...where I got distracted by this jumping ride. Lootttts of fun! I got some serious air.

Then was a day with Ash in Napa and Sonoma.
Next it was up to Dixon.

I was telling a friend of mine that I felt I could have an adventurous life closer to home. I think I was right (but I still want to go Africa).

Happy Labor Day!

Check out this article!

2010-07-15T12:51:00.001-04:00

Hi everyone,

I wanted to share with you this article I wrote on the barrios in Santiago.

Enjoy!
Cathy

Two Years of Blogging

2010-07-11T23:28:00.006-04:00

Almost two years ago, I started this blog...and an adventure of a lifetime.

Now I've made my decision to make America my home, to find adventure right outside my doorstep instead of 5,000 miles away. I decided months ago. In May. But it's taken this long for the sadness to fade into a hum soft enough to write about. Pollo and I have broken up--long-distance works only when one can see an end to it. I am quiet and private in that grief. But too, I quietly endure the heartbreak of leaving a country that was like a home to me.

Before I transform this blog into my big American adventures, I wanted to remember Chile a little bit more. I wrote this two weeks ago but never posted it. So here it is now:

Today, I watched Machuca, a movie about Chile in the 70s. The protagonist's name was Gonzalo. That is the name of my ex-boyfriend. I miss him, too.

It has been too long since I've had ice cream or croissants at Emporio La Rosa. The fact that it took me a beat to remember the name makes me still sadder. The ride on my bike from my house to Pollo's, regardless of our end, will always be one of my gladdest memories, that and once (tea) with Pollo's mom and grandma in their sixth floor apartment--tea and me eating too many toasted maraquetas.

I miss that language: "ya po, huevon" and "oye" and "ven paca huevon." I miss the dogs, oh the wonderful, terrible stray dogs, the rundown look of every corner store, the smog obstructing any view of the Andes.

I miss Kanke and the little house. I miss the Chilean whistle they do through their teeth and wave their hand around to say "impressive!" or "Wow! I miss horizontal lines at the pharmacy, and the less efficient everything. I miss the people, instead of automatic sprinkler systems, watering their lawns.

I miss Kanke's mom who would stop by with gifts for Kanke every week--magazines, statues, furniture, her gesture of love for her wild, beautiful daughter. I miss the light of the morning streaming through the little house, me, at my big window sitting down to write, incense burning a blessing on the window sill, the zorzal (thrush) sitting on the gate right outside, watching me watching him.

I just miss everything.

It's strange because my life in some ways isn't all that different here. I write in a room next to a window that looks out on birds, though because the house isn't mine, I don't have incense burning, nor the freedom that my own place brings. I have flowers in a vase and little notes to myself strewn about.

I am, as always, me, wherever I go. But I seem to have left a world behind, too, and I miss it.

But I don't regret it. Chile was a book that had to be written, an "I love you" that had to be said, a road that had to be taken.

So here's to the road taken...and to the many yet to come.

Poetic World Cup

2010-07-11T22:55:00.005-04:00

I watched the World Cup finals today...well actually, I watched La Copa Mundial to be exact. It's the World Cup, only with the poetic words of the Spanish announcers.

And since I know a bit of Spanish, I thought I'd share some of their best lines with you.

When a goal was scored in the semi-finals, the announcer yelled:
"Golllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll." You know what that sounds like if you've ever listened to the Spanish soccer announcers.

And then he said, "Gol! Gol! Gol! Una poema con tres letras!!!!" Which means "Goal! Goal! Goal! A poem with three letters!"

I laughed when I heard that one. I've never heard a goal described that way, at least not in English.

Then today, the announcer was in rare form. When the Spanish goalie made a great stop, he yelled, "Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, welcome to the land where superheroes don't use capes and masks. They wear short-sleeve shirts and gloves to make stops like that!"

And when Sergio Ramos missed a shot-on-goal, the announcer narrated, "He arrived to write, in gold letters, his name--a legend--to pass on immortality.......and HE FAILED!"

And then when one of the Netherlands players raced to catch up with the ball and couldn't, the announcer commented, "He thought in some moment there that his legs would turn into motorcycles but that wasn't the case."

SPOILER ALERT

And finally, the best of all, when Spain won, the announcer had this to say, "Today we don't have the word 'winner' (he says winner in English). Today we have 'ganador.' Today we don't have 'a new champion' (also in English). Today we have 'el nuevo campeon.' Because today the World Cup is embroidered with golden letters in the name of Spain. And soccer lives and that passion lives in Spanish!!!!!"

I've got to say that if our English announcers were that poetic, I might find more time to watch sports...maybe.

Ugliest Dog Contest 2010

2010-06-26T23:19:00.007-04:00

Eric, my younger brother, his friends and I recently went to see the Ugliest Dog Contest at the Sonoma-Marin county fair.

We arrived just in time...

The Ugly Purebred Contestants

Notice that this Chinese Crested has no hair and his tongue sticking out?

One of the Ugly Mutt contestants--his teeth were awesome!

Our Ugly Dog 2010 Winner! Princess Abby!

The winner! (photo from Internet)

Purebred contestant named Icky with his owner

Icky getting lovin'

Third-place Ugly Mutt Winner (It's a Mexican Hairless)

Eric eating a turkey drumstick...

Squash art

Potato Art

And that, my friends, is how you enjoy a fair!!!!

Saving Stray Dogs in Chile

2010-04-23T16:41:00.001-04:00

Let's take a little break from my decision at hand. Instead, read an article I wrote on stray dogs in Chile. Enjoy!

Opinions

2010-04-16T13:24:00.012-04:00

I realized recently that it's really difficult to resist telling your friends what they should do with their lives. Especially when you can see it so clearly. It's like watching your best friend standing in front of two different paths in serious contemplation. One path leads to a dark forest, which to you looks eery and dangerous, and the other is brightly lit with butterflies flitting about. To you, the path is so clear. Is there even a decision to make?

You'd totally choose the eery forest, too...right?

People are so different. On the topic of Chile, I've gotten all kinds of opinions. And that's the part where it gets interesting. I talked with a Canadian friend of mine who, after hearing the pros and cons, was sure I was going back. To her it wasn't a big deal to live in Chile. After all, she's happily living in a different country. In contrast, many of my married friends and family, who love their lives here, say I should stay. Each of my friends' and family's opinions on what I should do really reflected on what they do.

This realization made me think of the opinions I've given to others. Was my advice really the best choice for them? Or was it, in fact, only the best choice for me given their situation?

So as you ponder a difficult decision, perhaps the best way to decide is not to listen to the advice your friends give you, but rather listen to the advice you give them. Perhaps your opinions about how your friends' lives are really cues--and gifts--on how you should live your own. If you can see the path so clearly, then maybe that is the path you should be taking.

Crazy, huh?

I'm on MTV Latino

2010-04-11T12:34:00.004-04:00

I'm on MTV Latino. "How?" you ask... Don't worry, I'll tell you.

My roommate's friend's sister is awesome singer/songwriter Mariel, who has developed quite a following in South America and Mexico. And back in May, she had asked my roommate to be in the video. My roommate offered our house as practice space. And lil' ol' me happened to be home that day, writing. When they got stuck on choreography, my roommate asked me to help. I guess they liked what I came up with because they were using my ending AND asked me to be a dancer.

I agreed on one condition. That I wouldn't have to wear a unitard (one piece of cloth that is only flattering on those who have 0 body fat.)

So we practiced and then late at night a few weeks later, we went up to the roof of a friend's apartment. They set up bright stage lights. A fog had settled over the city (May is fall in Chile) and all of us wore tanks exposing our midrifts and cut off jeans. We were very, very cold for most of the shoot.

But it was an amazing experience. Now, 10 months later, that puppy's on MTV!

Check it out:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WfmCB0KUcFo

America is the Queen of Excess

2010-03-26T15:05:00.019-03:00

Yesterday I bought groceries—my first big grocery store trip since I got back.

The whole produce department reminded me of Chile. The waxed apples reminded me of the Chilean corner stores that carried the non-waxed kind. The sticks of cinnamon reminded me of Pollo's grandma who loved cinnamon in her tea. The grapes reminded me of how Pollo would buy fruit for me—a simple gesture of love. The ginger root reminded me of Kanke's tea. It must've been a sight, me holding ginger root to my cheek and muttering, "Ah, Kanke, making chai...."

But as I filled my cart with mountains of food and canned goods, I felt more and more disappointed. Where was the restrained Cathy happy with a backpack of food?

Really, the whole store was not only a reminder of how it had been in Chile, but it was also a reminder of how I had been in Chile.

Can you miss yourself even though you're always with you?

See, I feel like I lived differently in Chile. It was closer to a yoga life, more detached from material goods. I didn't have TV to remind me that I needed to look prettier or be thinner or richer. I didn't feel the desire to possess things so acutely. Here, staying detached is not so easy.

I've already gotten worked up into a frenzy of money worries—and it's not like I have a job yet or have to worry about rent. I feel more pressure with each monster house I see, all the pristine lawns and the shiny new cars. I feel it when I see $200 haircuts, highlights and nails. I feel it in the presence of TV, People magazine, and Starbucks. It is a pressure to conform and consume.

Country economies are based on consumption. The money I make freelancing is based on someone consuming something. But Americans, we take it to a whole new level. It's like having a genie in a bottle. Ask and it appears.

But we pay a price for having everything, too. Perhaps we develop a fear of losing our stuff. Or a fear of change rises within us. Or we choose not to follow our true path because we can't figure out how to maintain our stuff and our dream. The worst payment that we pay for this lifestyle is a small nagging feeling that, after all our buying and consuming, there's still something missing.

Before I left for Chile, I had that feeling. I had the $200 haircuts, a purebred dog, the cleaners, clothes shopping as a way to advance my career, a town filled with ubiquitous Hummers and Mercedes. I was happy to consume, but I couldn't get rid of that feeling. And in deciding to move to Chile, it was as if I had been running on hamster wheel, next to all the other people running on their hamster wheels and suddenly asked the forbidden question, “Why am I doing this?” And that something-is-missing feeling left and did not return until I came back here.

So the question remains, do I stay and reshape my life here? If I stay, my habits will need to change. After all, once you know, you cannot unknow. And how much do I pay attention to the advice being given to me by friends and family?

It reminds me of this quote from the movie The Secret: “When the voice and vision on the inside is more powerful, clear and loud than the opinions on the outside, you have mastered your life.”

As I try to master my life, I see that beneath the question of Chile versus America is a deeper issue: will I choose to live for others or for myself? Though I am not certain where I will live, I know one thing. I must walk my path, regardless of the opinions on the outside, regardless of how loudly their own fear speaks.

Reverse Culture Shock

2010-03-19T15:55:00.005-03:00

I was feeling pretty disconcerted and out of sorts this week. Today I read this article on Reverse Culture Shock. Now I feel relieved. Ah ha, this is why I have felt so disoriented. Just trying to find my balance after a life of earthquakes and aftershocks.

When you think about it, it's a wonder I've managed to remain relatively sane and well-adjusted. Not only am I adjusting from a foreign country of Spanish speakers where the mundane was really exciting (watch Cathy try to ask for cough syrup in Spanish!), I'm also adjusting to the city/suburb transition. For example, yesterday I went for a walk through the neighborhood. It felt like I was in a parallel universe, one where population control had gotten, well, out of control. Where were the people? Eerie--all these pretty houses and no one in them.

And since I'm having a pity party at the moment, I was just in an 8.8 earthquake three weeks ago! Oh, and don't forget that the man I love is now really, really, really far away.

Actually, now that I think about, I'm feeling really proud of myself. I survived a talk with the parents (friends, you know the kind of talk I'm talking about). I even did my taxes! And I've been earning money, too, without really marketing my writing services. Not bad for having arrived 10 days ago.

Think of that...12 days ago, I was talking in Spanish with Kanke and Javiera and two guests from Spain, eating chipatis (indian flat bread) and drinking mate (tea). I was kissing Pollo goodbye.

This week, it's Mojo Burgers and Togo's and NCIS on TV.

Both experiences, both countries are great, but this transition is like being in the shower when the water heater breaks.

I am trying my best to adjust. But please forgive me if occasionally I shiver from the cold.

Sandra Bullock and Avatar

2010-03-13T14:54:00.003-03:00

I've been the States less than a week now and last night went to a Sandra Bullock movie marathon at my brother's friend's apartment in San Francisco.

I always enjoy bonding with my bro and his friends, but I felt out of sorts, without a layer of armor. In Chile, I could hide behind my Spanish, use it as an excuse to remain outside of conversations. Here I don't need to hide.

When you're in a foreign country, you forget how easy it is to speak in your first language (or at least I did). The last month there, I had only spoken English to Javiera, and I spoke a little slower because, although she is bilingual , she doesn't get all the words.

A room full of American-born and raised English speakers! What a hidden blessing--I bet no one else in that room thought twice about how awesome it was that we were all speaking the same language!

After dinner--and conversations that included the horrors of Avatar and the strangely redeeming qualities of Showgirls and Demolition Man--Eric commented, "imagine trying to have that conversation in Spanish."

I was already trying to imagine.

My ability to participate in the raucous conversation would have been very small indeed in Spanish. Something like "I saw Avatar. I think it was pretty." The part where one of guests explained that Avatar was disturbing especially in the rape of those flying creatures by the blue creatures, my contribution in Spanish would have been "What does violar mean?" I would also have laughed at appropriate places (with a 50% chance that I actually understood what I was laughing about).

I felt at times like I was listening too attentively. I was using too much effort to understand meaning and then realizing that I didn't have to try so hard after all.

I forgot how pleasant conversations can be. I have missed my ability to engage easily in conversation. How frustrated it makes me to know that my boyfriend, the one who I have chosen as my closest confidante, still hasn't seen this part of me. He insists that he understands that I am funny, and not shy, but it's hard to believe it when I myself know that I still act a little differently when I have to speak Spanish in a crowd.

I am reminded of Woman Warrior, a memoir by Maxine Hong Kingston. I read this several times for English class in college, and I really didn't get it then. I thought I understood, but it was only in Chile, speaking Spanish that I really began to understand:

A dumbness--a shame--still cracks my voice in two, even when I want to say "hello" casually, or ask an easy question in front of the check-out counter, or ask directions of a bus driver. I stand frozen, or I hold up the line with the complete, grammatical sentence that comes squeaking out at impossible length. "What did you say?" says the cab driver, or "Speak up," so I have to perform again, only weaker the second time. A telephone call makes my throat bleed and takes up that day's courage. It spoils my day with self-disgust when I hear my broken voice come skittering out into the open. It makes people wince to hear it. I'm getting better, though. Recently I asked the postman for special-issue stamps; I've waited since childhood for postmen to give me some of their own accord. I am making progress, a little every day.

That end line is true, too. Progress occurs but the evidence appears like water creates a canyon--really, really slowly.

Chile Shakes Again

2010-03-11T20:27:00.002-03:00

Today my boyfriend sent me this Web site and told me that the earth was shaking brigido--really hard. 11 earthquakes. Of the 11, 3 were over 6.0 (one at 6.9), the rest over 5.0, 50 miles from Santiago. He was worried--it's hard to concentrate on work and a social life when the darn earth keeps moving beneath you.

It's one thing to be in a 8.8 and the aftershocks. Or to be in a 6.9 (like the Loma Prieta) and the aftershocks. But to be in an 8.8 and then 13 days later be in a 6.9 with aftershocks...well, that's something different entirely!

I guess I picked a good time to return home, however much my mind and heart still lingers there.

Talk of earthquakes has made me begin to imagine them here. Or perhaps it's like sympathy pregnancy. I feel sympathy aftershocks.

My heart goes out to Pollo and the viejas, Kanke and Javiera and their families.

All I can hope is that when the earth moves in waves there, they all get ready to surf.

Taking Care of the Hairy Homeless

2010-03-06T11:59:00.005-03:00

A very hairy, gigantic four legged creature and his sidekick stayed in our house for a few days this week. If you haven't guessed yet, it was a Saint Bernard named Aragon and his buddy, old Gaspar, a Scottish terrier. Both lived in Constitution in my roommate's family's house.

The Saint Bernard was adorable and huge! He'd was like a gigantic furry rug that took up our entire living room floor. The Scottish Terrier, Gaspar, tolerated his surroundings with disdain. I imagined him speaking in a Scottish accent, "Not perfect, but it'll do."

The last couple of days have been interesting. Our house not only filled with dogs, but with food and clothing to be sent with my roommate to Constitution. In the end, they filled a van to the ceiling. I was so proud of her efforts. People have streamed in and out of our house this whole week bringing supplies.

Last night, they held a special Teleton on TV they had created in four days called Chile Ayuda Chile to raise money to send to the South. Lan Airlines, the president, Isabel Allende, Soprole and more donated millions of pesos...Isabel donated half a million dollars. All last night and today, we can walk into a Banco Chile or Banco Santander and donate money. I'm going to do it when I finish writing this post.

Friends from Rapa Nui landed in Chile today to start a new life in La Serena. They seem optimistic. They're staying with us till tomorrow.

Tonight a few friends are coming over for the tiniest of despedidas (goodbye party)...no big carretes (wild and crazy parties) this time.

I ate a copa simple yesterday at Emporio La Rosa--Miel de Ulmo y Chocolate Avellana ice cream. Honey of the Ulmo Tree and Hazelnut Chocolate. It was so good I might go there again today, although I promised myself I would go to Bravissimo and get this complicated $6 ice cream dish called Copa Dali that I said I would get before I left.

Pollo is begging me to stay and I'm begging him to not stay in Chile. I'm going to have a last dinner with the viejas on Sunday night--his grandma is cooking humitas, which you guys know as tamales.

It is a confusing time for me. I'm really sad about leaving, having dreams about teaching, along with earthquake nightmares. I am alternately sad, happy and panicked every five minutes.

My roommate Kanke arrived yesterday. I am really relieved and feel much better knowing she's home. She's also almost always cheerful, so her mood is rubbing off on mine.

Life is moving on and so is Chile.

Words of an Earthquake in Chile

2010-03-03T22:10:00.005-03:00

When you learn a new language, you learn quickly the words that most affect you. When I first arrived, I learned all the Spanish words for vegetables because I'm a vegetarian. I also learned all the meat words so I knew what to avoid.

I learned the words of love. I learned the words related to stray dogs and pets. I learned my personal Chilean-Spanish world of words.

And now I'm learning the words of disaster, albeit unwillingly. Toca de queda (curfew) is said 50 times a day here. I learned maremoto (tsunami) and terremoto (earthquake). I learned damnificado (victim) and saqueador (looter). I now know fallecido is another word for dead.

I really, really wish I wasn't learning these words.

But despite my now sadder Spanish vocabulary and the earthquake stories that still come streaming from friends and acquaintances (one friend says her parents are from the south and lost everything), my life is strangely, oddly normal. I've been writing and editing, riding my bike, and packing my room to go home for good.

Pollo and I got into a disagreement, the first one since the earthquake. I guess the unity that fear of death brings has gone. I am embarrassed that the argument was a petty one, a kind of argument that couples have about communication. Huevas, is the name for it in Chilean Spanish. Arguing about nothing. I'm embarrassed that we argued at all. Could we not have been grateful for our lives and each other just a little bit longer?

A friend asked if the earthquake gave me a different perspective on my life. It feels like I should be more grateful. But I have been grateful since I landed here, grateful that I took a risk in my life that turned out to be one of the most valuable experiences of my life--earthquake or not. Instead of a shift in perspective, I only feel all the more certain that the choices I've made in my life are good ones. I am all the more certain that I am blessed.

Bendecida. Blessed.

Back to Normal...Almost

2010-03-02T14:06:00.002-03:00

Life has strangely gotten back to normal for most of the population of Santiago. How quickly the people have rebounded from such a mega earthquake! The world really does keep on turning, even when you think it will stop.

When Monday morning came, my boyfriend tells me he was the only one in casual clothes. Everyone had arrived on time, dressed like normal -- Suits and ties for the management, dress shirts and blouses for the employees. The only evidence that it was not a normal day were the cracks on the floor and the toppled office supplies.

Pollo tells me that at least 4 guys he knows, instead of running to a doorframe, ran to their plasma TVs. So even among the somber faces, humor is starting to return.

I spent last night at the viejas' sixth floor apartment--the first night where none of us felt aftershocks. They served porotos--a bean and noodle dish I love. Perhaps it was a bribe to get me to spend the night, but I was more than happy to be among people I love. Their apartment is back to normal, with the addition of a few more cracks along the walls...and still without electricity.

As I went shopping for food yesterday--to several corner markets--I realized what an important role those markets will play for Santiago in the next couple of days. The sheer number of small corner markets in Santiago (practically every corner) has absorbed the panicky run on food.

I went to my corner market and saw that the soft drink and juice aisle was pitifully empty, an unpopular two or three liters of soda remained. I got the last fresh bread in the bins. Of the manufactured bread, only a loaf of Easter bread waited to be purchased. But I wasn't worried. I just got on my bike and went from market to market until I had what I needed. The Santiaguinos have done the same.

Things are so normal, that even the kids went back to school today.

But, it's not all the way normal yet.

Today my roommate asked for clothes and food to donate South. I hear also that Don Franscisco's Teleton coming soon will be to raise money to rebuild the South.

And we hear the stories of the people who drowned in the tsunami.

My other roommate Kanke comes home Thursday. She, and our friend Prema, are the last piece of my small network of friends that I have not seen. I don't think I'll feel 100% relieved until I see them face to face.

So life is back to normal for Santiago and for me...almost.

Surfing the Land

2010-03-01T09:33:00.012-03:00

I'm not sure how I managed to luck out, once again, but I feel so lucky to be alive and to have gone through the 8.8 earthquake unscathed. Here's my account of what happened to me. It in no way resembles what happened to those in Concepcion, Talca y the coastal towns closer to the epicenter.

It was early in the morning. I had gone to bed but I woke up at 3am, restless. I was wide awake. I felt anxious but I couldn't place why I felt such stress. My Aunt Myra and Uncle Rick and I'd had a lovely meal at the Sheraton Santiago restaurant a few hours earlier. They were in Santiago for two nights and then planned to head to Vina del Mar to catch their cruise ship. I'd also had a cell phone conversation with Pollo, my boyfriend, before I'd fallen asleep. He had been anxious. He kept saying, "I feel really strange." Perhaps it was merely the stress of life that kept Pollo and I both lightly sleeping. Perhaps we sensed something coming. Whatever it was, when the earthquake hit, I was already half-awake.

The rumble came first. It is a low sound, like the rumble of an 18-wheeler or a helicopter in the distance. It is the growl of the earth, a million dogs below threatening to attack. As a Californian, I know that sound well, too well. I had been in the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake. I was 11, earthquake phobic and skittish as a cat. I'd cried then.

This time, I was probably too calm.

Being earthquake-wisened, when the low rumble began, I reached over to turn on my light. Had I been dreaming, or was there really an earthquak? The electricity was already dead. The rumbling kept going. I reached around in the darkness for my pijama pants but couldn't find them in the pile of blankets at the foot of my bed.

As the rumbling picked up speed and volume, the sound of concrete slamming against concrete nullified my inhibitions. I swung open my door in a short tank and undies and ran to the doorframe at the front of our house. It had been the agreed upon place to be--Chileans are also earthquake savvy, and we'd already discussed the safest place: doorframe, inside away from falling tiles and electrical wires, but nowhere near glass.

The door was locked. It is one of my secret horrors--the worse scenes in horror films--when someone is being chased and all they have to do is unlock the door and they'll be saved. But they just can't get the door open...I had a moment of panic then. If only I could get the door open. But I took a deep breath and twisted the deadbolt and then opened the door wide. Javiera, my yogini roommate, was right behind me.

We stood in the doorframe bracing ourselves with our backs against the frame, facing each other. I don't know who reached out to the other first but we had a hand on each other's shoulders, as if we could keep the world from shaking if we braced ourselves well enough. I said, "It's going to be okay. It'll be okay..." to reassure us both. I thought about the Loma Prieta. I survived one, I thought. I could survive two. The sky flashed like an electrical storm, the transforms sparking. The car parked on our patio rocked as if someone were trying to tip it over, the branches on the tree bowed and swayed like invisible monkeys had come for a party. We heard several crashes in the house--glasses, vases, books, who knew--but you don't care what gets broken when the earth is moving like a see-saw. There is nothing more frightening than feeling the one thing you think you can count on--the earth you stand on--moving beneath you.

We surfed the land, Javiera and I.

Our neighbors had been having a party. They're drunken "woa's" turned from lighthearted to serious as the earthquake went on and on. I thought I heard someone begin to cry. I don't remember hearing any of the dogs in our community--they normally bark at everything. Instead, every car alarm in the city began to whine, as did the familiar sirens of ambulances and firetrucks.

Finally, what felt like a minute later, the shaking stopped. The moon was out, providing us with silver light, illuminating what had become a very dark night. However calm I had been in the doorframe, I was as equally afraid going into the depths of the house. My room is at the back of the house, where the moonlight had not reached.

First order of business was to find my cell phone and my flashlight in a room so dark I couldn't see my hand in front of me. This was when I thanked god I am so neurotic and organized. My things have "their place." The cell is always at the edge of my desk. The flashlight either on top of nightstand (because I always feel reassured having a flashlight handy) or in the nightstand. I found both quickly.

Our house smelled like rotten flowers; a vase had fallen from a bookshelf and spilled old water and moldy leaves on the dining room floor. It did not break.

A wooden statue of Don Quixote fell. It had not broken either. A thermos fell in my room. Again. In tact. A bottle of wine I had as a gift for Kanke was still upright. My lamp was upright. Nothing fell out of the bathroom vanity. Nothing happened in our house. The refrigerator contents were fine. Our wine glasses toppled in the cupboard but none of them broke or even cracked.

We turned off the gas and started using our cell phones and our land line to call friends and family.

I called Pollo immediately. His house was built in the 1800's. We had both taken a look at the back wall a week ago and had been dismayed. It was brick. Solid, but old. Pollo picked up instantly and in his panicked, fast spanish, he said he was fine. He saw the street undulate like waves in an ocean. He said that a lot of tiles had fallen in his patio but that he'd run out into the street before they fell anywhere near him. He was safe and biking to get his grandma (85 years old I think) and his mom from their sixth floor apartment five blocks away.

I managed to get through to the Sheraton and find out that Rick and Myra were safe and sitting out around the pool area. I left a message with the front desk and prayed they'd get it. I had no way of calling Rick's cell since it was an international number and I had a wimpy prepaid local cell. My land line as well wasn't equipped to call international numbers. I had been using skype this whole time but with the electricity out, our wifi was also out.

Next I tried to connect directly to the land line and use a dial up connection to get on the internet and leave a message for my parents. But try as I might, I couldn't figure out how to use a dial-up connection from Chile.

Both Javiera and I had heard from as many people as we could and then the network got jammed. The house was fine. We were fine. Our neighborhood was fine. Javiera wondered whether she still had to teach Yoga the next day. Then she looked at me, looked at the house, and said, "You know what, I'm going to try to go to sleep." We laughed and joked that "we'd see each other at the doorframe." The earthquake for us wasn't even close to what it was down south.

We had no battery-powered radio. We had no TV. My internet was down. But from our small community, we thought the whole world had remained unscathed.

I was amped with adrenaline, but I took the candles we had lit into my room, and began to read. I was speed reading, I was so jumpy. I couldn't figure out whether the writer had a stilted way of writing or whether I was incapable of reading at this point. It was me.

We felt aftershocks, silent, rolling ones that make your head swim. The silent ones make you feel like you're dreaming.

At 4:45am, Rick and Myra managed to get through to my cell. We confirmed that we were all safe. Their preferred-guest room--also on the sixth floor--ended up being the one right next to the gigantic structural crack you could see from the outside. Myra said that it felt that the building was not only swaying but twisting as if it would just rip apart. They said they'd send an email to my parents saying I was okay--they both had high-tech international palm pilots--and that they'd call again at 9am.

At 5am, Pollo called out my name from outside my window (as I was still jumpily reading my book). I ran out and we hugged each other for a long time. He couldn't stay and though I really, really wanted to have my man with me, I knew he needed to take care of his mom and grandma. They were staying in their car in the plaza near their house. They were safe. Pollo wanted to take me with him but I didn't want to leave Javiera at home alone (especially since she had managed to fall asleep). Plus, I wanted to be around for the next phone call from Rick and Myra in case they needed to dial my land line instead of the cell.

By 6am I'd managed to fall asleep, which is incredible turnaround from when I was 11 and jumping at aftershocks all night.

By 9am Rick and Myra called again. I wasn't sure what we were going to do. In my head somewhere, I thought maybe we'd still go sightseeing if things got cleared up. It still hadn't hit me what was going on, and without much information, I thought things were fine. I told them I'd bike over. I took a hot shower, ate some fruit and rode over to the Sheraton on my bike. Javiera said she was going to her parent's house.

The extent of the damage got through the fog of my brain when I saw the entire guest list of the Sheraton hotel curled up on couches and lounge chairs, sleeping and talking or watching the news. They had blankets and some were sitting on their luggage.

A security guard tried to stop me as I rolled my bike through the marble lobby littered with suitcases and strung-out guests. There was no way anyone was going to stop me from being with my aunt and uncle.

Now, my aunt and uncle are really well off. They've traveled the world and had their share of hard knocks. So I was not all that surprised that they both looked fresh despite not sleeping and ready to go play a round of golf. They were sitting out, catching some sun, both wearing stylish shorts and expensive sunglasses. I gotta say, they know how to do "earthquake survival" very well.

We sat near the pool, watching the aftershocks make ripples in the cool, blue water. Rick had managed after six trips up and down the stairs to gather all their luggage. They had packed for a 30-day cruises--tuxes, fancy dresses, the whole deal.

Both of them were coughing up black gunk from the dust they inhaled in their lungs during their tramatic experience.

Everyone was fine. Shaken up, but fine.

And so, my cush Sheraton earthquake-survival experience began. We chatted, had diet cokes and beer, free lunch and dinner buffet (and good food too!). I laid down in the grass for an hour and a half till an aftershock that lasted too long woke me up.

Wifi began working, and we Skyped my parents who had already heard about the earthquake from my younger brother who had heard about it from my older brother. They were very relieved to hear that we were all okay and together. Apparently, later, my friend Tiffany called my parents and posted a "Cathy's okay" message on Facebook (thanks Tiff).

Rick, who enjoys the title of Mr. Fix It, hatched several plans. After talking on Skype with Princess cruises, he knew the cruise was still a go. We decided that to stay at the Sheraton when I had room available at my solid "not a single crack showing after an 8.8 earthquake" house would be ridiculous. So, we waited until after the dinner buffet, gathered up all six incredibly packed and heavy suitcases of theirs, my bike and backpack, and took a van over to my house.

The lights around the city cheered us up. Some streets already had electricity back up. Some traffic lights were already working. We prayed that my house would have electricity. There was electricity up until my street. Then, we just stared at what looked like a black hole in comparison to the happy brightness of the street lamps and houses lit up on the streets we had just passed.

No matter. We lit candles, found the flashlights again, showered and went to bed. Pollo stopped by and met my aunt for the first time--what strange circumstances to meet the first of my family.

I tried to convince Pollo to bring his mom and grandma over, too. They were going to spend a second night in the plaza. I didn't have much but I had beds. Javiera was staying with her family. Lua had moved out. Kanke wasn't home. And we had an extra bed we were using as a sofa in the living room.

But the women didn't want to be far from their stuff, which was understandable.

The next day, Rick and Myra took their chances and left for the Vina del Mar Sheraton. I thought about sleeping more after they left. But as I lay in bed, I thought about friends and family who might not have heard from me. My need to communicate with the outside world overpowered my sleepiness. Pollo had power at his house, which meant he had internet too.

I biked over. I thanked my lucky stars I had purchased a bike. In this emergency, having a bike was the best mode of transportation. The metro had been shut down. Buses were infrequent. Walking was too far. I didn't have a car.

An old brick wall on the street Antonio Varas had been knocked over. Tiles littered some of the streets and sidewalks. A electric pole was leaning over. The damage to my neighborhood was minimal.

I hugged Pollo, his grandma and his mom. They looked tired and hadn't slept well in the car. I emailed my friends and watched a little of TV. A tsunami had created a lot of destruction that the original earthquake had not in the coastal towns near Concepcion. Looting had begun in those areas where the destruction was heaviest.

We went to see Pollo's best friend Edu. He, his ex-girlfriend and their son came with us to the viejas' sixth floor apartment for lunch. Spaghetti with aglio sauce, beans and cilantro, wine and soft drinks, celery, and bread. We had bought a tres leches cake for desert at one of the pastelerias that happened to be open that day. We thanked God for our good fortune. We watched Gaspar, their son, frolick, oblivious to the bleary eyed adults and the news they were hearing. We all laughed at his antics, happy for a distraction.

Despite my sleeping the night before, I was so tired. Being on edge for so long had taken it's toll on my body. After two days of not sleeping, Pollo was finally starting to feel it too. We left for my house--the best place for sleeping it seemed.

Pollo just crashed. He finally didn't have to worry about his grandma and mom for at least a little while. I rubbed his back and he fell into a deep sleep. I tried to sleep but couldn't. Someone outside was calling for Kanke but I didn't realize it until they left. Then Javiera came back, this time much more disturbed than she had been the night of the earthquake.

I got up and spoke with her. It turns out her family was in Constitution, a coastal town, 50 km from the epicenter. After the earthquake, they'd gone in two cars to their father's office building, on top of the main hill there. Everyone ran for the hill. They had all been trained that after an earthquake in Consistution, they needed to get immediately to high ground. Her family stayed in the office without electricity and no news until the morning. Then her dad drove down to try and see how their house had fared.

Their neighbor's house was flattened...it just didn't exist. There house was still standing, but all of their furniture had been swept to sea--and possibly looted too--and what remained were possessions from other people. A wallet. A dress. Both their other cars were lost. When they saw how much robbing and looting was happening, they took their two remaining cars and headed back to Santiago. Javiera says they never want to return there.

Javiera said her parents in Consistution could hear the screams of campers stuck out on an island nearby as the water rose. You've probably seen the images, too--they're all from the south. A boat displaced a block into town. Whole sections nothing but mud. A new apartment building split in two as easily as splitting a piece of cake. I heard that several sections of Santiago--poorer, older sections--were more badly damaged, but I had not gone to see it.

After our nap, I suggested once again to Pollo that he bring his mom and grandma to my house, but it looked like his grandma still didn't want to be far away from her stuff. So I suggested we all stay at the six floor apartment.

We went back over there, set to stay the night. But during our dinner, an aftershock hit. We all froze and watched the lamp hanging from the ceiling swing. What would have been a small tremor on the first floor was a huge swaying on the sixth floor.

It was decided right then and there. We were heading to my house -- my solid, ground floor house with a bed in the living room, five feet away from the safest doorframe in the house.

His mom stayed in my room, Sari, his grandma stayed in the living room, Pollo and I took Kanke's room upstairs.

It was the first time Pollo and I slept in a double bed together. And we were so used to the cramped twin--and so grateful to be alive--that we slept all night holding each other close.

The next day, the electricity came back on. Pollo went to work. And I did too. I opened my laptop, like on every other day here, poured myself some tea, and sat down to write.

My mom's friend Carolyn wondered why I hadn't been speaking with CNN--this was my chance to be a journalist. But I never saw a single camera van in Santiago--after all, they go where the damage was, and my corner of Santiago was impeccable--and when it came time to go towards the damage, I only wanted to gather every one of my family and friends here and fly far away from danger.

In the end, instead of chasing a career, I only wanted to be with my people. I wanted to tell stories, sit down for a good meal, and when it came time to sleep, offer them the safe haven that my house came to be. It wasn't much, and it certainly wasn't close to what all those rescue workers have done in the south, but I did manage to give a few of my friends and family a good night's sleep when they needed it the most.

I am alive.

2010-02-28T12:46:00.003-03:00

8.8 earthquake in Chile in Concepcion. I am alive. My house rocked like a boat on an ocean, but sustained no injuries. Everyone of my friends i know here is fine. I was with my aunt and uncle at the Sheraton waiting for news and eating free food and playing cards. Now that they{ve gone off to try their luck at getting on the cruise, Iam here with my boyfriend and his mom and grandma. I{m not alone. I am fine. Shaken up (haha) but fine. I will write more...and hopefully more coherently when I don{t feel the fog of not sleeping very well and being with family who are waiting for me to finish so we can go eat lunch at their apartment.

Much love for everyone!

Cathy

Leaving Spanish Behind

2010-02-23T10:01:00.005-03:00

I realized recently that in leaving this country, I am leaving much more than a culture. I am leaving all the details too—the stray dogs that still make my heart pound just a little faster, biking up cerro san cristobal (and being practically sick watching those stupid runners climb up it faster than I can on my bike), ayoom and this special house with the perfect lighting and the perfect temperature during the summer. I leave Kanke and Belen and Prema and all the hippies that are sort of half friends who always seem to have homemade incense in their pockets.

I leave behind Pollo.

But the thing that really gets me (besides the obvious leaving behind of my love) is that if I'm not too careful, I lose a language in leaving, too. And darn it, I barely got comfortable! I was beginning to joke. Talking on the phone in Spanish was not as difficult as it had been. Given a good spanish day, it was downright enjoyable. I could even argue in Spanish (trust me, this is impressive).

Having a second language is not like a riding a bike, where even if you don't ride a bike for ten years, you still know how to ride. It's more like getting a piercing. If you don't wear the earring, the hole closes up. It leaves a scar, but it closes up. If you want to wear earrings again, you've got to start the process all over again.

What comes to mind is the scene from Awakenings with Robert DeNiro. A new medicine allows him to awaken from his catatonic state. He feels absolutely alive. But the medicine's effects wear off and he finds himself slipping back into the catatonic state he had been in. The knowledge of knowing he's slipping back...that's the worst part.

I feel a panic there, thinking about slipping back into the fog of a single language. I just don't want to watch it happen. I don't want to talk to Pollo on the phone and know that I know less Spanish than the week before.

Pollo has a TV that allows you listen to several programs in either the English version or translated into Spanish. I need this capability in America--either the TV or something I can implant in my brain for automatic translations.

And a lot of motivation....

So when you see me watching Dog Whisperer in English, remind me of this post. And make me change it to the Spanish version.

Cerro San Cristobal

2010-02-22T17:42:00.003-03:00

I made a pact with myself that I would bike Cerro San Cristobal three times a week until I left.

I have already failed.

But here's the reason. I decided I would try to beat my time each time I went up. I got a little crazy and made myself feel a little nauseous, and then I didn't want to climb the hill anymore.

I have, since that moment, recognized a couple of things:
a) I am competitive
b) I am really slow
c) Either I need to push myself to the point of passing out to remain competitive, or I can mute my competitive spirit as much as possible and enjoy the journey.

Since I don't really feel like passing out, I gave up trying to compete. I now curse those darn runners who stride past me (me, on the bike!) under my breath with a bitter "good job" and try to ignore that speed walker who seems like lightening next to my slow chug.

I am trying to become zen with my own pace.

Plus, the popsicle I buy at the top tastes better when I don't feel like passing out.

But in honor of my competitive spirit, I will say that I did cut my time by four minutes before I quit all this time business. 28 minutes and 20 seconds, ladies and gentleman. It's my record time and it's the only one I'm reporting.

Now I'm going to become one with my zen pace, curse quietly, and climb the hill again.

I just want things to be easy

2010-02-05T11:09:00.003-03:00

After a lot of dreaming about new careers--writing, personal training--when I imagine my life once I get back home, my biggest dream is nothing more than that ...

...it will be easy. Please, let my transition home be like water flowing in a stream, like the ease of a summer breeze.

After the struggles of living here--getting cold after cold, having to actually use my pepper spray, trying to tell jokes in Spanish, trying to not spend ALL my money, trying to make sure that no one else spends my money, having a boyfriend and still deciding to leave--I just want an easy transition into my life back at home.

I crave for it mainly because I have a feeling my difficulties aren't over yet.

After all, I have five boxes to my name. No car, no job, no bed even! I have nowhere to put my clothes. Last time I was home, I put them into a makeshift dresser that looked an awful lot like a cardboard box.

I have a laptop (with a new 120 GB hard drive--Thank you for the going away gift Pollo!) and a camera and a passport--all wonderful travel furniture. I pray that they will be enough for home, too. I pray that with very little effort, and lots of enthusiasm, a bike and then a car will come into my life. Soon after, a job that I love or that at least I can stand for a little while will fall into my lap. Just as easily, someone will offer me their spare bedroom for $300/month within walking distance of my job. Aww, the dreams of a tired traveller.

How funny that at the end of this amazing trip, after having experiences that I will remember for the rest of my life, I can't wait to settle in to a normal life, where I get to complain about my stupid job and make decent money.

So while you're praying for important things, like Haiti's recovery, and the passage of the health care bill, and a good last season of Lost, would you also put in a little something about how grateful I'll be for a little, tiny, tiny bit of "easy"?

Coming Home March 9

2010-02-04T11:46:00.002-03:00

It feels like it's been months of me thinking: Do I go? Do I stay?

Since December, I've had a few days of "I want to go home now!" followed by days of "I could really imagine staying longer..."

In December, I decided I needed a measure, a way to figure out whether to stay or leave. I decided I would stay until I said, "It's time to go home!" for a solid week. Perhaps a solid week would have appeared much sooner, had it not been for the pololo who loves me here. It's hard to sift through the complications of loving someone but still not being able to imagine living forever in his country.

In the end, it was merely several conversations with my friends and family in English that made me realize that, when I thought about returning home, I was excited. When I thought about staying, I wasn't.

Perhaps after a few months back in the U.S., I'll come to my senses and return to South America for more adventures. Perhaps...

More likely, my big adventures will now be in English, in California, and very ordinary (although, some might say ordinary is merely a state of mind).

More Chilean Details

2010-01-31T10:10:00.005-03:00

Last time I left Chile, I felt I had forgotten the tiny details that made Chile interesting and different from America. And having forgotten what exactly I wrote in 77 blogs entries, I figured I'd just risk overlapping.

1. Chileans feel that lanes are merely a suggestion. The dashed line doesn't have to be followed all that closely. They sometimes hang out right over the line, their wheels in two lanes. Anything goes in Chile.

2. Terms of endearment here are mean but accepted as cute. Chanchifante (my little pig elephant), guatoncita (big bellied woman), chanchita (little piglet), gordita (plumpy), negrita/blanquita (my little black girl or white girl), cosita (my little thing), gordifante (fat elephant). I don't know about you, I really don't want to be called a little piglet...even when it's said with lots of love.

3. My favorite Chilean/Spanish words:
Chan nan: pronounced Chaw Nawn! It means ta da!
cuatico: pronounced QUAteeko. Means freaky or strange.
te pasaste: pronounced very exaggeratedly tay pawSAWWWstay. Means you outdid yourself.
pucha: pronounced POOCHuh. It's the watered down version of chucha. It means darn or too bad.
chueca: pronounced chWEKuh. It means off-kilter, crooked. Like, I had a tooth that was chueca but then I got braces.

4. Farmer's markets and corner stores. They are everywhere! I loved them. It's the most convenient aspect of Chile. When you need food, you don't have to walk far to get it. I've almost stopped going to supermarkets completely. I've gotten so lazy and since having discovered how close fresh food really is, I've given up what I can't get at the farmer's markets and corner stores.

5. Reggaeton. You cannot escape it. The same beat over and over again. Very sexual lyrics. Very sexual dancing. BOOM bahdoombah. BOOM bahdoombah. BOOM bahdoombah. Se Va Sola by the Shamanes Crew, a group from Chile is really good reggaeton. You hardly noticed the same beat over and over again. In fact, check out all of the Shamanes Crew on Grooveshark. Really good stuff.

6. I have no idea if this song by Pitbull, called I Know You Want Me was big in the states, but it was big here.

7. I still think Chileans are the worse line cutters in the world. But, I have to admit, I have started to do the same. What? When in Rome, right?

8. Having a boyfriend with a truck has expose me to new details of Chile. For example, if you have enough cash in your car, you can get chores done simply waiting for the light to turn green. Thinking about replacing the wiper blades...never fear, wiper blade man is here! Want your window washed? Also very possible with every corner littered with teenagers offering to wash your window. And while that happens, you'll also be entertained by the magician performing slight-of-hand tricks and a flag girl twirling and swinging flags. Plus, once you park, you have the option of getting your whole car washed. Car washers come to you in Chile!

9. Peajes--toll booths. First, you have a FastTrak type system along the better freeways. It's a nice freeway because hardly anyone can afford to be on it. Then, once out of the city, you pay for each part of the highway you drive. It's not cheap. It costs about $6 to drive from Santiago to the coast in a car in peajes alone. Probably $7 including the FastTrak system. Then it's about $40 for gas. And considering how much Chileans make...it's expensive!

10. Crowded beaches. Everyone makes the exodus to the beaches during the summer, even Argentines. It's a colorful and sometimes overwhelming scene. There are only certain beaches that don't have strong tides, so everyone flocks to them with their children. If you're not interested in swimming, you can choose miles of empty sand.

11. Just like in the car, on the beach, you can get whatever you need. Do a little shopping and buy some earrings, buy food and drinks, and listen to the one-man drummer nearby. If you go, bring or rent or buy an umbrella and if you're white, spf 50 at least. The UV rays in Chile are gnarly.

I have to say this list is more for me than for my readers. I just don't want to forget them when I go....whenever that is...

At the beach from the cybercafe

2010-01-22T13:38:00.002-03:00

Algarrobo feels strangely similar to Santa Cruz...except that everyone is speaking Spanish. The two friends on the computers at either side of me are speaking Spanish but in an accent that makes me think they´re not from Santiago. Still Chile, but maybe to the South, I´d guess.

My thoughts lately have turned towards home...and then have immediately turned back to Santiago.

The beach life...awww. We don´t spend much money each day. Just ride bikes, eat ice cream, watch House on the laptop and data show Pollo brought.

It´s a normal life...my Spanish life.

The past month has been filled with small sparks and ideas about home and about here. Exactly where oh where to place my roots...and is it possible to place them in two countries...or do you then spend your whole life stretched impossibly thin over 5,000 miles?

It´s strange to think, but your life is yours, your own, and you can put down roots anywhere you want.

I´m waiting for my heart to point and say, here. This is where you belong. For now it seems to be pointing in all directions, like one of those crazy sign posts you see in Europe.

Perhaps it is merely saying to me,"You belong to the world. You belong anywhere and everywhere."

And now, i´m off to drink a capuccino which at this one particular ice cream shop consists of regualr coffee and the rest whip cream! I´m definitely not complaining.

My Terrible Spanish Jokes--Read at Your Own Peril

2010-01-16T10:51:00.002-03:00

My roommate and I began creating Spanish jokes...really, really terrible jokes...but it has helped us remember words. And so, I decided that I wanted to show them off and make your days brighter...even if just by a little.

The first one:
Que dice frutilla a la manzana? Disfruta!
What did the strawberry say to the apple............... Enjoy!
Explanation: Disfruta means enjoy...within "disfruta" is the word "fruta" for fruit. hahahaha.

Que dice oveja Jack a oveja Can cuando Can compro un estereo nuevo? ............Baaaaacan.
What did Jack the Sheep say to Can the sheep when Can bought a new stereo. Coooollll!
Explanation: Bacan means cool in Chile. Baaaa is the sound a sheep makes... get it, get it? hahaha. Are you crying yet?

Longer joke:
Un nuevo presentador extranjero, se llama Stezar, estaba dando un discurso en una plaza de un pueblito. Los ciudadanos juntaron en la plaza, pero despues de cinco minutos algo extrano empezo occurir. Todas de las bocas de la gente empezo a abrir. Un nino que nunca habia visto este fenomeno, pidio, "Que esta pasando?" Una persona a lado de el respondio................. "Es bostezar!

A new foreign presenter, named Stezar, was giving a speech in a plaza in a small town. The citizens gathered in the plaza but after five minutes, something strange began to occur. All of the mouths of the people began to open. A small child who had never seen this phenomenon asked, "What is happening?" A person next to him replied..................."It's yawning" AND "It's the voice Stezar!"
Explanation: Bostezar means to yawn. But voz, which sounds the same as Bos, means voice. Chan nan! Aren't you glad you're read this?

That's all I've got for now. I've been trying to put one together for feliz (because fe means faith and liz is a girl's name...there's a joke in feliz somewhere). If you have a chance, send me your jokes!

Hope you all have a lovely and rico Saturday!

Can One Joke Change Your Life?

2010-01-10T11:23:00.002-03:00

Recently Pollo and I have had our share of discussions over when I'm leaving and why. And inevitably, it comes up that despite how much he loves me, I remain unfulfilled. Not because of lack of love, but because of lack of Cathy.

My dance friends pointed out to me when I was last in the US that I am a very communicative being. And a complete one at that. But, when you put me in a situation for say, a year and a half, where my communication is restricted, you bet I'm going to be a little -or a lot-unfulfilled.

When I was last in the US, having gotten reacqainted with myself as well as with others, I broke up with Pollo on the basis that he really didn't know who I was. I had been lost in translation.

I still feel like that. Less so. But still, the shiny, bright, happy Cathy is just below the surface, as if I'm floating under a Spanish sea. Everything I do in Spanish is with that slow, walking-in-water feeling. When I talk, I feel like I talk underwater.

Pollo said to me once, "I don't understand it. You seem shiny, happy Cathy to me. And what's the problem? I love you as you are."

How to explain that I'm half Cathy and the other half is some weird, new Spanish entity that oddly seems similar to the timid, shy high schooler that faked her way through with a lot of bravado.

Then yesterday, we went to a Chilean wedding in Rancagua, an industrial city an hour south of Santiago. We went to the ceremony and then the socializing at the reception began. This is my most uncomfortable moment-a Spanish wedding reception. Normally, wedding receptions are a bit uncomfortable--until the alcohol starts flowing. The disadvantage for me is that I still feel uncomfortable here, even with the alcohol. It's a tough line to walk. Get too drunk and you lose the capacity to speak at all. Not enough and you say "uhhhhh" a lot!

But the gods were on my side. I had the BEST Spanish night of my life. Others might have judged the wedding for the food, or the dancing, or the drinks. But I judged it solely based on my ability to speak.

And then there it was. The golden opportunity. I was telling a friend of Pollo's about my travels to the north--that I went with my roommate and her friends and we camped beneath the stars and the full moon. Then he asked, "And you guys were naked, right?" And I replied in split second, "Well, that was implied." Ba doom doom. Chan nan. Joke (not true, but funny nonetheless). He laughed on cue.

So here's why it was so special. It was the first intentional, well-timed clever joke I have ever made in Spanish. I wanted to use the word "implied" but didn't know the word so just guessed at "implicado" and hoped for the best. I actually managed to get the joke in under the timing required for all jokes...something that with a lack of vocabulary usually leaves me in mid-joke going "uhhhhhh, como se dice....."

How could a joke make me feel so darn good? So fulfilled after so long being half-Cathy? Because it's a part of me. I might not be funny to everyone, but I like having a full set of tools in my toolbox to try. Spanish was mine fully to use last night. I used Spanish slang. I asked questions to other people. I understood when they responded (most of the time).

It was like coming up for air after such a long time underwater. A little peek at me--a little wave hello. Like "Ah, there you are. Where have you been?"

So here's the ultimate question...how far do I take this Spanish thing? Do I see how long it takes for me to really start swimming? Do I have the patience to wait for the real Cathy to appear in Spanish? And even scarier...what if Pollo doesn't actually like the real Cathy. Actually, that's not scary--if he doesn't like the real Cathy, we all know he's crazy, right?!

I think everyone should live in a foreign country for the experience of limited communication. It's like having your mouth taped except for just a tiny hole and having to learn how to speak again through that tiny crack at the side of your mouth-exhausting, frustating, embarrassing, awkward as hell, but, once you get it, you ARE the party trick. Your command of your new speech IS the fascinating thing you bring to the party. People are amazed (frankly, I'm amazed too).

So here's to more Spanish jokes, a little brighter shimmer of me through the Spanish sea.

I'm an auntie!

2010-01-07T11:17:00.002-03:00

Say hello to Emmaline Jaymes Dean. I can already tell she's gonna be so cool!

Sample the Chilean Experience

2009-12-15T12:50:00.004-03:00

So what is the Chilean experience, really? Here's some examples:

1. Example 1: The Coddled Chilean Man Date
Recently my friend went out on a pseudo date with a 27 year old Chilean man. They planned to meet where he lived, in a town outside of Santiago. It took her two hours on a bus when she thought it'd take about a half hour (in a car it would have). When she arrived, she and her guy hung out with his friends in a plaza. Then they went back to his house, where he lives with his mom. His mom served once (tea) with maraqueta bread (kind of like a small baguette), butter and ham. My friend, being a vegetarian, only ate bread with butter. When she revealed that she was a vegetarian, it was a big deal...kind of similar to My Big Fat Greek Wedding "What? You eat no meat? You eat no meat. That's okay. We'll have lamb." Then they watched bad Chilean reality shows.

Low-key, free and involving his mom. The Chilean date.

The best part (or worst part) about dating a Chilean man is that really you're dating a Chilean man and his mother. You get the man and when you're tired of the man, you turn to the mother where you get free lunch or dinner, your clothes washed, and a trip to her second house at the beach. Wherever there is a Chilean man, there is always a caring (overbearing?) mom nearby.

Example 2: Biking the Cerro
I didn't really know it until now but biking to the top of Cerro San Cristobal is a feat that most of the Santiago population has attempted. I attempted on Sunday and would've made it (I swear!) if it hadn't been closed halfway up the hill due to the elections. I did however subir (climb up) the half of the hill three times with my friends, and so therefore enjoyed the speeding down as fast as you can before you get scared more times. As I watched the gringos at the bottom getting ready to ride the teleferico (tram) to the top, I thought, nope, that's the tourist experience. The Chileans go up by bike.

Example 3: Elections
Elections for president are a two-part affair. The first took place this past Sunday where they narrow the candidates from four to two. The second will happen in the new year, when they choose their president.

Here's how it goes: A month or two before the elections begins, signs start appearing everywhere, people's shining, smiling faces advertising their campaign. I have never seen more billboards and signs and faces in my life! It's Disneyland with a bunch of happy heads everywhere. Then people get tired of the posters and start vandalizing them. The faces start having missing teeth, horns, or parts ripped off. By the end, the signs are a sad state of affairs. My belief is that the guy with the most signs wins. If Pinera wins the final election, I'm right because this guy's mug is all over this city.

Also, on TV, they have the campaign ads. But TV is expensive here, so sometimes candidates can only afford a few seconds. Pollo was telling me that one candidate, Erika Arrica, or something like that, only had time to say her name, but even then it wasn't enough time, so it was only "Erika Arric". Another only shouted "Trabajo, trabajo, trabajo" during his three seconds of fame. Makes for fun TV.

Stay tuned, it's down to Frei for the left and Pinera for the right. If Pinera wins it'll be the first right-wing President to be elected since 1956. It's interesting because Chile is really divided between right and left. The right lost their land with the reign of socialist Allende. The left have family killed by Pinochet. It's a mess.

Politics--a hot subject here.

Example 4: Where I'm working
Sooooo, something kind of funky happened with our Internet at our house ( a certain someone might have forgotten to pay) and so I went on a wild search for Internet access. Being a very, very kind pololo, Pollo offered to let me use his apartment. But his house is such a bachelor's cave, that I decided I would try a cafe instead. A 20 minute walk to a cafe resulted in discovering that my internet didn't work there either. And sooo, where is the most reliable place for Internet in Santiago. Guesses anyone?

It's the gas stations. Almost every gas station has a place to work, including plugs and free WiFi. Go figure! So I'm working at a gas station, in a pretty comfortable chair, in peace and quiet. It's actually far quieter than a coffee shop. No coffee grinder sounds, no heating of the milk sounds, not even music. It's actually the perfect spot to work.

I know I'm forgetting so much more, but it's all I've got for right now...so now you know a little more about what it's like to experience Chile.

Elevator Buttons

2009-11-14T11:40:00.003-03:00

My friend Mari started a new blog about finding grace and being grateful for everyday things (and miracles, too). I have been so inspired by this, that I want to follow suit. Forgive me if you find this kind of gratitude overbearing and cheesy. I find it good practice for recognizing that you ALREADY have a great life. For an ambitious A-Type like me, this is a very, very good practice. I will still have travel stories, don't worry! But since my computer crashed completely obliterating my photos from Australia (pucha!), it will be awhile till I have something good to show. So on non-travel blog days, I'll have two things I'm thankful for and one thing that I think is funny.

1. Elevator Buttons: I'm stealing number one from Mari who one day commented on the joy of pressing elevator buttons. It stopped me in my tracks. I thought, "Hey, yeah, I doooo like pressing elevator buttons." My favorite kind are the older ones that have a little spring in them so that when you press them they give the tiniest little "click." Just thinking about them makes me want to get into an elevator and press all of them and then run out before I get stuck on all the floors.

2. Flowers: This one I know is a little lame. Who isn't thankful for flowers? Who do you know says, ugh, those flowers are gross? But I will be specific. I am thankful for bouganvillea and jasmine just a tiny bit more than how much I'm already thankful for the rest of them. Or, how about, I'm thankful that with just a glance at the flowers I have in a vase on my desk, I am uplifted. I am buoyed. I am a tinier bit happier to see them. It might be so small it is like the tiny click of an elevator button, but it still counts. Happier is happier.

3. Funny: My roommate Lua telling a long joke. She can't do it to save her life. It'll go something like this... "Okay, so two guys walk into a bar. No wait...maybe it was two nuns. Okay, yeah, two nuns walk into a bar. No wait, two priests, yeah, two priests walk into a bar and..............(long pause)..........shit, I think I just ruined the punchline."

And that's all folks!

Spring is Here in Chile

2009-11-14T11:15:00.002-03:00

Everywhere, spring says hello. A walk in the park becomes a walk through the smells of jasmine and freesia, unidentified tree blossoms and the dust on the wind. Nature's perfumes have arrived.

I have started wearing my peach summer dress. I have pulled off and put away two of the four bedspreads from my una y media plaza cama (twin bed). Our daschund is in heat. Lua and I go to the fruit and vegetable market on Tobalaba and Ossa Saturday mornings, and the viejitos flirt with us. We run three days a week.

I went to La Serena over the weekend. We stayed at a house on a hill in Altovalsol, the beginning of Valle del Elqui, a very famous valley for camping (because it is sooooo beautiful). Imagine, if you can, Napa Valley on a beautiful spring day, grape vines soaking up the sun, their green leaves almost becoming transparent in the bright light. Undulating hills of green. Birds flitting and playing and chirping. A hawk soaring overhead in blue, blue sky, the kind of blue they call "calipso." I stayed in house that had a patio and a sun porch overlooking this view. It was a weekend of dancing and reading and staring awe-inspired into the depths of a grandiose scene. My favorite kind of weekend.

It was while looking at this view that I realized how lucky I am to have everything that I have. That life is not perfect. In fact, life's imperfections is what gives it its flavor. I also realized that maybe, though Pollo and I have our differences, it is our differences that give our relationship (or non-relationship, or whatever it is or isn't) its character, its fuerza (strength). Perhaps the blessing of life is not in its easy weekends but in the depths of the struggle, in the flesh that toils, in the collective power of our hearts and minds wanting, needing, striving.

Of course I thought all this while comfortably reading and doing absolutely nothing...so, um, maybe, the blessing of life really IS the easy weekend.

Four Months Left and So Much to Do

2009-10-30T13:41:00.002-03:00

There is something really special about endings. They give you a sense of closure: a sigh at the end of a novel, the final tear at the end of a breakup, the bittersweet tossing of the cap at graduations.

In these moments, you feel you are on the edge of something new. You are saying goodbye yes, but you are also saying hello. You hope with all your being that it will top what you have done, that your experiences will be better, that you will be better.

It also affects your relationships. You hold on a little tighter when your friends hug you. You start memorizing their details, devouring their uniqueness with your eyes, your ears, your nose, taking in all their information. You think, "After February, I may never see this persona again. Andres at the coffee shop. Jocelyn. Kanke. Lua. Pollo."

You realize while you were trying all the while to leave your mark on the world, the world was happily leaving its mark on you.

Chile has made me different. Its strangers have trained me to be more confident moving through the city. I am now capable of uncovering its secret language (and shoving my body into the smallest spaces on the metro).

Those who became my friends have given me even more.

Pollo once said to me, "If there's one thing I hope for you, it's that when someone asks you, 'what did you learn in Chile' you answer 'I learned to love again.'"

I have.

I love when I see a punk boy helping an older woman with a cart up a flight of stairs. I love when I see a young couple in their own world on the bus. I love when I see my friends loving and making mistakes and getting up again. In the honk of horn, I hear hello...or goodbye...or both.

Lua, my roommate said to me that she wondered whether it was even worth it to make friends here, knowing that she was going to be leaving.

I think it is. It may be temporary. But the effects of that friendship are permanent. It is imprinted on who you become. You may never see them again, but you feel them in how you give more, hug longer, love harder, and live with wilder abandon.

They are my invisible tattoos.

The Internal Journey Continues...

2009-10-28T11:45:00.002-03:00

I came across this blog today. I liked it.

He talks about people looking for miracles in inanimate objects:

"To me, the gathering of large numbers of people to view the semblance of a face on a window pane or a bulging burrito speaks to a great sense of powerlessness. Feeling so small and helpless in a world of chaos, competition and aggression, we seek the miraculous, desperately hoping that it will bless us in some way and ease our suffering.

It occurs to me that perhaps there’s a better way to go about this. Perhaps, instead of looking for the face of Jesus Christ or the Virgin Mary in inanimate objects, we should be looking for the face of Jesus Christ or the Virgin Mary in the face of every person who crosses our path.

If we were able to do this, perhaps we’d be less likely to be judgmental, resentful and angry towards others, in which case our lives might work more effectively.

In addition to attempting to see God in the face of everyone we meet, it might also help us to recognize the presence of God in everything we look upon, not just the faces of people or inanimate objects deformed by nature.

If we were able to recognize the presence of God in everything all around us — in animals, plants, insects, and objects — perhaps we’d treat them all with greater honor and respect, which would also likely lead to a life of greater harmony and balance.

Perhaps the miracle lies not in seeking God in odd and eccentric ways, but rather in seeking God in every moment and molecule all around us."

I wonder if he's ever read Rumi. That last line is Rumi all the way.

Being a Foreigner is Like Being Famous

2009-10-26T11:40:00.002-03:00

My roommate and I were on the metro the other day, and this little boy heard us speaking English. He could tell we were obviously not from Chile. Maybe he recognized English from a class he'd taken.

He smiled at us. We smiled at him and said hello. He continued to stare at us until our paths separated. He shyly asked his mom how to say adios in English. He said a very whispered "Bye" and ran off. It was as if he'd seen a celebrity.

***
Being a foreigner also gives you more freedom. After all, you may never see these people again...and if you do, you'll only see them for another six months and then you REALLY won't see them again.

I went for a walk yesterday. Sunday's are the best days for walks because everyone is out with their families. I had my ipod on, and I began to dance to the music as I walked. I was having so much fun that I didn't care who was watching. I just smiled at everyone who stared and continued dancing. Most fun 45 minutes I've had on a walk in a long time!

Would I have done the same in the U.S.? Who knows? But now that I've tried it, I surely will when I get home.

The World is So Beautiful I Want to Eat It

2009-10-25T13:33:00.002-03:00

My footprints in the sand and the Indian Ocean

Chile, I Love You

2009-10-19T11:51:00.003-03:00

I grinned when I heard my first "sipo." It was in the airport parking lot, heading to the taxista's car with my luggage in tow. I shivered and put on my jacket. The sun was shining, but 7am was still cold, and it was still winter.

The Andes hovered in the distance, sentries guarding the city. They were old friends of mine, welcoming me back to familiar ground.

The old man driving talked like the country Chileans do, a slurred Spanish that makes them sound perpetually drunk. My rusty Spanish served me well enough, but the words came to me slowly, as if underwater. I could not volley back anything. My vocabulary was officially in a body bag.

We drove past graffiti and dry, yellow grass and shanties constructed on the other side of the Mapocho river. Stray dogs sniffed along the river bed. Litter was everywhere. A bank of smog obstructed the distance.

The smell of Santiago is the smell of diesel fuel. I breathed in cautiously, then full deep breaths. It had been too long.

I tried to remember which direction the traffic would be heading on the street where I lived. From 7am-9:30am it ran north. The rest of the day, it ran south. I grinned again. So complicated. So Chilean.

I wanted to hold on to every smell, every scene that swept by my window. The park near Providencia and Bellavista with the art statues. The bridges leading into Providencia--my favorite part of the city. The little corner stands with fruits and vegetables, scarves and earrings, water and snacks. And all the people. I forgot all the people. People begging for money and selling band aids for donations, people in the streets juggling; yo-yoing; throwing, spitting, swirling fire; chucking chinese sticks, knives, and bowling pins high into the air. Payasos and drummers. Dancers. Flag girls. A guy selling posters, selling palo santo (cedar wood), selling mote con huesillos (peaches and oats), selling honey-roasted nuts, selling churros con manjar.

My roommate had once said to me, "Santiago is all about the hustle. If you're sitting on a bus, chances are the person next to you is selling something." I couldn't have agreed more.

I wanted it all then. The greed overwhelmed me. I wanted to possess it. I wanted to make it mine forever.

I wanted to brand my memory, to have a tattoo of this place on my brain forever.

I arrived at the little house in La Reina, first opening the condominium gate with a satisfying "clack". Then through to the inner gate, locked with a master lock. Kanke's dachsund Ayoom was there. She jumped and wagged her tail which made her whole back end waggle, like a horizontal hula dancer.

I stuck my hands through the bars, unlocked the lock with my tiny key, and walked into our garden. The rose bushes had grown twice as tall.

I stopped to pet Ayoom. "Hey girl, long time no see," I whispered. We bonded for a moment, but I was too excited to stay long with her. I was almost, finally, home.

Then, I unlocked the top deadbolt. I remembed when Caitlin and I had first arrived a year ago how we had spent ten minutes playing with the lock because we'd both struggled to open it. The trick was turning the key twice instead of once. Then I turned the key in the bottom lock and opened the door. The light of morning shone through the windows of our living room, warming our normally cool house. The faint scent of kerosene wafted from the portable heater, mixing with the base notes of incense and palo santo.

I immediately felt a sense of calm and peace. The house was a little part of me, and I had missed it.

My room seemed smaller and emptier. There were no posters on the cold white cement walls. The old dog pee stain on the carpet (that then became a much large spot after I cleaned it) looked larger in the empty room. Same business-grade carpet covering the cement floor.

I still had my clothes in the closet, my clock on the desk, my big desk. It felt like I was receiving tiny messages or gifts from someone. "Take good care of yourself. Have fun. Here's some things you might need."

It was the star lamp I had purchased right before I left that made me think of Pollo. Of how he had come to pick me up at the bazaar where I'd bought the lamp. And even though all his friends had been there, he'd only had eyes for me.

Then Lua came out of her room. Kanke came downstairs, too. I pushed Pollo from my mind and spent my first day back in Santiago, laughing and telling stories and eating pan amasado (fresh bread) and avocados.

I was ready to breathe life back into my little corner of Santiago. All I needed was a place to sleep and a place to write, and here, in the little house in La Reina, I had both.

Just a Little Hello

2009-10-15T13:12:00.002-03:00

I'm back in Chile until February. I have no plans. I'm seeing Pollo again. I'm happy. I went to Australia. I'm writing a lot. Not sure what I'm doing with personal training.

Pictures, bigger thoughts, bigger ideas to come...

For now, just saying a little hello...

Something More Interesting Than TV

2009-08-24T14:38:00.004-04:00

What an interesting experience living at home has been! I went from writing about my road trips through Chile to writing about TV shows. Yikes!

To tell you the truth, it's much easier to write about risky things you've done, things you've been thinking and new discoveries when your parents aren't in the next room reading your blog and asking you "what were you thinking?" Best to have some distance from the parental units.

But as a writer, it's hard to postpone writing for three months. So, here's what's been happening:

1. I am a writer, but I really wish I was an engineer because it would be sooooo much easier. I had a conversation with my dad where we analyzed just how tough it would be to be a freelance writer. It's virtually impossible to making a living at it. And yet, there's magazines filled with articles and bookstores filled with books, so someone somewhere is making it. I love writing and am determined to pursue freelance writing, in spite of my dad's really sweet analysis that I'm pretty much going to be broke. He's very likely right, and yet, I will continue on. I guess I just have this idea that I can live an extraordinary life. Some of the best things in life require a leap of faith and risk and adventure. Love, travel, careers in the arts. If I lived a risk-free life, I never would have gone to Chile. But living in Chile has been one of the best experiences of my life, right up there with falling in love. Full of risk. Super fun! Maybe for me, taking risks is part of living a full life.

2. Family and friends are like mirrors. They let you see yourself more clearly. You like yourself with your friends and your family. You accept your quirks. If you don't like yourself with your boyfriend, you're in trouble. So it is no surprise that:

3. I broke up with Pollo. I couldn't make him laugh, and in certain circles, I'm actually funny. Unfortunately I was not funny in the circle with the Chilean-who-only-speaks-Spanish-and-thinks-Family-Guy-is-hilarious. So I'm on a dating hiatus. Not even the cute waiter at Rock Bottom who looked like Slater from Saved by the Bell could convince me otherwise, though, I did consider turning on the charm for a second. I mean he was ripped and looked like Mario Lopez! Hello!

4. I had a moment. It was a very important moment. I swear. At my parents' 40th anniversary party (congrats guys!), I felt for the first time the inkling that I wanted to be home--to hang out with Eric and his new girlfriend, to be there for my little nephew or niece coming in January, to speak English and have an American life. I also still felt the pull of travel, to see Brazil and Australia before I started my American life.

5. I came up with a new rough plan: Australia for a few weeks, Chile, Brazil, any other countries I can afford to visit. Continue to write, offer private personal training to friends in Chile when I'm around. Back by February to begin my American life. Probably back to Davis which has been the city I felt most supported creatively and where I made my biggest strides in living an extraordinary life. (and I know! Davis! Go figure). Plus I can be a writer and afford rent.

6. My friend Mari began this thankful blog I LOVE! I'm considering adopting the format when I return home. Or 365 Good Deeds and each day my goal is to do one good deed. Send ideas my way! Or I might keep the adventure theme and look for the adventure in America.

That's all for now folks! Chao!

The Cable Time Warp

2009-08-11T13:27:00.004-04:00

Cable is death to all art. Creativity is often born out of boredom. And well, how can you be bored with 1000 channels? I remember missing TV like missing a friend when I went to Chile and started living in the house with no TV. So now, it's like getting reaquainted...only now, my TV friend has gotten so much more interesting with cable!

Here are the shows I've gotten hooked on:

1. Ruby--a reality show about a 500 lb woman on a weight-loss journey. This appeals to me because I studied (and just passed!) to become a personal trainer. I'm most interested in working with obese clients so I wanted to know details on how I could possibly help them better.

2. What Not to Wear--I think I maxed out on this episode cuz they kind of say the same thing when you watch 20 in a row. Most women look better in a straight/wide leg jean, trousers should not have pleats, v necks for bust women, wider shoulder straps for supportive bras. Unfortunately, this hasn't inspired me enough to actually buy anything...I'm in desperate need of more clothes but I just can't bring myself to enter a clothing store. Literally, the clothes are falling apart as I'm wearing them...but so far, motivation is minimal. I need a personal shopper who will dress me without charging me a cent...like a fairy godmother only with a mastercard.

3. Dog Whisperer--Ceasar is magical...and kind of cute (don't tell Pollo I said this).

4. NCIS--quirky show, a little mystery with a little laughter. Good stuff.

5. Locked Up Abroad--My dad got me hooked on this show. What I've learned from it: never try to bring drugs into the country...and never accept a "gift" bag from a shady character...or even a nice character. And if something smells weird on your bag, it's probably the glue they used to seal the seams where the cocaine is now hiding. Stab your bag several times with a knife. If white powder comes out...do not take this bag with you on the plane! Words of wisdom people!

6. Tots and Tiaras--okay, this one weirds me out. Little girls dressing up to look like 18 year olds. Before their transformation, they have stringy girly hair, gaps in their teeth, little girl raggedy finger nails, bruises on their legs from climbing trees and pretending to be animals. They're little girls!

After, they're these smiling plastic dolls with hair pieces to make their hair look fuller, false teeth to cover the natural gaps of missing baby teeth, fake nails, spray-on tans, makeup that makes them look sexy at 7, ew, ew, ew! I watched this show Taboo about a ritual where women were whipped with sticks as a rite of passage for their male relatives. Our ritual of making little girls into sexy women at 7 is just as sickening.

7. Bachelorette--I admit it. I've always loved the Bachelorette. I watched the first one with Trista. I'm glad it's not on all the time or my Monday nights would be taken for the rest of my life.

For awhile, cable was threatening to take over completely. But I've turned over a new leaf. What a great reminder that TV, though fascinating, is not always fulfilling. But don't get me wrong...I'm turning it off completely because let's face it, I've got to get my TV viewing in now. In one month, I'm going cold turkey off TV when I head back to Chile.

Ddon't even get me started about the fact that there aren't any sofas, chocolate chip cookies and donuts in Chile--I'm going to have a sofa-loving, chocolate-chip and donut eating, TV watching day on the 13th of September, I swear!

Boredom is a state of mind

2009-07-27T13:16:00.003-04:00

Since I've been back in the States, I've been on a quest to avoid boredom (perhaps this is my life quest too). Here's a random list of what I've been doing:

Watching too many episodes of What Not to Wear, Clean House, and The Dog Whisperer--my brain has become really fuzzy
Selling my stuff on Craigslist--I can't believe we ever had garage sales
Trying to read but electing for cable TV after a page--two boring books in a row, what are the odds?
Talking to Pollo in Spanish via Skype and Web cam--the more I talk to him, the more I realize how lucky I am to be his polola--this one's a good one
Partying: one Saturday, I got to go on a Party Bus with thirty of my closest friends (did I time my return home or what!)
Studying for the Personal Training exam in August (today's my first official day of studying everything I've read--as you can see by this blog, I'm procrastinating beautifully).
Getting my cats ready for the flight to the other side of the equator--my cat Toby is actually sleeping every morning in the crate! Woo hoo!
Praying for Ross Abinanti. He was found (Yay!) but has been in ICU for dehydration. He ate real food for the first time a few days ago, but an email asking to pray for Ross makes me think he's not out of the woods yet.
Visiting friends and family--I went to see Lucy who is now my cousin's dog. She's doing great. When I walked in, she was so excited, she ran three laps through the house: through the dining room and up on the couch around the living room. Although it was hard to say goodbye at the end of the day, I feel really good that she's in great hands.
Missing Chile (except for the stray dogs. I don't miss them.)

So that's it in a nutshell folks. I have a month and a half left, a test to take, a wedding to go to, a few dance classes I can't miss, and then I'm off again for Cathy's Adventure Take 2.

An Article on Pan de Azucar

2009-07-08T20:47:00.000-04:00

My fifth article published...woo hoo!

http://matadortrips.com/fun-in-the-desert-sun-pan-de-azucar-chile/

Enjoy!
c

Ross Abinanti is still missing

2009-07-02T14:36:00.005-04:00

Some of you may know...and some may not, but Ali Abinanti's dad, Ross, has been missing for a week. Ali was one of my best friends in high school, and I had spoken with Ross on many occasions.

He was last seen June 30. He has severe dementia, needs medication, and was last seen near downtown Campbell. Here's some links for more information:
Help Find Ross Facebook Page
San Jose Mercury Article

Every day, I have been posting 30 fliers around my neighborhood, which is the Abinanti's neighborhood too. It's amazing how many people are willing to help. There are over 1000 people who have joined the Facebook page. At the vigil last night, there must have been 100 people, at least.

Equally ridiculous have been the few corporations/chains who have refused to post fliers advertising Ross's disappearance--namely 24 Hour Fitness near Almaden Expressway and the CinePlex in that same shopping center. I don't want to live in a world where a corporation/chain forgets that it's made of individual locations and that those locations serve smaller communities...and those communities sometimes depend on local businesses for more than their menus and services.

But I don't want to focus on the negative here. I was happy to see that far more chains had a bulletin board for community fliers, or they allowed me to post the flier regardless of corporate rules.

Thank you so much to the following businesses in the Almaden Expwy shopping center near where the Old Safeway used to be:
Dipping Dots
Burger King
Mountain Mikes
Victory
Quiznos
Barber shop (near the Hooz Donuts)
Walgreen's on Koch Ln

Today is the day we find Ross.

2 months and 14 days to go

2009-07-01T14:26:00.005-04:00

In Chile, I pined endlessly for couches, English, bagels and donuts, friends and family, Baja Fresh, frickin' great chocolate chip cookies, and excellent customer service, and now that I have them, I'm ready to return. Already.

Back in the States

2009-06-24T13:26:00.002-04:00

A random list of things I've been thinking my second day back home:

1. I feel weird when I throw my toilet paper in the toilet. "Really?" I think. "It won't back up?"
2. I picked up with my friends right where I left on ten months ago. True friends are like that.
3. I woke up today after having slept poorly on a extra-thick, fancy double bed. I'm use to the thin, cheap mattress in Chile. I remember in high school thinking I had this really small room. I longed for more space. I woke up today thinking, wow, my room is huge...and wow, I was super spoiled in high school.
4. I am rich. My parents are rich. Everyone in California is rich. No one has any idea that they are. Ridiculously rich. But I know it doesn't feel like it here. But it's true.
5. I love bagels and donuts and hash browns. I missed them.
6. I miss Pollo and Lua and Kanke.

I have three months to accomplish a few important things. Make sure my cats are healthy and glowing. Get an awesome North American haircut. Say hi to all my friends and family.

And get rid of my stuff that is being stored in the garage. I went through two boxes yesterday. I was so happy to see more of my stuff: pens, my printer, more clothes. I was having trouble letting go of these things when I realized that I haven't needed, wanted, or even thought of any of these things for 10 months (okay, i thought about my printer a little--it's awesome).

But really, I don't need any of it. When I lived in Pleasanton, as a way of trying to save money and resist the urge to buy, buy, buy, I remember thinking, "I don't need to worry. I'll accumulate more stuff the longer I stay here." This was a comforting thought to me.

How things have changed. I am now comforted by the thought that I don't need any of this stuff. I have always liked the feeling of getting rid of things that I haven't been using, of letting go. I understand better now why. In yoga, they teach you to learn to disengage yourself from your things, to recognize the power the material goods have over you, and in recognizing, learning when it's time to let go. And in the letting go, of your spirit being more and more free to fly.

This is my moment to recognize and to let go. It is my time to be free.

Wish me luck!

Adventures Closer to Home

2009-06-18T11:59:00.003-04:00

Since it's been pretty yucky outside lately (they predict a torrential downpour today and tomorrow), my activities have been much closer to home. Cine nights at the house with the roomies and Pollo (and San Francisco-brand ice cream Chocolate Mazapan and Pralines and Cream flavors) and blankets. A short walk to Pad Thai from Pollo's new room near the Salvador metro station. Pizza in and watching Sandra Bullock in that movie where she's an alcoholic in rehab. Lunches of pesto pasta with garlic bread, conversation with Kanke and JuanCa. Coming home to the estufa lit and glowing, Lua wrapped up in blankets and magazine photos strewn everywhere since she's midway through a collage. Kanke on the other side, organizing her things before she leaves. A place for me to sit on the carpet too with a book and tea and think warm thoughts.

Recently, Lua, Pollo and I went to see Up, Up and Away in 3D (I had to pronouce it at the ticket counter "oop tres day por favor"). It was dubbed in Spanish and there was a moment when Senor Fredrickson first begins talking. He says in spanish "Beautiful view, eh Elly?" I couldn't understand why he had this strange accent. It took me a second to realize two things: 1) He had an accent because he was SPEAKING IN Spanish and 2) I understood the Spanish in that one sentence without translating from English to Spanish (yay!).

Lua, Pollo and me

Lua said to me today: "Amazing that just as this little seed of Spanish comprehension is sprouting, you're going to uproot it completely by returning home."

I just laughed and said, "Yep."

At this point, I'm happy for all the things I have here and happy for all the things I have there and things are going to be what they will be.

I'm off to eat Peruvian food!

Citizen of the World

2009-06-17T11:19:00.002-04:00

When I first arrived in Chile, I stayed at this dumpy hostel near Barrio Bellavista. I met a girl there who was originally from Brazil and moved to the States in high school. She seemed very American to me but could speak Portuguese fluently and managed Spanish easily. She told me that I would be changed forever by living in Chile for even six months (the amount of time I believed I would stay at first). She said that once you live in another country, you are no longer just a citizen of your country, you're a citizen of the world.

Recently, I remembered this comment as I've started to feel the stretch of loving more than one country, many, many miles apart from each other. I'm nervous. The problem with traveling and living abroad is that 1) you want to travel more (which really isn't my problem) and 2) you feel comfortable everywhere (again, not much of a problem) and 3) you will never again be in one spot where you don't miss something somewhere else in the world (this is my problem).

Your favorite restaurant could be in Chile. Your favorite cookie in Los Angeles. Favorite modern dance company in Davis, California. Favorite hip hop class in Santiago. Favorite hostel in Mendoza. Favorite market in Peru. Favorite desert in Ushuaia.

Perhaps it is my motherly instinct rearing up in me, but it's a hard thing to accept that I will never have everything I've ever loved gathered up all in one spot. It is the sacrifice I've made to travel the world. I will see the world. I will love the world. And there will always be a part of me longing to roam and return to the places I love, no matter how many miles away those places are.

I think I'm okay with that.

Coming Home June 20

2009-06-16T10:19:00.003-04:00

By this Sunday, June 21, I will be in the United States. Wow, it's been so long.

Whenever I tell Chileans I've been in Chile for 10 months, they comment that 10 months isn't long at all. I laugh because it sure feels like a long time.

I don't know why I'm complaining. I guess I want a badge like they give in Girl Scout's. A foreign country badge. Proof that I survived. Proof that I'm prepared to take on more.

Because, even though I miss the U.S., I want to return to South America. To the possibility of a life full of adventure and desafios (challenges).

I'm returning to Chile in September for another summer there and maybe another year.

See all of you soon!

Things I Can't Wait to Have in the US

2009-06-15T13:44:00.002-04:00

Sofas! Really, really comfy sofas
The ability to throw toilet paper in the toilet instead of the trash can
Central heating and air
Excessive extravagance
Efficient thinking
English! English! English!
My friends and family
Wii and video games
Movies I can see when they premiere, not weeks later
My cats, my cousin's dog (Lucy, now owned by my cousin)
My Gerhardt house
Baja Fresh, Casa Orozco, BJs pizzookies, Sophia's Thai food in Davis, Peet's Coffee
Linda's dance class
Cheap books in English
Bookstores and coffeeshops with couches
Bookstores the size of warehouses

And I'm sure more that I won't realize I missed until I get home.

Things I'll Miss in Chile When I'm in the US

2009-06-15T13:37:00.002-04:00

The gigantic leaves on the tree that I never saw before I came to Chile
The ability to go everywhere without a car
The people, especially Kanke, Lua and Pollo
The kindness of strangers on the metro
Marcella's house with its funky yoga room, tatoo parlor and general super hippy-ness
Empanadas del horno
The house in La Reina
La Chakra, Emporio de la Rosa, Juan Valdez Cafe
My gym-rat friends and Baile Entretenido
My Pop and Lock class in Bellavista
The lack of efficiency that used to bug me and now I find endearing (sometimes)
The park near our house
Movies dubbed in Spanish
The challenge of buying medicine from the pharmacies
The creative ways people work to earn money
Street vendors
Street performers
Spanish

Something Has Changed

2009-06-09T11:55:00.003-04:00

It's so cold here that I'm wearing my down jacket indoors, gloves with the fingers cut off so I can write, beanie pulled tight and covering my ears, multiple blankets covering my legs and feet.

Recently, I went to Mendoza for a few days. But something had radically changed for me since the last time I was in Mendoza in November. I stood behind two gringos while waiting to board the bus. Now most people have heard my complaints about how Chileans stand in line. They stand to the side of you or practically touching you. Oh how things have changed. I swear to you I wondered whether the gringos in front of me were actually in line because they stood so far back from the others. I wanted to do exactly what used to annoy the crap out of me--crowd them, cut around them, stand beside them. Woh!

Then, I was on the bus, sitting beside a kind viejita. Not only could I speak with her (if she talked slowly), I was more inclined to talk with her than the British travel journalist sitting across the way. I couldn't believe how self-righteous and arrogant the British woman was. I was surprised to hear how she lived in Italy and had been traveling for 10 months around the world writing a book. She acted like she'd never traveled anywhere in her life. So I ignored the Englander and chose to talk with the Chilena about her travels and her family.

At customs in the Andes, the workers only spoke Spanish. Other gringos asked me to translate. I was the only pseudo-bilingual person there.

I went on two tours in Mendoza (I wanted to spell tours "turs"). The first was all in Spanish. I met another sweet Chilena who took me under her wing. She said I reminded her of her daughter. I made no attempt to speak with the other Gringo on the bus. When I went on the wine tour in the afternoon, I was bored talking with the guy from Vancouver. I didn't care that he spoke English, which previously would have been enough to forge a long-term friendship. Instead, I wanted to talk to the woman from Paraguay.

What the heck happened? I've started to identify with the Chileans! I'm becoming Chilean for goodness sakes! When did this happen? Was I sleeping while suddenly my mindset changed from gringo to gringo-chilena?

Now, I'm equal parts sad and excited to be heading home for two and half months to pick up my cats and bring them back to Santiago. My life is how I want it to be, though it's a little inconvient that I was only able to make it happen really far away from the US. I can be a writer here without worrying about how I'm going to eat. I can take dance classes without breaking the bank. I have the gym I like, friends (though don't worry, they don't compare to my best friends and family in the US) and soon, my cats, too. And even better, I've met someone. Normally I don't declare these types of things publically and perhaps it's too early to tell, but what can I say, I've got a good feeling about this one.

And so, I pack my room with a sigh and hope for the best and look forward to all the good things to come.

Hayley Needs a Home

2009-05-26T13:06:00.004-04:00

Does anyone know who can welcome into their arms a very sweet, little shy, black and white 8 year old cat? My friend who was watching my cats is moving on Friday to Arizona. Toby is going to be placed in a foster home...and then to a new family. The organization that is going to place Toby already has too many females so they won't take Hayley. Help! Please send ideas my way. Send me someone who can give her a good home. I don't care if you live on the East Coast, I'll find a way to get her there.

A shortie...

2009-05-21T12:05:00.003-04:00

Check out my article on Chilean coastal towns and totally ignore that I mentioned nothing south of Santiago (gracias!) :)

Best Coastal Towns

Enjoy!

And Now My Parents in Chile!

2009-05-01T09:59:00.006-04:00

I promised photos of Mom and Dad's visit. Here they are!

The first day we were here, I took them to Cerro San Cristobal. Here they are, in Bellavista.

This is my favorite picture of Mom hangin' with the carabinero at La Moneda.

Mom and I are waiting for our food at Cafe Ona, a sweet cafe located in Lastarria.

Wide-eyed and tired of the whole metro process.

Mom and Dad refreshed and happy on the metro the next day.

Navigating through the people at Plaza Italia.

Dinner at Patagonia.

Dad hangin' with a local on the micro (bus). This is my favorite Dad photo.

A day at Valparaiso.

Dad looking for the next great mural.

We're about to take one of the funiculars up to the top of one of the hills. I think this is the one that had the dog in it. The dog got out at the top with us. Smart dog.

Our adventure to Algarrobo began with a big wait at the bus station.

Dad gets a little too close to the Pacific Ocean.

I think Dad and I are talking about sea gulls at this point.

My roommate took us to Aculeo on their last day here. Her parents have a second home there.

Here we are with Juan Carlos, Kanke's good friend.

So there ya go, the best of the best parent photos. They did a great job trying to speak Spanish, avoiding getting robbed, and taking public transportation all at the same time.

The Pastry Tour

2009-04-20T10:40:00.006-04:00

My parents recently came to visit for the week--earning them millions of points in the parent unit column. In trying to divvy up a week's worth of tourist activities, I realized that there really isn't much to do in Santiago, except eat. So we did.

We ate manjar croissants, slices of chocolate mousse cake, helado banado en chocolate, handmade truffles, chocolate volcanoes, brownies, sweet popcorn. We sampled the best of Santiago's pastelerias and heladerias. My parents started calling their adventures here "Tur de Postres" or The Pastry Tour.

We had an really interesting discussion while eating dinner...or maybe while waiting for dessert...at Patagonia, one of the many fine establishments on the tour list. Mom was talking about the difficulty of getting Dad to cook meals for them, even though he's retired and technically has time. Let's just say, he's just not that into food.

I cannot even fathom what it's like to not be "into" food. To be sort of disconnected from it. My whole life is food! Just like Dad says that punctual people spell time with a capital T, I think I spell Food with a capital F...and maybe a capital OOD too.

At first I was offended (as always) when they teased about how our tour was starting to lean heavily on the entertainment value of food (how I managed to not develop a thick skin in my family is beyond me). But by the end of our trip, I began to be proud of my extensive pastry and food knowledge. Though Dad gets the benefit of a slim profile, the love of food is a thing to celebrate. Food is a great joy. It brings people together. It builds a sense of family and community. People gather around food.

It's the first time I've really thought about what a gift it is to love food. I've always felt it was such a burden, this constant stream of conscious commenting, rejecting and utlimately loving food.

Are American women afraid to really enjoy food? Afraid if we love it, we'll fall down that slippery slope of weight gain and with it self-criticism and body hatred?

As I begin to form an idea of what I would like to do when I return to the glorious land of the free and home of the brave, I believe this blog will be more and more about fitness, body image, and shape, as well as what I can discover around this topic in Chile.

Weigh in (haha, I couldn't resist) on what you think about this idea...I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Pictures of food and the parental units' adventure are coming...

My Favorite Illusion

2009-04-08T20:06:00.002-04:00

Control is my favorite illusion. We think we have it. We think that if we follow these steps, if we stay inside the lines most of the time, that we will get everything we ever wanted. But I haven't lived to be 30 without realizing that control is life's greatest illusion. Whoever said, "You want to make God laugh? Make plans." was a genius.

I think it is probably the greatest lesson I've learned. It's also the one I need to relearn over and over again. Every time I forget, I look up from my book and realize that I'M IN CHILE and then I remember. Chile was not my plan for 30.

To be honest, I thought I would meet the man of my dreams in college and get married by 22. How this would happen was a bit fuzzy, but I spent many hours ballroom dancing in my room with my imaginary groom. He was perfect. Unfortunately, real-life men did not quite live up to my imaginary man. And as much as I wanted to get married early in 20s, it just didn't happen.

This is what frustrates me when I hear how "young people are waiting longer to get married." Every time I hear a comment like that, I just want to yell, "It's not like I don't want to...it's just that there aren't any takers..."

Okay, that sentence might've actually hurt a piece of my soul there...but just for a second.

I'm not sad that I'm here. I would never have gotten to Chile otherwise. I would never trade the path I'm on for the comfort of what I imagine marriage brings. You know, the ability to let yourself go a bit. To know that no matter how you look, someone has sworn to love you.

I'd like to think that I'm a wiser and stronger woman for being single. Capable of handling tougher situations.

I'd like to think that it was my newfound wisdom and not bitterness that made me want to laugh when I heard my friend's plans recently. My 28-year-old Chilean amiga told me she wanted to be married with kids by the time she was 35. I nodded politely. But what I thought was, "God's going to have fun with you."

I wish I had asked her what her plan of attack was, because I surely don't have one. I just wanted to know if she had some secret method of making sure she'd meet the man of her dreams by the time she was 34 (remember, she's gotta have kids by 35). I mean, it's not like you have a lot of control over who you meet, right?

I'm also confused about how you're supposed to know when you meet HIM. Is it some kind of zing? The men closest to HIM have been those that have somehow made me feel more ME with them than without--which is almost impossible to recreate. How is a man supposed to make me feel more like ME having just met me?

These thoughts make me wish that I were a man or at least had the brain of man where I might consider this idea for a milisecond before moving on to more pressing problems like how the Broncos should attack the draft.

I'm boggled just thinking about it.

Obviously, if I'm writing about, it's not completely out of my mind. I think about it. About a family. And then I think about living in Shanghai. Or traveling to Antarctica. Or joining the Peace Corps. And then I think about a family again.

Boggled. Hmmm...how should the Broncos attack the draft?

Anyone Want Two Cats?

2009-04-05T11:31:00.003-04:00

Okay, I'm going to get right to it. I'm thinking about giving my cats away...for good.

Some times I just hate being an adult. It seems like the older we get the more our decisions are not black and white but infinite shades of gray, where none of them feel really right and good.

I don't like the idea of giving away my cats. I have taken care of since they were kittens. But my other options suck too. 1) come home in a bad economy to try to find a job in a field I'm not yet prepared to enter and find an apartment without even knowing where I really want to live. The problem with having lived in Chile is that my world has opened so wide that now I'm not sure how to transition to that stable life I had...and whether I even want it. 2) put them on a plane and subject them to the cargo hold for countless hours...twice and I'm not even sure I'm staying in this house...or even in Chile for long... 3) Find temporary housing for them or pay a fortune to a business that takes care of cats--$30/day for one cat I think.

When my parents suggested I possibly give them away, I cried. I have felt like such an asshole all day--mainly because I was relieved that it might be an option. That I wouldn't be a social leper for considering it as an option. It had crossed my mind more than once that I like not having a lot of responsibility. I like not having to take care of anyone. And if I do give them away, will I feel guilty for the rest of my life for abandoning them?

I can't decide whether I'm being selfish for wanting my freedom, for wanting more time to figure out how to make writing a career, to establish myself here, where I don't have to earn such a large amount of money to live or if I'm being responsible for beginning to recognize that my lifestyle doesn't really fit with having cats (and don't even get me started on my dog...I can't even think about that right now...). Perhaps I am both responsible and selfish.

I never thought I'd be the type of person who would give away my cats...in fact I remember being horrified by a story about a woman who after 8 years with a cat gave the cat away when she realized her soon-to-be husband was allergic. How could you possibly give a cat away? And here I am, contemplating giving away two.

The only way I can even remotely feel good about this is if a friend, a family member, someone I knew would take them.

So, I sincerely hope someone reads this blog and can offer me advice or my cats a permanent home...or a temporary one...or a suggestion I haven't thought of...

Please...someone's gotta have a good idea out there somewhere...

Content and Needing a Temporary Home for My Cats

2009-04-02T11:45:00.006-04:00

As I write this blog, my roommate is teaching our friend Prema how to salsa. Earlier, I walked through the living room to fill my cup with more hot water for tea and was suddenly dancing, wrapped up in the music, in the "pasos," in the laughter. It's not even noon and this house is filled with love and happiness.

It is April, and I am content. The tension I felt in January and February has dissipated completely. My roommates and I are getting along. I eat lunch with Kanke every Wednesday. Caitlin invites me to her friends parties. I miss Mari, but I'm dealing.

Every day, I wake up at 6:45am (on my own accord) and I write until 12:30 or 1:30pm. I write in my blog, travel articles, an essay for which I need to find a home, queries, copywriting. After a healthy lunch here (yes, I'm still vegetarian), I often go and read about journalism--in lieu of a second degree--though I'm contemplating that too. After the cafe, I head to the gym and either take class, life weights or ride on the bike. I have a super kickass ipod playlist that carries me through the worst of it. Then, sometimes I meet my friends for ice cream, sometimes I go home and read until it's time for bed. Then I do it all again. And it makes me incredibly happy.

Sure the metro at peak hours is super scary--it's a mob sometimes and I get carried by the crowd. Yesterday I almost couldn't get out and I had to yank my backpack past two people in the very front that wouldn't get off the train to let people by. (at that hour, I wouldn't have either--the rule is never give an inch...ever).

I read the whole time. It's my form of a personal bubble, my defense against the Chilean cutters and those who pack themselves like sardines on the trains. I hold my book up and don't look at the world. If someone gets to close to me, my book is liable to accidently rub against their hair, their face, their shoulder. Sometimes they glare at me. But I just smile and read on. They can move if it bothers them I've decided.

I've taken to reading not just on the train but during the walk to the transfer train and the walk home. I look up from my book only for stairs and streets. I'm sort of surprised I didn't discover read-walking earlier, after all I love both activities. Occasionally I trip over over a root or run into someone, but most people see that I'm not looking and get out of my way. This is by far better than trying to walk my own pace through the crowd. I'm happy, less stressed out, less frustrated with the strollers. I just walk and pay attention to the story unfolding in my head. It's the only way to do the metro at 6:30pm.

The weather has turned from unbearable to breezy. It's like a gift from the gods. My life feels that way too.

I feel lucky. I'm grateful for everyone that helped me here, helped me become who I am, helped me find my way. It is in these moments when I feel like no matter what happens, things will work out. They just have a way of working out.

That's why I'm writing to also say that if anyone, anyone out there can take my 2 cats for a few months, please let me know! I know it will work out somehow, I'd just like to know how :)

Thanks everyone!

You've Seen the North, Now Here's the South!

2009-03-24T13:33:00.011-04:00

Santiago was hot in February. So hot that within a week of my return to Santiago from the north, I decided I needed to go South. I had been thinking up a trip in my head. Five hour bus trips from city to city. A bus road trip. A chance to watch the scenery of Chile pass by my window.

My first stop was Concepcion. Even though it's the second largest city in Chile, it is not a tourist town, and now I know why. There's not much to see and do, except go to the beaches located forty-five minutes away by bus. Even their famous bridge is nothing but a concrete freeway.

I got back on the bus the next day and arrived five hours later in Valdivia. It reminds me of the Northwest, a land of lakes and rivers and green...infinite green...and fish...

Here is the local fishmarket. Down at the water's edge are sea lions looking for handouts. On the roof are dozens of hawks also looking for handouts.

On my explorations out to Isla Marcena near Valdivia, I saw this boat. I don't think it's going to make it.

After a day and a half in Valdivia, I got back on the bus and made an 8 hour trek to Castro on the island of Chiloe. My first full day in Castro, I took a local bus to Dalcalhue and a ferry/bus to Ancud. I wanted to see the church the guide book said was quintessential Chiloe-ian wooden architecture.
I was a little disappointed with this church, mostly because it had taken me two hours of traveling to get there. I was expecting more I guess.

The most famous photos of Chiloe are the houses on stilts. These photos remind me of the book The Art of Travel. The author talks about how we expect a new place to be exactly like the photos we see of it, even though the photos are incomplete slices of a larger view.

What you don't see here (because I chose not to include it) is the enormous amount of trash floating in the pond. You don't see the more worn houses with wooden slats missing. You certainly don't see the main road right behind me, the cars, buses and trucks kicking up dust. You don't see the stray dog sleeping on the grass. Chiloe is picturesque and dingy too. Of course I prefer the picturesque version.

This is the Church of San Francisco in downtown Castro. Classic. The picturesque part.

It rained most of the time in Castro so after two days, I got back on a bus and arrived in Puerto Montt.

I walked down to the harbor called Angelmo and laughed when I saw the kid sitting in a boat on a boat. The best part of that day!

The next day, after having spent too many days on my own, I decided I needed to take a tour which explored Lago llanquihue and up to Lago Todos Los Santos.

I jumped at the chance to take a boat around the lake, so here I am with Volcano Osorno behind me.

We stopped at these Cascades where the views of the volcano were best. I wanted to hike the volcano but it sounded like a lot of trouble...special ice picks and shoes...you can forget it!

The next day, I abandoned my normal bus trip for a plane ride to Punta Arenas in Patagonia. I immediately booked a tour for Torres del Paine the next day (which was the best travel decision I think I've ever made).

Our first stop on the tour was the Cueva del Milodon. These explorers discovered bones of both humans and a gigantic bear (the milodon) in the cave.

This is my favorite photo because I'm actually in it! I'm a tiny point on the trail way in the back of the cave, almost exactly the center of this photo. Can you see me?

Then we headed to Torres del Paine. We stopped for lunch at a picnic table and I about froze my hands trying to make a sandwich. The wind ripped through the trees, it rained a little.

This is Lago Grey. It's an easy hike to the lake, more like a stroll, but the wind made it practically impossible. It picked up the gravel from the ground and stung my legs and eyes. The wind push so hard against me that occasionally I couldn't take another step forward. I took to walking to the lake with my back pressed against the wind. At one point, the wind was so absurdly strong I started laughing. I've never felt wind like that, ever.

And yes, that is an iceberg. It is also an example of global warming because 20 years ago, the lake was filled with icebergs.

Here's a good view of the Torres (the peaks in the background).
Me!

I think this one is called Point Balmaceda...I think.

In this last lake we visited, we saw a group of flamencos and a fox.

We were so lucky that the clouds cleared for these amazing views.

My travels weren't over yet. I took another plane (an hour only) from Punta Arenas to Ushuaia in Argentina. It's one of the last cities to the south and the launch point for cruises to Antarctica. It's the end of the world (though I thought Torres looked more like the end of the world than Ushuaia).
This is an old boat docked at the Beagle Chanel. You can see off to the left the cruise ship waiting to launch. I thought it was a nice touch--a little old, a little new.

My tours had been so successful that I decided to take another one to Tierra del Fuego National Park.
First we hiked through the forest and meadow. Tierra del Fuego, or land of fire, got its name from the explorers who came to the island at night and saw the land lit with small fires. The indigenous people had fire with them at all time. They even had a place to put a fire in their canoes.

What you don't see here is that I'm wearing a gigantic garbage bag called a Hippopatumus because it was raining and I didn't have a sufficient rain jacket, just a jacket for the cold. I was embarassed, but dry.

We were lucky enough to see a caracara as well, a hawk or eagle-like bird. The caracara has no natural predators on the island and was not even remotely frightened of us. Beavers on the island as well have no natural predators and have become a plague. They were originally introduced to bolster a fur industry. They are now destroying the slow-growth forest.

After the hike, we canoed! I was lucky enough to be in the canoe with two expert canoers. I can honestly say I did not row my fair share.

And the quiet sunrise I caught on the last day because I accidentally had my alarm clock set an hour earlier and didn't realize it till I was already in the shower. Thank goodness for mistakes!

Now I'm home in Santiago, writing as much as I can and working off the sizeable pancita (gut) I developed while on this adventure...

So much fun!

Travel stories coming soon...I swear!

2009-03-19T21:48:00.002-04:00

I'm making progress on the Patagonia photos, and I was going to post them, but then I thought, shoot, I want to explain them too...which is gonna take a while...so until then, I thought I'd pass along THE COOLEST YouTube video I've ever seen.

It's an album of seven songs by this dj Kutiman who edited YouTube videos of people playing music and singing and turned them into entirely new songs.

What I like the most about the videos, besides the rockin' music, are the faces.

It's an intimate look behind the scenes of normal life: People are in their pajamas, taking care of babies, staring off into space while they play or sing--somehow seeing them all makes me feel optimistic about the world. It's very unassuming, very humble. My favorites are the last two: Wait for me and Just a Lady.

have at it!
www.thru-you.com

Break from ME

2009-03-11T08:47:00.004-03:00

Hi Everyone!

I have incredible photos I can't wait to show you from my trip to Patagonia but I'm nowhere near ready. So instead of talking about me, I decided I would show you these two photos (not mine) that I thought were really interesting.

This one I found on a blog (the hand hug). It is visual instructions for the hand hug. As you can see, you can use the hand hug for acquaintances where the hug isn't yet appropriate. Try this with your friends and coworkers immediately.

This second photo was in an article in BUST on this flash knitter group called "Knitta Please" that decorates cities with cozies and knit wear for signs, mailboxes, etc. This one was called the tank cozy. I think we need more of these.

That's it for today...hope you enjoyed the stuff that's been catching my eye!

Chao!

Pan de Azucar: Gourmet Camping

2009-02-24T19:41:00.007-03:00

So, since you just got one blog, I'm going to try to stay short on words and long on photos. My roommate Kanke, and her two friends Prema and Belen, and I took a road trip north. We stopped each day to camp on the beach--sometimes in official camp sites, sometimes not.

All three girls were extraordinary cooks. I felt I actually ate better than I ever have on this trip. Tortilla-like bread made from scratch, pasta with spices, Chai tea from scratch, stew, soy hamburger--all I can say is WOW! Check out the adven!

An incredible time with incredible company--and what a Spanish lesson--I've never had one last 10 days before.

Chao Chicos!
C

Playing Catch Up

2009-02-24T19:16:00.008-03:00

Where did January and February go? I wanted to post a few blogs, share a few photos before I head off to the South (woo hoo!) and wend my way to Tierra del Fuego, the end of the world...though I guess it's not really the end cuz there's just more world the farther you go. But still, it sounds dramatic, doesn't it?

So what the heck have I been doing? I've been playing journalist--some of you may have read my first article on Matador. It has ignited my curiosity about the world and my concern with...well...the way the world is.

I talked with a guy who heads education for a dog shelter. After being attacked by dogs in Cajon de Maipo, I've been particularly sensitive to the stray dog issue in Santiago and in Chile in general. I was seeking an answer and 4A was one of them. I then helped them give away puppies in downtown Santiago one Saturday. I plan on helping them more when I get back from vacation.

To escape the heat (and to write an article on beach cities), I went with my roommate to Vina del Mar. It is a very crowded beach (see photo below for evidence); but if you feel self-conscious about your body in a swimsuit, this place is perfect in some ways. It's so easy to get lost in the crowd.

We also went to Algarrobo and viewed the world's largest swimming pool. It's a little outrageous because twenty feet away is the ocean. The idea of a huge swimming pool right next to the ocean seemed like an American scheme to me, something you'd find in Las Vegas instead of Chile. This is also the place for the self-conscious suitwearer because there's practically no one around (again photo as evidence).

I have this theory that Chileans really, really, really need to be next to each other...all the time. They're just used to it in Santiago, in the metro, in line, on the street. So why spread out ever? Why change what's comfortable? How else to explain the crowded beach on one hand and the practically deserted beach on the other--both equidistant from the capital.

By the way, see the buildings in the background, behind the beach? The length of the pool covers the width of all those buildings put together.

I also worked on an article about murals and graffiti in Santiago. Here's one I really liked.

And now, a little view of what has been growing right outside my window during the summer--the beautiful upside to too much sun.

And that's all folks! The next blog will be mostly photos from my recent trip up North--to the Atacama desert--the most arid desert in the world!

Chao Chicos!
C

It's Time to Talk about Culture Shock

2009-01-24T23:09:00.004-03:00

I have always considered culture shock as the panicky feeling you get when you first get to a new country--when all you can see is how different everything seems to be. I just figured it was something that lasted a couple of days, and with a couple of good nights' sleep you were cured.

I was wrong.

Recently, I was talking to a friend about culture shock and it is much more than a few days of discomfort. I just pulled this section from the Wikipedia entry on culture shock. Check it out:

Honeymoon Phase - During this period the differences between the old and new culture are seen in a romantic light, wonderful and new. For example, in moving to a new country, an individual might love the new foods, the pace of the life, the people's habits, the buildings and so on.

(I am past this phase--but remember when my blog celebrated how different Chile was! And I remember how scared I was to do the tiniest thing because of the language problem.)

Negotiation Phase - After some time (usually weeks), differences between the old and new culture become apparent and may create anxiety. One may long for food the way it is prepared in one's native country, may find the pace of life too fast or slow, may find the people's habits annoying, disgusting, and irritating etc. This phase is often marked by mood swings caused by minor issues or without apparent reason. Depression is not uncommon.

(oh, how I miss Baja Fresh! and how annoyed I can still get with the line cutters...and the disgusting habit of nose picking that seems to plight the men of this country. Has nobody heard of a kleenex?)

Adjustment Phase - Again, after some time (usually 6 - 12 months), one grows accustomed to the new culture and develops routines. One knows what to expect in most situations and the host country no longer feels all that new. One becomes concerned with basic living again, and things become more "normal".

(I think I'm slowly transitioning to this phase. My life here feels normal, though every once in a while, I regress to the Negotiation phase where I just get so tired of it being so "Chilean" here.).

I've been working out at the gym a lot and writing a lot and both of these things are making me really happy. But strangely (and most likely from the heat and working out so much and culture shock too), I'm just kind of tired too.

It's a time of transition here. January and February are the months when hardly anyone is around. Everything is at half pace, mainly because it's too darn hot to go any faster. Schedules for gym classes are reduced because not enough people are around. This is the thing I never liked about summer. I thrive on structure and routine. I know this. And summer just throws everything to the wind. Everything that I could count on has been rearranged. I feel caught unaware. Like everyone was part of a secret and I was not let in on it. Now I'm scrambling, trying to rearrange myself in such a way that I might mix better with this summertime Chile. To be chill. Unplanned. Unstructured. Thrown to the wind. (stop laughing Eric...I could be chill if I tried...)

Anyway, wish me luck...I believe I'm gonna need it, big time.

Jumbling Tumbling Out of My Head Much Like Mumbling

2009-01-15T22:29:00.004-03:00

I was in a funk when I first got back, and I've been trying to find my way out of it. I think it was a combination of vacation blues, homesickness, and a cold which didn't make things any easier. Who gets a cold once a month? Sheesh!

As I started the year, my super awesome contract with Activant was cut which sent me into a tailspin of "what the heck am I to do with my life?" Some interesting things have happened because of this tailspin, all of them wonderful:

I stopped trying so hard to immerse myself in the Chilean culture. I'm tired of Spanish. I'm tired of connecting with new people that don't really "get" me. I summed it up with my best friend "J" that they're all nice...they're just not "my people." So the upside of this is that I've been hanging out with Caitlin and Mari, who I consider "my people." People who get me, who support my struggles, who ask me to support theirs. I feel far more uplifted from a day hanging with Mari and Caitlin than I do with my Chilean friends. So I'm just gonna continue doing so until I feel differently.
Because of the no money thing, I stopped Spanish lessons and Yoga at Bikram (which my parents dub military yoga). Instead I joined a gym where I could take dance, yoga, kickboxing and work out for about an eighth of the cost. I figured it would also help me out of my funk, which it has. It's a small, independent, rundown looking gym. But it's got charm. It also offered a free personal training program and even better, this program was accompanied by the very cute personal trainer Jaime who is just my type: Hispanic, fit, funny and bestill my heart, he can dance! Today I think he might have invited me out on a date to this lagoon an hour outside of Santiago for a barbeque and wind surfing lessons...but I'm not quite sure as always. I think what confused me was the totally calm and casual way in which he asked me. No one has EVER been that smooth. I was sort of just in awe and found myself agreeing in spite of recent swearing off of Chilean men.
I figured out what I'd like to do when I return: write...specifically journalism and essays. And in submitting queries and articles within the last two weeks, I got my first "yes" and will get a few articles published online for this publication called Matador Travel. I'll let you know when they come out. I also managed to find some work for companies that will support my magazine/newspaper freelancing habit. So I'm going to read a lot of journalism books, write a lot for now, and see what happens. But I'm really, really happy about the whole thing. It's like finding a lost part of myself. It just fits.
I'm realizing that with my newfound writing career, living in the Bay Area might not be the brightest idea in the world. Portland, Seattle, and Madison have all of sudden become ideas for places to live when I return. I am surprised by this revelation--why would ever think of not living in the Bay Area? And yet, I am. So I need your help. I'm looking for a city filled with young people where I could possibly take public transportation instead of driving and where I could live on a writer's salary and where my dog would have space--anyone with suggestions, let me know!

And that's all folks for now. I think even though I'm a bit homesick, in my heart, I know my place is here for now. Even though I miss my family and friends, my dog and cats, this is where I need to be. For a second there, I had been thinking that maybe it was time to throw in the towel and go home, but now I know, the adventure in Chile has barely begun.

Chao Chicos,

Machu Pichu

2009-01-15T21:43:00.004-03:00

I have so much to write, wow!, so I might be sending several blog entries tonight, if I am sufficiently motivated (and energized with a packet of Triton Vainilla cookies). Okay, first things first, I've gotta get those Machu Pichu pics to you.

I believe I left the story off at arriving in Cusco and having exactly two days to book a train to Machu Pichu and back to make my flight home early on the 31st. Piece of cake, right? I think God had a very big laugh upstairs with that presumption.

The day I arrived in Cusco, I checked out travel agent prices. It was going to cost $190 to take the train there and back and for a guide as well. I knew train tickets were only $80 so I figured I would forgo the travel agency and arrive early in the train station the next day and get tickets. The next day, I arrived at 6am with a large line in front of me. An hour later, I got to the front of the line (with no cash on hand...what was I thinking?) but it didn't matter anyway because they only had 1-way tickets available. I would have to stay two days in Machu Pichu city (Agua Calientes) and come home on the 1st. It sounded complicated. I had no money. I was defeated.

I went to the train cafeteria to regroup and that's where I talked with a travel agent who recommended I head to the other train station (wait...there's two here?) which would open at 7am. I raced over there and got into an even bigger line. Luckily they were more efficient with many windows open and a number system (which is key in Chile where everyone cuts and is probably key in Peru too). And this is where luck was on my side! When my number was called, at first the sales lady only had the same deal (going tomorrow, returning on the 1st), when all of sudden an ida y vuelta mismo dia (round trip same day) ticket was released and suddenly I was booked for the next day to Machu Pichu!

It was only later in the day that I realized that my train wasn't leaving Cusco, it was leaving from Ollantaitambo, two hours from Cusco. A taxi ride would have been fine going there in the morning, but I had the last train returning to Cusco which would have put me in a taxi in the middle of nowhere at 11:30pm to arrive in Cusco at 1am. This would not do.

I returned to the travel agency and they fixed me up with a guide and a tour bus to and from Ollantaitambo. I'd have safe transport.

Everything was set. And with all the energy I expended, I saved $10! Woo hoo!

But what an adventure! Check out these pics.

This is the vistadome train--the most expensive one apparently. Two hours later, we were in Aguas Calientes, the town below Machu Pichu, fully supported by the tourism to Machu Pichu (perhaps created because of the tourism to Machu Pichu). I purchased coca leaves for tea there.

A shuttle then drove us up the mountain where we met our English tour guide and began a tour of one of the wonders of the world...

This is the first view you get of Machu Pichu and it is spectacular. The site looks like it's balanced precariously on this mountain, reaching toward heaven.

This is the first time I felt like my camera failed me...it was having such a hard time accounting for the fog and the dark rocks and lighting...it was a tough situation. These are the few that came out.

They said that over 70% of the structures were original, 30% had been reconstructed. What surprised me and I'm not sure why it did, but they explained that all the structures were built to support a thatched roof made from clay. I'm not sure why I figured the Incas were living in buildings without roofs but I just figured the roof wouldn't look so much like something I could find in England in the 1600s. Man, they were way ahead of their time.

There were wild llamas that stood sentry to the Machu Pichu site.

Here I am casually on top of the world!

Another awesome llama enjoying the view.

Now this was one of the coolest things I loved about Machu Pichu. What? The brown water? No, the fact that they had made provisions for the runoff from all the rain. They had gutters!

I wandered all around the site--this would never have been possible if America had a Machu Pichu. There would have been a set path. But nope, I was unsupervised and getting into all kinds of trouble.

Then, my luck seemed to hold and I managed to get on an earlier train back and an earlier shuttle back and made it to Cusco by 10pm. Safe and sound (and slightly wet from the rain).

The next day, I got on the plane to head home to Santiago. It was a fabulous trip that only made me want to travel more. Such a vicious cycle :)

I guess what I realized most about this trip is that Santiago has become my reality. Which is good and bad. It means I'm comfortable and feel settled in here. But it also means that I suffer the vacation blues here in Santiago after a vacation elsewhere.

The gist is: I want another vacation. Hmmm, where to next?

Chao Chicos,

1 am mutterings

2009-01-14T00:59:00.002-03:00

I can’t sleep. Why can’t I sleep? It’s because I’m dreaming big awake dreams, dreams of what I want to do, what job would satisfy me for a lifetime, what would keep me entertained and on my toes and committed?

I believe that writing will. It’s the one activity I have been doing since I learned how to do it. The longest running entertaining activity. And to put a spin on this writing; I decided recently I wanted to be a journalist, or a magazine staff writer—something where I’d be learning about new things all the time, and I would be reaching a larger audience, and I wouldn’t always be selling something like I do when I write for companies. I want a byline. I want to make an impact. I want to contribute something to my community.

It’s strange how it took me coming all the way to Chile to realize, that for the first time, I want to feel like I am a part of a community. That I want to be part of the dialogue. That I want to finally hear the problems so I can be a part of a solution. I am so ashamed to be the poster girl for my ambivalent generation, but I’m it. Up until now, I’ve been super happy and only slightly guilty to have ignored current events, to have sat out on debate, to have watched events unfold from the sidelines as if I were merely a spectator and the outcome would never effect me, no matter who won.

I have never protested anything in my life. I have never civilly disobeyed. I was one of few people who showed up in my political geography class when the professor told us it would be okay to go out and protest. I’m not sure that it’s just because I’m a rule follower. I think it’s more than that. That I’m afraid. Afraid to take a side---for fear that it will create voices of opposition, more conflict, only this time, the conflict will be hurled at me. To get involved would mean I would have to believe wholeheartedly in my opinion…and I never felt I was ever really “right” about anything. I found it so hard to argue anything growing up because I would inevitably agree with both sides of a truly difficult match up.

So, because of this, I never saw journalism as a place where I would write, where I would want to get involved. I saw newspapers and the news as being incredibly negative with nothing ever good happening in the world but I was judging without really reading. What these reporters wrote, what any reporter writes, has a chance to reach and effect thousands of people; to start movements, to stop wars, to make a difference on a scale of community, region, as a nation, and maybe even as a world. I can’t imagine a life without being involved in this conversation. So I will converse.

It comes as such a big disappointment to hear from my parents that newspapers are a dying medium (perhaps), that the Internet is the way to go (also perhaps), and that maybe I can be the weather girl for a news channel instead (very funny guys). But I want to write. There must be someone making money out there writing. There’s so much more writing than ever before! It is online, it is still in newspapers, it is being set for the teleprompters. I don’t know how I’m going to do this. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I’m going to make a comfortable living writing. I’m going to support myself, my dog and my two cats on this salary; I swear to it.

Now, I just have to figure out how. Chile will be my starting point. Though it is frustrating that I can't access millions of magazines like I can in the States, and researching in Spanish is always challenging, I am saving money by being here.

I will not waste this moment. I have an opportunity to start something great. I will not quit. And in not quitting, I have already…eventually…succeeded.

Que te vaya bien (and sorry for the spelling errors or missing words...it's 1am!)

C in C

Peru!

2009-01-07T22:06:00.010-03:00

The first thing I did when I landed in Lima, after I exchanged my money for soles, was barter for a taxi. Luckily, my Spanish professor had warned me of the unregulated taxis, and I was prepared to drive a hard bargain. When I finally got the price down to 40 soles (from 60), I decided it was probably good enough and headed out into the heart of the city.

We wound our way through the dusty streets, the poverty level more apparent here than in Santiago (or maybe I had merely gotten used to the poverty in Santiago). I began to quiz the taxi driver on the city. I had heard there were only two classes in Peru--no middle class--but the taxi driver insisted there were four: rich, middle, poor, and super poor. He placed himself in the poor category and said the super poor lived on the hills. I saw the hills later. They were overrun with shacks, some of which didn't even have the basic running water and electricity. What I decided later is that Peru is like a strange mix between South Beach, Miami and Tiajuana.

I was staying in Miraflores, the most upscale section of Lima (the South Beach side), the place filled with fancy restaurants and hip bars. After finding my hostel, I walked down to a plaza for dinner and just fell in love. Miraflores was beautiful.

However, the next day, I was not feeling the Lima love. Montezuma's revenge had struck! Oddly enough, all the pain I felt was in my back. I could barely stand. But it wasn't terrible enough to stay in my room all day. I decided to take a tour of the city in the hopes that the walking would be minimal.

That's where I found the vultures.

I don't exactly remember the details of this section of town since I was so captured by the images of the vultures on the roof of this church.

After the tour, I explored more of town (in between bouts of back pain).

This woman to me was quintessential Peru. Also part of quintessential Peru is the cab you can see behind the stand. I have never seen so many taxis in my life! And because I was a Gringa and they hoped I had money for a taxi ride, every single taxi that passed honked its horn at me. I'm not exaggerating. I think it averaged a honk every five seconds. It was one of the most annoying things ever and almost ruined the Lima glow for me. But the Lima greatness prevailed.

In the surf behind me are four or five surfers still riding waves. Off to my right, out of the picture were paragliders enjoying the wind.

So, even with the back pain and yuckiness, I really loved Lima. I was already having more fun in Lima than I had had in Cajon de Maipo. It made me laugh because it meant that I preferred traveler's diarhea and debilitating back pain over loneliness. I guess I really hate being lonely.

When I woke up the next day, I was as good as new! I decided I would see if I could swing a airplane ticket to Cusco. Everyone had told me it was a must-see. But when I checked there weren't any for the days I wanted. Of course, because now I couldn't easily go, I wanted to go even more.

Just as I decided to try going to the airport and seeing if Icould fly standby, I was waylaid by a sales woman advertising trips to Cusco. They were selling bus trips. Suddenly, the fates had stepped in. I weighed my options. Get on a bus today, save money not having to stay in a hostel since it would be traveling overnight, and guarantee arrival in Cusco the next day for very little money...or risk not getting there at all.

I got on the bus at 3pm that day. It was the best decision I made on the trip. The buses in South America are like airplanes in the States. There was a bus attendant (stewardess?) helping us with anything we needed, a dinner was provided, and I saw four pirated movies throughout the evening. I also got to see Peru. The coast was desert, dry, huge mountains of dirt.

As we wound our way up the mountains, it got foggy and wet.

And I actually slept, which was a miracle. 22 hours later, I arrived in Cusco.

Cusco reminded me of a European town with cobblestone streets and Spanish-tiled roofs. The people though, were all Peruvian.

A girl in the traditional Peruvian outfit.

This is the Plaza de Armas.

Plaza de Armas at night.

A market nearby offering all kinds of wares to tourists.

A boy and his donkey.

Now all I had to do was buy a train ticket to Machu Pichu. I only had two days of wiggle room before I was scheduled to head home. No problem!!!

To be continued...

Get Ready, get set, POSE!

2008-12-24T16:51:00.007-03:00

I recently had the opportunity to attend a yoga championship. I know! Isn't that an oxymoron? So, being the curious creature that I am, I felt I had to be there to better understand what a yoga competition is.

So here's the breakdown of the rules:

They have to complete a set of seven poses (five standard and two optional) in under three minutes.
They are judged on a scale of 0-10 per posture.
They can't fall out of the posture or they get marked down.
They must try to get as close as possible to the standard posture.

In response to many queries about why one would even have a competition for an activity that is considered spiritual and internal, a woman talked about the fact that this competition was more of a challenge to the self. They are all not "really" competing against one another (though there is a winner). Really, they are competing against their limits. Testing how far they can go.

Below are the photos of the coolest frickin' postures I have ever seen in my life! These are the poses I practice when I go to Yoga class but I never look this good doing them.

Finger stand

Hands to Feet Pose

Toe Stand Pose (incidentally, i actually did this pose in class--I know, I find it hard to believe as well)

Bow Pose

Standing Head to Knee Pose

Half Moon Pose

Standing Bow Pulling Pose

Spine Twisting Pose

I believe this is a variation on the standing bow pulling pose.

Camel Pose

Bow Pose

So there you have it! People contorting their bodies in an effort to...contort their bodies. Simply fascinating. I stayed for three hours but eventually even this got boring and left before they announced the winners. But these were my favorite of the contestants. I hope one of them won.

Maybe in a few years I'll compete too.

Que te vaya bien!

C in C

Summer Christmas Eve

2008-12-24T16:27:00.003-03:00

Well, here it is, Christmas Eve in Chile. While the Chileans are outside frantically searching for those last-minute gifts—or trying to close up their register before another frantic shopper comes racing up to their lane—I am here in my house writing this blog. In three or four hours, I will be heading to Kanke’s parents house to spend a very weird Christmas Eve swimming in their pool, drinking wine and trying my best not to zone out when I don’t understand their conversations.

The Chilean tradition consists of a dinner and then opening presents at midnight to correspond with Jesus’s birthday. I asked my professor where Santa came into this tradition, and he said his dad would sneak out after dinner, pull all the presents onto the front porch, ring the doorbell and run.

I have been avoiding the whole thing like a plague. Summer Christmas isn’t any fun!

As much as I’m happy that I’ve survived four months here, I feel like this last week has been just hard. And it’s not that I haven’t been going out and meeting with friends—on the contrary, I’ve been out every night of the week until one or two in the morning. It’s just that I realized recently that I’m a visitor here. And these people are really not my people. As much as we try to bridge the cultural gaps between us, as much as I enjoy spending time with my Chilean friends, as much as I love learning new things, I am American, with American ideas and American culture, and I wish I could have been home for American Christmas. There’s nothing like living abroad to make you love your own country and your own traditions.

The silver lining to this week has been a long phone call with my best friend who did a very good job of reminding me of who I am, what I want, and why I’m here (Thanks J!) and several packages from my parents, including a long letter from my mom. The tiniest connection to my friends and family has felt like a weight lifted from my shoulders—that I am not alone…just really far away.

The other silver lining is all the fun I’ve managed to have in between moping sessions.
The last five days, I’ve been out and about, meeting with friends who are on their college breaks, practicing my Spanish, and attending a Carabineros (policemen) ball.

Below are some photos from the Ball. It was in a beautiful location on La Reina hill with a gorgeous view of the city. The men were dressed in their special uniforms, the women wore dresses ranging from cocktail dresses to full ball gowns. I managed to have an okay time.

Here I am with my date, Carlos. And below, it's me and Carlos again!

My roommate Caitlin acting crazy with her crazy date Claudio.

Our dinner table of Carabineros, the ladies in front and our dates behind us. I told everyone to act really crazy. I guess for carabineros, this is as crazy as you get.

Tomorrow, I head to Peru for a Christmas adventure. It will be my first time flying on Christmas Day. Should be super fun!

So Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! I've got a really great post for you coming up in the new year about the yoga championship I went to but it'll take a while to put together which is why it isn't written yet.

Enjoy your holidays! Cuidate mucho!

Que te vaya bien,

C in C

Rapa Nui Dancing and the Mavi

2008-12-16T21:41:00.006-03:00

With all the Christmas weirdness here (wilty plastic wreaths, no smells of pine in the air, the sun shining a perfect 75 degrees) and with my roommate now headed home for Christmas instead of south with me, I've decided that a fair bit of denial about Christmas is in order. Instead, I will show you photos!

My Rapa Nui dance class ended last week, and I managed to get some photos due to J's cousin who visited class one day. Thanks J's cousin!

Nunu is the girl in red--our teacher. She's a native pasquence (native to Easter Island or what they call Rapa Nui). And behind her is of course me.

Here I am with J! She's headed to Rapa Nui this Christmas...I'm jealous.

I just thought this was a super cool pic!

The gals doing the circulo (circling their hips).

Another group shot...

Then, on Sunday, as I was wandering around Lastarria, I found an museum hidden in the back of a beautiful courtyard. Even better was that since it was Sunday I could get in for FREE! I spent an hour or more wandering around four floors of really interesting art. I snuck a few photos in for your viewing pleasure.

This art piece was part of the youth recycled art collection. This one is a beautiful landscape scene made entirely more interesting painted on a canvas made of cardboard layers glued together.

This one was a photo by a Columbian photographer (I think--sorry about being vague on the details, I was just so excited to take the photo without being yelled at). I just love this photo. What a contrast between the type of woman advertisers are trying to sell (a woman who buys a lot of their clothes and make up) and the real woman standing in front of the ad. I think the real woman is beautiful.

And just for fun...me as a model for Kanke's dresses. Me in polka dots...I never thought it would happen!

This one was my favorite of the dresses, really a good fit for my body.

I also went to a Yoga competition which was so darn fascinating that I'm saving it so that I can dedicate an entire post to it...so stay tuned!

Que te vaya bien (did you know I can finally say this without stuttering? I know, it's so cool!)

C in C

Four Months is All it Takes

2008-12-11T23:48:00.002-03:00

On December 12, I will have been in Santiago for four months. Four months. A quarter of a year. A solid chunk of time.

As I walked to the corner store to stock up on honey and fruits, I considered my four months here. And it came to me that four months is my mark. I now know that four months is the amount of time it takes for me to move from my home country to a foreign country and feel like the foreign country is home.

I know this by a few important indications. These indications might be something that applies to everyone who makes an attempt to live elsewhere, but since I don’t know everyone, I’m claiming these ones as mine:

Indication #1: I’m dreaming of something other than Chile.
The thing about living out one’s dream is that suddenly there’s space for new ones. Currently I’m dreaming of becoming Elizabeth Gilbert who wrote Eat, Pray, Love—basically someone who writes their personal stories and gets paid for it! I feel like I have trained my whole life for this career as I have something like fifteen to twenty journals chronicling my dull years of 13 through now. This dream of course means that I will be needing a second career to earn a living until I become like Liz.

Since this idea has come to me, I’ve spent many evening hours trying to research magazines where I could write personal essays. So far, I have found one magazine offering $35 per essay…if they accept it. Being like Elizabeth Gilbert will be slightly more difficult than I originally thought. But I am not deterred.

Every night when I stay up till 1am writing and have trouble sleeping because I’m so excited about it is another day that seals the deal for me. There’s nothing else, besides friends and a good solid dance party, that keeps me up that late.

Indication # 2. I feel lonely.
I feel lonely but it’s a different kind of lonely these days. Not nagging homesickness, but a familiar loneliness. The kind I felt when I had my own editing business and spent many hours wandering the small hall of my apartment, trying to get through 400 pages of a mediocre manuscript. Freelancer loneliness has found me. This has strangely buoyed my spirits. It means that instead of the feelings associated with travel (survival thoughts of food, clothing, shelter and transportation), the feelings associated with living have come to call.

Indication # 3. I’ve yet again decided I need to exercise more.
I love to exercise. I’m either walking or running or dancing or yoga-ing at least four out of seven days. But my mental health depends on all seven days occupied with exercise. I know this. So this thought of exercising is like a slightly annoying yet dear friend coming to stay—comforting, sure, but you kinda wish she’d leave. (I might have to exercise more to get rid of her).

Indication # 4. I don’t pay attention to metro maps and signs anymore.
This one is funny. I’m so absentminded these days on the metro, that sometimes I get on the wrong side of the tracks and head in the completely opposite direction of where I want to go. Or other times, I’ll be so excited to continue my day, to get home, to be somewhere, that as soon as the doors open, I step off the train. It’s only when the doors close behind me that I realize I have exited two stops early. When I first got here, I was so worried about going the wrong direction, but now I know how easily fixable such a mistake is. In fact, it’s so easily fixable it doesn’t really seem like a mistake at all but rather a pleasant detour on my daily journey through Santiago.

And so, after four months, I am here. All of me, including all the worries and familiar thoughts that have consistently followed me here, like invisible balloons permanently tethered to my head.

In some way, I kind of wish I left some it at home. But I guess we don’t just bring our good parts with us when we travel, do we?

Where ever we go, there we are.

Cool.

Que te vaya bien,
C in C

Museums and Dinner Parties and Modeling

2008-12-08T20:48:00.006-03:00

I thought I would take a detour from all these deep revelations and just show you some photos of what I've been doing lately.

Below is this really ostentatious church that rises from the modern streets like a magnificent piece of cake.

Then there is the terribly ugly Christmas tree in front of La Moneda. The red balls on the tree all have the Coca Cola logo on them.

This is the great La Moneda, the center of the governement.

Below La Moneda is a museum which is where I went to see the Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera exhibition:

Frida Kahlo in my opinion was much more twisted than Diego's work. This one below is Frida with a mask over her face.

This one was a portrait of Luther-something. Note the the roots connected to the body in the ground. Weird!

In contrast, Diego was much more of a "realist" though he did like to change the size of things. These flowers are actually really much smaller than the woman in real life--there was a drawing of his original intentions with this painting. I've seen as a print but it was only standing right in front of it that I saw he had made the flowers enormous.

He also exaggerated women's eyes in his portraits. An example of this is below. Note the banner above her head--both Frida and Diego did this in their work. It has the title of the work on it.

I also thought it was interesting to see that Frida had many drawings of Diego but on the Diego side, we were shown many portraits of women (who weren't Frida). I wondered whether this was a reflection of a dynamic in their relationship.

I've been trying to get the perfect shot of the parrots (parakeets?) that live in the park. Below is finally a shot that shows how green its feathers are.

Then, for Thanksgiving, I decided to have a small dinner party. I've been learning to cook, so I made veggie sushi rolls, guacamole and veggie lasagna.

Here I am with my first veggie lasagna.

A close up of the veggie rolls.

Kanke, my house mate, is a clothing designer and designs clothes out of recycled materials and sells them in her clothing store. She asked me to model some of her creations. Here's me in a really fun dress.

She's made cowells to sell in San Pedro (the Atacama desert) where they often where this style. I had a hard time figuring out how to wear them but this was also lots of fun.

So, I guess that's it for now. I stayed up late last night hanging with friends as today was a religious holiday here in Chile so my ability to write anything more interesting is at a zero.

Hopefully I'll be more inspired--and awake--tomorrow.

Que te vaya bien!

C in Cs

The Blunders of an Overachiever/Perfectionist...and Then Forgiveness

2008-12-03T00:06:00.009-03:00

Trying to be perfect sucks. It’s taken me thirty years to admit this. I’ve had plenty of time to try to be perfect, and of course, I’ve failed miserably (as all overachiever/perfectionists eventually do).

My overachiever/perfectionism started in early childhood. When I was four or five, I was learning to make my bed. I dreaded it with a passion because, unbeknownst to my parents, I was spending toddler-hours making sure the sheets were perfectly smooth. I had tried to smooth them with my tiny hands over and over, but wrinkles remained. Can you imagine a five-year-old trying to make sure the sheets had no wrinkles in them!

I remember the relief I felt when Dad showed me a trick: you could put the sheets together with the blankets and pull everything over the bed at the same time. And—get this!—wrinkles were okay. If I had learned to accept wrinkles in all areas of my life, perhaps this story would be different. But it’s taken me a long time.

My attempts to be more “wrinkly” with world began about a year ago, coinciding with a realization that my life was no fun and filled with too many chores/work/responsibility. With the help of some of my more wacky friends, I attempted to cast off my normal mode of being consumed by details, to reject the responsibility I normally embraced. I am sure this will be my lifelong project because I have slipped many times into super organizer mode since then.

Recently I felt I had a breakthrough coinciding with my blog entry about the wild dogs that attacked me. You can imagine the conversation I had with my parents afterwards which stopped just short of “Get your ass on a plane, young lady! You’re grounded until you're fifty!” All parents must wish for the ability ground their children well into adulthood.

So, my breakthrough was that, for the first time, I actually admitted that I had made a huge mistake to myself and to them. What a relief to be able to say to my parents and to myself, “Hey, I’m human. I messed up.” Perhaps the dogs scared me into humility, perhaps church has made me aware of the beauty of asking for forgiveness, but suddenly, I found it easier to say “I’m sorry” and mean it. I found it easier to forgive myself for mistakes, and conversely, forgive others theirs.

This newfound power to apologize and forgive has helped forge a new friendship with A that I would not have attempted at any other time in my life. Perhaps you could say I was a fool for accepting his apology, but there is something magical in the act of forgiveness, in the power to forgive, in the healing of being forgiven. This concept has made me reevaluate my judgments regarding the choices my friends have made, especially in the areas of love. Perhaps forgiveness is an important part of love that I have overlooked. Perhaps it is the most precious of gifts—after all, it can be the hardest thing to ask for and the hardest thing to give.

I recently found out that the girlfriend of my Chilean friend, C, had cheated on him. The cheating had happened three months ago, but I could see it still hurt him, that forgiving is not the same as forgetting. Of course, his friends and family were not happy that he returned to her. Though he had forgiven her, his friends and family were not so willing. C is a relatively new friend of mine, but I felt the same way, a reticence to forgive this woman who had hurt this incredibly kind man. I had a heavy heart that day. At the same time, I was very proud of him too, for his ability to love and forgive in the face of betrayal. Maybe some might call him a fool, but we could learn from him too. His act of forgiveness might strengthen their love. But if that love breaks, he can walk away knowing what he's made of, knowing his own inner strength.

Well, that's all I got for now...please forgive the amateur philosophy. I hope you enjoy and find it in your heart to forgive a little today too.

Que te vaya bien,
C in C

I'm thankful for things I'm thankful for

2008-11-27T22:10:00.007-03:00

At first I wasn't going to write a Thanksgiving blog, because I never like to feel forced to be grateful. But then I thought about it, and I do feel grateful, so why the heck not write about feeling grateful on Thanksgiving day?

First of all, I feel incredibly lucky to be in Chile at all since it seemed like such a distant dream when I first began thinking about moving here. Sometimes I have to stop and laugh...dude...am I really in Chile?

I am absolutely and positively grateful for this house and my roommates. I have everything I need a walk or metro ride away. And when I'm home, I get to talk with Kanke and Caitlin who are two wonderful, understanding, insightful, powerful women. I am especially thankful for Kanke's cooking lessons and Caitlin's supply of library books.

I'm thankful for the job I have right now. Finally, the perfect amount of working!

I'm thankful for my camera and my computer and my ipod; the electronics I knew would keep me sane and give me something to do when I felt lost.

I'm thankful for all my friends, back home and now scattered throughout the world, who have helped me feel less homesick with their emails and phone calls.

I'm thankful for my family and their compassion and concern.

This is of course a very short list and I could continue, but I'm also thankful for feeling sleepy, so I will leave you with a thanks and a goodnight!

Happy Thanksgiving!
C in C

Cajon de Maipo Part II

2008-11-24T23:30:00.024-03:00

Continued from Part I

...I wanted to be prepared for anything...

As I made my way up the mountain, slipping and sliding in my stupid tennis shoes (what was I thinking!), I thought of the stories that my parents had told me: our neighbor falling and hitting his head and having to be led out of the forest by his son, their friend going off on a morning run without telling them where she was headed (fool!), people found wandering in the forest after being lost for weeks. I reasoned that the front desk knew I was going up there, though, now that I think about it, they wouldn’t have missed my absence, just the absence of the key they had given me to open the gate into the private habitat.

My opportunities for gorgeous shots were plenty—the silver lining to this dangerous hiking trip.

With map in hand, I wound around the hills and through groves that contained millions of cicadas. I’ve been on so many hikes, I’ve lost count, but I have never, in all my life, heard and seen this many cicadas. They were so plentiful, they roared like a cataract. I walked through the bushes and would disturb the branches, making thousands of them fly up and around my face. When they’d pass by my ears, it would be like a motorcycle driving by my head. I was totally grossed out. I ended up covering my ears while I walked.

I made it to the top, called Mirador, far past where I had expected to walk. Again, the views were amazing:

It was not until I began the hike down that I realized that my tennis shoes were going to be the death of me. I fell twice on my butt, both times catching my body with my hands. I felt my wrists take the impact of my body, and I was thankful that I had been doing push ups (though the girl kind) every day and yoga. I would have injured my wrists had my arms been weaker. Scratched by every kind of thorny bush that seemed to all exist on that cursed mountain, hot and sunburned, dusty and now slightly bruised, I was very ready to get down the mountain, at any price.

I was almost back to the bridge when I heard the dogs barking. I saw two of them around the corner and felt relief. I figured someone was walking their dogs up the hill. But then, something about the way the dogs were barking at me made me stop. There was no human with them. These dogs were not the lovable kind. I stared long and hard at them as I slowly pulled my pack around and pulled out my pepper spray.

Then one ran right at me, its teeth bared, growling, low to the ground, hunting me. I stared because I could not fully understand what was happening. Were these coyotes? Were these wolves? Some kind of unidentified fox? They didn't seem to be dogs; they were so wild.

I had heard that if you ever see a mountain lion you’re supposed to make yourself look as big as possible so I pulled my backpack above my head and roared. The dog backed away a little but saw that I had not hurt it and began its attack again. I screamed, I cried for help, I growled. It was then that I really felt I was in trouble. They were blocking the trail down the mountain, and I had no energy to go back up. I didn’t want to back away for fear I would trigger their attack drive further. I knew I couldn’t outrun them. I had to go through.

I don’t know why I didn’t use the pepper spray right away. I guess I felt it was a last resort. It would be admitting just how much trouble I was really in. When the second dog joined the first and tried to circle around me, I knew it was time to use the pepper spray. My hand was shaking terribly. It was me or them. I sprayed, first a little spritz because I had never used the pepper spray before. They only backed off a little so I sprayed more and prayed that the wind wouldn’t blow it back in my face. Little by little, they gave way, and I inched forward, them still barking with a ferocity I had never seen in a dog before. I never turned my back to them, and I had my eye on them for a long time as I walked down the mountain. I was ready for a surprise attack through the trees, for them to silently hunt me. But the pepper spray had begun to burn their noses and eyes, and suddenly I was more like a skunk or porcupine, not worth the effort of the hunt.

I felt strangely numb after that. Shaky. On edge. Around the bend, I came across two cowboys coming up the mountain on their horses. Why hadn’t they heard my cries for help? I tried to warn them in my bad Spanish.

“There are two dogs up there. They were barking at me. They attacked me.”

The guy said, “Those are perros vagos. They are friends to man. They bark but they don’t do anything.”

I couldn’t believe that was all he said. I said nothing, but I thought, “Friend to man when man has gigantic horses with him, when a man isn’t a vulnerable woman alone on a hike.”

The reaction was the same at the registration desk. No reaction at all. I felt like they thought I was lying. Or wondered why I was complaining if I was standing there completely unharmed. I wouldn’t have even bothered but I was worried they would give that same bullshit line to some other woman alone. Would she have pepper spray too?

Given the reactions of the employees there, I felt like maybe I had dreamed the whole thing, except for my upper lip which burned from where I had touched my face after using the pepper spray. Traces must’ve been left on my hand.

I walked back to the hostel, weak, tired and embarrassed. After a quick shower and time spent reading quietly on the patio, I went to the pool. As I swam in the pool, surrounded by the few families and couples there, I felt more lonely than I ever have. My traumatic hike, which was supposed to be a triumphant solo experience, had only served to remind me that I was alone and 30 and not capable of doing everything on my own. Or maybe, it proved that I was capable of doing everything on my own, including defending my life, but it made me acutely aware that I didn’t want to do it alone.

I didn’t want to do this life alone.

I wanted more than anything at that moment to find “the one” and just be done with this whole single business. Traveling alone was never in my dreams. It has been a product of my determination not to be limited by being a single woman and circumstances that have led me to singlehood.

I was in such a state by that night that I found myself staring at the ceiling of my hostel bedroom, thumbing through my music on my iPod and wishing A would call. Wishing anyone would call.

But, as I listened to some of the fun and lighthearted music I had downloaded just before I left for Chile, I was reminded again of my New Year's resolution to have more fun. It was then that I laughed. It was the first time I had laughed since I had arrived, and the sound surprised me. This was such a ridiculous trip! I was not having fun here! This trip was a bust!

This simple idea helped me fall asleep that night. I decided that the following day, I would go on a horseback ride if I felt like it (and if there were going to be people), and if not, I would go home and forget all about this trip.

Luckily, I met some Jehovah’s witnesses who were staying in the cabins in the back of the hostel on Saturday morning. They spoke English and were from America, and I felt so happy that I decided I would sign up for the horseback riding after all. I thought it was appropriate that I was given the horse named Milagro (or Miracle). I felt that it was a good sign.

We took the same trail I had hiked the day before. I wanted to see those dogs again, only so I could prove that I hadn’t made them up. But soon, I forgot about the dogs and focused on making sure my horse didn’t walk off the mountain. Considering my experience the day before, I wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

By the time we returned to the hostel, I was feeling much better. Human interaction is so important, isn’t it? This is me with one of the horse guides, Leo.

I decided to stay Saturday night as I had originally planned and spent the rest of Saturday at the pool and in the back of the hostel reading.

If I had been stressed before I’d left, the reading and the pool would have been the perfect weekend. But it was too tranquil for me…and when it wasn’t tranquil, it was traumatic. I was either fearing I would die from mauling or my horse tripping off the cliff or that I would die from sheer boredom.

Several lessons have presented themselves to me which I will recap here:
1. Don’t hike alone (yes, mom and dad, you did tell me so).
2. Don’t go to camping-like resorts alone (it’s really, really boring).
3. Sign up ahead of time for group tours and activities (see number 2 when in doubt).
4. Just because I am physically capable of doing something, doesn’t mean I should do it. (see number 1 when in doubt).
5. Figure out how to get along with men so someone else can protect me for awhile.
6. Take self-defense classes in the event that I am unsuccessful with number 5.

On Sunday morning, I finished the book I had been reading out on the patio. I then quickly grabbed a colectivo and was back at home by the afternoon. It felt so good to be able to talk with my roommates. I called my brother to wish him a happy birthday. I hung out and watched a movie in the evening.

But even with all interaction, the residual feelings of the weekend were with me as I crawled into bed. A loneliness clung to me. It felt like something in me had cracked open when I had pushed the pepper spray button, like the last of my youthful illusions of immortality had died. A realization that my life, our lives, are so vulnerable, terribly at the mercy of the caprices of nature.

That incident on the mountain had made me lonely for all the things that haven’t happened to me yet—all the children I have not had, the relationships yet to be woven, the experiences of a lifetime yet to be lived. I longed to live life sped up on fast forward so that I could be reassured that my most profound wishes will come true—that I will be married, have a family, that I will live long and be fulfilled, that I will die of old age in my bed.

But, that doesn’t always happen, does it?

Que te vaya bien (and go buy pepper spray ladies!),
C in C

Cajon de Maipo Part I

2008-11-24T23:23:00.006-03:00

I reserved in a room in a hostel connected to a resort called Cascada de Animas in Cajon de Maipo for Thursday through Saturday night. The resort had everything right there—rafting, zip lining, horses, hiking, a pool, yoga, sauna, etc. I arrived on Thursday afternoon via colectivo.

That’s when I found out that there would be no rafting available for the weekend (this is why calling ahead is important). I walked the main road back to the hostel some four blocks away from the main resort.

The hostel was even more beautiful than I expected ,and I quickly found the patio which I took over as my own. It just called to me.

That day, having arrived midday and it being too hot for any strenuous activities, I went to the pool. The space was beautiful. The pool was ice cold. I went every day but never stayed in the water for long. Plus all the bugs in the pool started grossing me out.

That night, I ate a fancy dinner alone—bread, olive oil, wine, salmon, and dessert—heck why not! The view was breathtaking. The restaurant was really fun, the terrace built around the trees.

I walked back in the darkness, but having been caught camping without a flashlight before, I was prepared and I brought my flashlight along (thank goodness! It was really dark).

I decided after that walk, which seemed a lot longer in the dark, I would not go to dinner so late again. Two or three women had reassured me that the town was totally safe, and it was no problem to walk by oneself at night. But the dark creeped me out.

The next day, I decided I would go on a hike. At the front desk, I was informed that I would be going by myself if I was going to go at all. I was surprised and disappointed. It sounded like there had been guides, and I had seen other groups going on hikes together. When I hesitated, I was reassured that there were no poisonous animals on the mountain, nothing that could harm me, and that it would be fine for me to hike alone.

This the key moment when, instead of insisting on a group or nothing, I decided I would try it alone, against my better judgment.

But I did walk back to my hostel and switched my purse for a backpack, filling it with food, water, sunblock, my hat, camera, a flashlight and pepper spray. I wanted to be prepared for anything.

To be continued...

I’m so glad for the ants and the flies…sort of…

2008-11-19T20:43:00.011-03:00

Recently, and unfortunately at the same time, our home was overrun by both flies and ants. The flies came because all the doors and windows were open when Kanke lifted the compost cover to toss more food in for the worms. She told me that millions, “millones!” of flies came rushing out…and apparently found solace in our home.

As for the ants, I had seen the occasional ant, lonely and wandering, but nothing more. Then that lonely ant found my newly purchased homemade honey and brought “millones” of its ant-friends into our kitchen.

What does a vegetarian household do with a plague of ants and flies? Well this vegetarian house was not very animal-friendly. Several spritzes of window cleaner later, the tide of ants had been wiped out. With many, many “lo siento’s,” and the smack of her hands, Kanke significantly reduced the fly population.

So why am I so glad? Lucky for me, all these ants and flies have helped me provide an example of a concept I’ve been interested in lately, basically that it’s the ants and flies in your honey that help you better appreciate the pest-free times.

In the U.S., I had everything I wanted (well, not everything, but lots of things). Month after month, I got in my car to go the huge local supermarket where, every time, I found everything on my list. I loaded up my car with a month’s worth of food. I hate shopping so I purchased a lot to avoid having to go every week.

If I wanted Zachary’s Pizza, I went. DVDs: rented or purchased. Music downloaded from iTunes or enjoyed on Pandora.com. If I needed clothes (god forbid) I drove to Kohl’s and purchased them. If I got sick, I went to the doctor’s. When I wanted to learn design, I went to community college. I wanted straight teeth, so I got braces. I wanted, wanted, wanted, and I got, got, got. And each time I got something, I just wanted something new. I was so lucky to have been so rich. Though perhaps not rich by U.S. standards, when I see some poorer areas of Santiago, I know that I am privileged. I am a gringa. I am rich. Being here has helped me realize just how lucky I am.

Examples:
1. After three weeks of hostel living, which consisted of praying that the calefon was lit so I could take a hot shower (and also praying that it would stay hot), praying that the power wouldn’t short out again on the first floor (which I approached pragmatically, learning where the box was so I could flip the lights back on again all by myself), praying that I wouldn’t be freezing at night, that I would be able to learn how to use the new can opener, that the party that started at midnight wouldn’t move to the common area next to my room, where they had smoked cigarettes outside my window until 5am the night before, I practically got down on my knees and thanked the Lord (well, actually, yep, I pretty much did that) when I got to a house of my very own (wow, what a sentence). A very tranquil, cozy, homey house where the showers were hot, the power only tripped once, the blankets were plenty, the parties were held with fair warning, and no one smoked. No wonder I felt a deeper sense of gratitude than I ever had when I moved here. It had been a long time since I had been deprived.

2. I go food shopping at Santa Isabel, a supermercado about twenty minutes away (by walking). It’s where I go after church. Instead of stock piling, I shop every week because I can’t carry anymore than a week’s worth of groceries in my backpack. I remember being horrified back in Pleasanton when I realized that I wouldn’t have my car in Santiago, and I would have to carry whatever I purchased. But I discovered that I like walking to the supermarket every week. It reminds me of my neighbor Agnes who used to walk to the grocery store almost every day. And I’m getting used to not getting what I want every time I go. Sometimes they’re out of onions, spinach or apples. Or they’ll be out of the beans in a box (like beans in a can, only in a box). Or they won’t have soymilk. I’ve had to adapt. I’ve had to drink milk. Buy the kind of beans you have to soak overnight. I’ve had to improvise. New culinary inventions have become a part of my diet from having to adapt.

3. When I first got to Santiago, I used to ask anyone I started conversation, “Hablas Ingles?” I prayed that they would, and they did, but not enough to understand my quick English. Deprived of my native language, every simple transaction has become an accomplishment. When I successfully asked to split a bill between a credit card and cash two weeks ago, I felt a sense of accomplishment and pride I never would have felt in America.

This has put an interesting new spin on the question of why we travel. Sure, we travel to learn something new. But maybe more importantly, we travel to be deprived of our normal environments so that when we return, our most valuable possessions and loved ones are valuable again, with a luster and sheen they didn’t have before.

But sometimes, despite how many times you see something, it still is amazing. This is how I feel about the sunset. Here’s the latest one from Chile, taken from my backyard.

And here's what I'll be deprived of when I get home, the amazing murals all over Santiago!

So may you enjoy your possessions and accomplishments with a newfound sense of excitement--as if tomorrow you'll have to live in a hostel for three weeks. Good luck!

Que te vaya bien,
C in C

Some People Wallow…

2008-11-17T21:45:00.001-03:00

So, if you read my previous blog posting, you would know that I had perfect justification to wallow this weekend. I tried my best—on Friday I ate dulce de leche and cookies with my roommates and talked about “men” with that tone of disdain reserved for cases such as mine. On Saturday, after my Polynesian dance class, three of us walked over to Bravissimo ice cream (top ice cream in the city) and proceeded to consume the calories we had worked so hard to take off. That night, I planned on a good wallow but then a friend invited me for drinks, so I went out figuring that wallowing, though good for the soul, wouldn’t be as healthy as me drinking lots of alcohol (has anyone noticed the irony in this sentence yet?).

On Sunday, with my roommates gone for the day, I had the house to myself and proceeded to have the best of wallows—lots of reading, lots of sugary food, lots of writing. And then I was done.

I think the fact that I’m a quick wallower is one of my best traits. This is when the fact that I get bored easily works in my favor. I can’t tolerate a lot of low-energy-sitting-around wallowing. I love low-energy-sitting-around activities when I’m happy. But it’s just not a lot of fun when I’m sad. A little wallow is nice. It’s a break from the routine. It’s “new.” But eventually I get bored of the feeling, and going outside or doing something else seems like a much better idea.

So today, I chose to be done with wallowing. Instead, I worked. I ran. I went to yoga class. I think it’s clear: I prefer sweating to wallowing.

My style of wallowing has made me curious as to how others deal with the painful trials of their lives. So here’s a question for all of you: what’s your wallow style? Are there others out there preferring to sweat out their emotions rather than to marinate in them? Let me know. I’d love to hear!

Que te vaya bien!
C in C

This New Freedom Feels Sad

2008-11-16T15:13:00.002-03:00

Two months ago, I had lunch with two Russian women who were in my Spanish classes with me. They were both married to Chileans; both were equally insistent that I would meet someone here. They told me, “No Gringa stays single for long here.”

I told them I had not come to Chile to fall in love. I had come to Chile, in fact, to finally tamp out the last burning embers of love from a relationship I had ended two and a half years ago (well that, and to have a rockin’ good time celebrating my 30th year of life on Earth). The rockin’ good time I knew from the start; the falling-out-of-love part I didn’t figure out till I got here.

So, right around the third month of my new life in Chile, I said a final goodbye to that old chapter in my life. Around the same time, I met A. He was a bass player, DJ, artist, ex-businessman. He was as diverse in his interests as I was in mine: guitar player, dancer, writer, ex-business owner.

It seemed the right time to consider how a pololo might fit with my Chile plans.

And for awhile, it seemed to great. I have to confess that I was one of those couples in the park. I was hypnotized by our little world full of butterflies and love.

But I was cautious. So while A offered his heart up, vulnerable and beating special songs for me, I did not. I waited. I wanted love, but I wanted it in my time.

My friend Mari says she will marry the man who makes her feel alone. I have decided I will marry the man who makes me feel free.

Essentially, I was asking A who had grown up in a culture that taught men to possess their women to love me without the stronghold. I knew it was a hard thing to ask of him. I had seen examples of possessive love all over Santiago:

A couple waiting for the train, the guy’s arms wrapped around his girl as if to say “she is mine.” The girl’s face blank, tired. She, an empty shell, her thoughts elsewhere. Ignoring him. He demands her love, grabbing her chin to steal a kiss from her. She lets him. She is passive. She is not really there.

Okay, so I am in no way that kind of girl. And I was worried that I was hurting A with being the kind of girl I am:

I couldn’t stand to have his arm slung over my shoulder—no man needs me to carry his love like a weight.
I didn’t want him to call me every day.
I didn’t want things to be serious.
I didn’t want to lie around and listen to music all the time.
I didn’t want to always be in a lip lock.
I definitely did not want to be kissed in the middle of me talking about something I felt was important—was he ever really listening?

John Mayer writes in Slow Dancing in a Burning Room “Can’t seem to hold you like I want to so I can feel you in my arms.” I imagine it must’ve felt that way for A.

And now that A has ended it, he will never know how, despite everything, I dreamed the silly dreams of love with him, of long-time love, of warm summer nights in the park and cold evenings in front of the stove, warmed by its heat and each other. I was sold on the fantasy he painted for me, slow strokes filled with respect and love, which quickly—and unfortunately—dried and peeled, leaving nothing but blank canvas.

He said he loved me. I said I knew the difference between infatuation and love.

I was not surprised when it ended, only surprised that it was by a cell phone text saying he never wanted to see me again. Never is a really long time. But a man can only take so many “no’s” before he begins to hate who he used to love.

Don’t fret about me though. I know I’m destined for happier pairings, full of laughter, full of light. And yet, I also know I will forever be attracted to the wild fires of the musician and the darkest shadows cast by their brightest flames.

So…single yet again.

This new freedom feels sad. Perhaps it will fit better tomorrow.

Que te vaya bien,
C in C

Shopping Ugh

2008-11-11T19:57:00.025-03:00

This may come as a surprise to you, but I pretty much hate shopping. It's not just clothes shopping I despise (though it holds a special place in my heart), it's all kinds of shopping. The worst is window shopping. I already feel aimless when shopping. To actually go and look at things with the purpose of not buying anything drives me crazy. I shop with purpose. I shop to buy. I actually start to feel hot and trapped in a store looking at trinkets or clothes I'll never buy. If I know I'll never buy, why stir up feelings of longing for them? Why look at all?

This characteristic has actually led to several arguments with friends. My friend Jenn and I got into a fight in Sedona about this, because she is my opposite and is a very content shopper. We finally agreed that I would circle each store twice to make her feel less pressured, and she would cherish trinkets a little faster.

I recently had a similar experience with my friend Alfredo. The poor guy had no idea that I was not a shopper. He kept wanting to show me stores he liked (I think to make a really nice day last a little longer), but I was going crazy. I swear I had circled the same store three times. I just never know what I'm supposed to do. I just think, "They're nice things but if I'm not buying and you're not buying, why are we here?" This led to me behaving like a spoiled brat, and him wondering what the heck was wrong with me. I imagined him shaking his head and mumbling, "Women..."

I have tried to figure out why I feel this way about something that most women adore. Maybe I just don't want to look at something I can't have. Maybe it's because I don't feel the same urgency to possess things as I do to capture moments in words and photos. Maybe it's because I don't want to spend money on things that will collect dust.

Don't get me wrong. I shop. I window shop too when I see there's no way to avoid it. My purpose in these instances is merely to bond with my women friends, and try, desperately to enjoy shopping the way they do. I actually copy how they look at things, trying to imitate their rapture. When they touch something, so do I. When they point, I then point. "Oh it's so...beautiful...look, isn't this fabric...um...soft?"

And don't even get me started on clothes shopping. Can't a size be that size every time? I have always envied men who buy pants by measurments. I'm pretty sure that a 32 is always a 32.

But alas, that's not how it is for women. For example, in my closet right now, I have pants in three different sizes and they all fit. Same goes for tops. This pretty much means I have no clue where to begin when I shop, and by the time I narrow down the size, I'm too tired to care. I plan on never going to the beach this summer to avoid having to shop for a bikini.

This is why I was just kicking myself for not packing my shorts (how much room would a pair of shorts really have taken!). It kills me because I had thought about packing them, and I opted to leave them out. I actually thought, I'll just buy more when I get there. Who was I thinking would be going shopping?

This oversight meant that I would need to go shopping...in Spanish...with European sizes. I wasn't thrilled.

Luckily, Connie, my good friend, volunteered to come with me. Connie is one of my favorite Chilenas. She's only 21 but she's just got things figured out. I felt I could rely on her to help me wade through the Spanish/size challenge.

It turns out that Santiago sizes are very similar to the U.S., and I fit well in three different sized pants in different stores (I of course chose to believe that the smallest of sizes was the correct one).

But this shopping trip was different than most. Instead of a mall, we were in Barrio Patronato, well-known in the city for two things: really cheap clothes and getting robbed. Sweet! Now this is the kind of shopping I could get into--adventure shopping!

So, with a sense of purpose (yes!) and a tight grip on my purse, Connie and I shopped, and I successfully bought the summer clothes I needed.

Perhaps this will be the way to motivate me to shop in the future. Maybe I need to approach shopping as an adventure and pretend like I'm a spy on a mission to retrieve magic pants (this might also be a good way to get kicked out of a clothing store).

Or maybe it's time I accept and be proud of my non-shopper status. Next time my friends suggest shopping, I will offer some alternatives:

THEM: Let's go shop.
ME: How about white water rafting? Sky diving? Anyone up for swimming with sharks? Doesn't that sound fun?
THEM: Um, no. Let's go shopping.
ME: Okay. But let's pretend we're spies on a mission to capture the magic pants from evil goblin.
THEM: Are you feeling okay? Why don't you stay home on this trip?

Sounds perfect to me!

Que te vaya bien (y comprar bien tambien),
C in C

Weekend in Mendoza

2008-11-03T19:50:00.011-03:00

This weekend I set off for Mendoza, Argentina for a weekend adventure. There's something romantic about the weekend getaway, and something equally alluring about setting off on one's own. With a pioneering spirit, I boarded an Ahumada bus on Thursday. 4 hours later, through harrowing switchbacks in the Andes, I crossed the border into Argentina.

Below are pictures from the immigration station at the top. Doesn't it look like an entirely different planet?

I discovered a couple things just on the journey over. Here they are:

1. I was suited for bus rides. Perhaps this was because of all the long car rides we took for family vacations. Perhaps it was because I love watching the scenery go by without having to drive. Plus, South American buses were pretty sweet. Videos, drinks, even a steward to make sure you didn't miss your stop.

2. As soon as we neared Mendoza, I was in a panic. Then I remembered my first day in Santiago, also filled with the same familar panic. Thinking further back, I realized that since I started traveling on my own, I have, without fail, experienced a panic phase upon arrival. My first time in New York (and my first solo trip), I nearly fainted from being so scared. I pretty much hate every new city when I first arrive. It's amazing that I actually like traveling.

Another three hours, and we were pulling into the Mendoza bus station. That's when I had my third revelation:

3. I wanted to go home. But, when I thought of home, I didn't think of Cali and San Jose. I thought of my little house in La Reina. My roommates. My friends in Santiago. When had that happened?

When I left the Mendoza bus station, I got lost. This was not an unusual event. Unfortunately, I did not inherit an inherent sense of direction...or rather, my direction was usually always initially wrong.

This was always a pain in the ass.

But always good, too, because while others explored a direct route to their hostel, I traversed over a larger area, and if I had encountered said foreign area again, while others would feel lost, I would know exactly where I was (think: I've been lost here before!).

Eventually I rang the buzzer to be let in to Hostel Chimbas, the cutest hostel I have ever stayed in.

Check out pics of the patio and kitchen area. Beautifully decorated.

When I first arrived, I did what I always do in a new place. I just laid back on my bed and stared at the ceiling. I find that 10 or 20 minutes of this is enough for me to push away my feelings of panic and lonliness and to motivate myself to explore (and by explore, I mean, wander around the hostel).

My wandering was fruitful. I met a couple from Manchester in the kitchen. After a bit of talking, they invited me to join them for dinner and wine. Suddenly, I didn't hate the city so much, and my distrust dissolved.

At breakfast the next day, I met two more Englanders, and we wandered through downtown Mendoza together. Note the red water in the fountain below. Cool, huh.

After lunch, I took a wine tour that included an olive oil factory and a family-owned liquor/chocolate factory and two wineries. The tour group was really wild, and half the guys were doing shots of absinthe which I believe is banned in Europe for turning artists crazy.

Below is the third largest barrel in Mendoza and the largest barrel in use in Mendoza. This puppy held sauvignon blanc I believe. (I was unsuccessful in lifting it.)

The next day, I went on a white water rafting adventure--the first class three river I had ever tried. When they gave me a wet suit, helmet, and life jacket, I knew this was going to be very different from the tame rivers from family rafting trips.

In the photos below, I'm in the back on the left side of the boat, next to the guide. I had the best time, and I can't wait to go again. It was the perfect mix of fear and excitement. I'm at the very edge of this photo. Others are not pictured because the front end is completely covered with water.

I made friends with the girl we're holding in this photo, along with the other women in this photo. They were German, but luckily, they spoke English and Spanish so we found a common language. After a beautiful drive back to the hostal (see below), we went out to dinner together.

Notice the ice cream we all have in front of us--we got four flavors per person! I love Argentina!

When I returned to my hostel, my four English friends were on the patio drinking wine and eating chocolate. I joined them and stayed up till 1am having the best time.

Oh yeah, and the guy behind me took all of us for Tango lessons too!

I couldn't have dreamed of a better time in Mendoza. I'm going to have to run every day this week to burn off all the wine/chocolate/dulce de leche calories. But it was worth it!

Here's to exciting weekends!

Que te vaya bien,

C in C

A little culture, a little spanish, a little party

2008-10-29T22:05:00.006-03:00

Hi ya everyone,

I wanted to show you more photos. I thought these were the best ones of the batch. No deep thoughts today.

These first two are from the Pre-Columbian museum. I had read in the travel guides that this was the best museum in Chile but I was kind of bored. I think they meant it was the best for gringos. Everything was in English and in Spanish, but I went with Nacho. Between the two of us, we could easily have handled the museum without the English. Plus, there was really nothing to talk about. No interesting concepts. Just--here's a bowl, here's a vase. I wonder if they were making a statement with their vases and bottles. And what was it? Of the art I saw, which one was thought-provoking long ago?

The first photo below is of statues that they placed at funerals. I have decided that for my own funeral (many, many years away) I want one of these instead of flowers. How cool would that be! It would scare you into be happy.

I just thought this dude was pretty striking looking. He looks real! I got in trouble at this time for taking pictures (two guards from separate rooms were telling me to not take photos). I pretended to be an ignorant gringa (cuz sometimes it's convenient). I think Nacho was slightly embarrassed.

Then, on Thursday, my Spanish teacher, Loreto, invited me out for seafood at Oceano Pacifico. It's this disneyland-like place that's filled with many rooms decorated with fish stuff--ships in bottles, ships in glass cases, tables that look like something belonging to the captain's room, figureheads, whalebones, stuffed fish of all kind, doors like those on a submarine. We were in the submarine room, thus the lights behind them.

Loreto here is with her boyfriend Osvaldo...they are both very fun people and I had a great time!

And now for the party of disfraces!

Here are all the butterflies! Caitlin, my gringa roommate, Nunu, my Polynesian dance teacher, the girl with the cool face makeup (sorry that i've forgotten her name) and me.

Halfway through, Caitlin's friend came with his band, Andu, and played right in our tiny living room. It was so fun!

And my friends from the hostal came too. Chascon, Mono, Nico and Connie. They are just so fun and look, they made an effort to dress up!

Such fun!

Que te vaya bien,
C in C

Paz

2008-10-27T22:57:00.002-03:00

My friend Mari, who I think is an incredibly gifted writer, has inspired me to be more open and vulnerable in my writing. Perhaps this is a big mistake for me and what works for her won’t work for me but you never know unless you try, right?

So here goes. I’ve been going to church. And praying. It’s true. It started when I began to be able to make my favorite meals in my new house. I was so grateful to be tasting the food I had missed so much that I would say a quick thank you before I ate…and it just snowballed. Before I knew it I was praying ever day and going to church most Sundays.

When I’ve told people I’m going to church, they ask me, “why?" i tell them it’s because I’ve never felt more blessed, more happy, more grateful in my life than I do at this moment. I’ve never felt such a welling of emotion for this life I lead. I’ve never felt more sure that there is a God of some kind orchestrating the universe. I've never needed to say thank you so much.

But I feel quite shy to write about God, like He and I are just beginning a relationship, and it’s too new to even talk about it with anyone.

I go to a Catholic church right near my house. I like the idea that I walk to my church, take the dusty path over the canal and onto the tree-lined streets, through the park and past the swings. I like that I answer the calling of the bells signaling the beginning of Mass. I always sit in the last pew, closest to the door, so that as they take Communion, I can slip out…because I’m not really Catholic. I’m just there for…well…to say hi…to God.

The sermon is completely in Spanish, and I understand the occasional word. I like to imagine what the dude up front is talking about. Something about “loving God first” and “How do you show you love God each day?” Without the words to guide me, I’m left with half words to guess at, meanings left incomplete, questions unanswered.

I honestly like it left to my own interpretation…which probably means when I finally understand Spanish, I won’t be going to Mass. But, until then, let me just tell you about my favorite part of the whole thing.

It's the smallest detail. It's the part when you turn to your neighbors (the people next to you in the pews you have ignored and not even looked at since you arrived) and you shake their hand, smile and say “Paz” or “Peace.”

How much kinder would the world be if we always greeted people on the streets with a smile and “Paz”?

What if, instead of honking your horn as you impatiently sit in traffic, you smiled and said, “Paz.”

It sounds so simple. But I know when the lady on the metro totally cut in front of me, I didn’t feel like smiling and greeting her with love and peace.

Still, it’s a nice idea, right?

I guess today, this is how I show my love for the Big Guy Upstairs. I write about the idea of peace at the smallest level. And hope that, when the lady on the metro cuts in front of me next time, I will smile and say “Paz.”

Que te vaya bien (and paz),

C in C

American culture is...

2008-10-22T22:09:00.012-03:00

So what is the American culture?

Recently, I had to explain Americans and our culture concerning the most universal thing--love. Yep, that's right. I was in a private Spanish class and the lesson derailed into a discussion about the dating worlds of America and Chile...and just how far apart these worlds really are.

First let's talk about America. America is all about the individual. Of course we get married and have families, but our history reveals us as proud, independent individuals. And that history shapes how we relate: how we marry or divorce or never marry at all. As a country, we thrive on taking risks, forging ahead, leading. Relationships take a backseat.

Conversely, where America emphasizes individuality, Chile emphasizes the family. They thrive on being a part of a tight-knit community. To not have family is to be lost.

So how does this translate into basic socializing and then on to dating? In Chile, when you greet someone, even someone you don't know, you kiss them on the right cheek (establishing a tight-knit feeling from the get-go). Americans use a handshake to ensure distance. Chileans express their feelings the second they feel them. We can hardly say I love you to our parents, let alone to friends and lovers. In Chile, after a month of dating, you become boyfriend/girlfriend. A month! In America, you're just beginning to get used to having someone in your personal space.

That's why I think America is a country of cats, squirming and scratching the second someone tries to hold onto us too tightly or for too long.

To Chileans who make out in parks well into their fifties, the idea of not immediately being together, not immediately forming a tight unit, is impossible.

So here’s the question: who’s right? The one who jumps blindly into love? Or the one who never jumps at all?

I know. I know. Serious question. Anyone care to answer?

Que te vaya bien,

C in C

Full moon party and Flamenco

2008-10-21T21:55:00.009-03:00

I'm sad. Our Chilean cat got hit by a car and died today. Last week, my neighbor I've known my entire life also died.

It always rocks me to the core when someone I know dies.

And it reminds me that life is beautiful and short, and I must do what I can to celebrate each moment from the smallest detail to the biggest events. So today, I celebrate life for them.

Here are some beautiful things I've seen recently.

Two weeks ago, my roommate took me to Estadio Espanola to watch Flamenco dancing. This girl below was incredible. She was captivating; she had IT. Just amazing.

Beautiful. Full of grace.

Then last week I was lucky enough to be invited to a private all-night dance party located in the mountains to celebrate the full moon. It was the experience of a lifetime. The dance party was being held in a clearing halfway up the mountain to Farellones. There must have been around 30 people there, all dancing under the moonlight. The place was the most beautiful scene I had witnessed in a long time. It was beautiful. Without a tripod, my night shots are kind of shaky, but I think you get the effect.

And then we stayed around the camp site till noon the next day. Look at these beautiful, happy people!

I went wandering and found a great poppy pic just waiting for me.

Here I am already getting sunburned and trying to recover from getting very little sleep...and maybe also having had a little too much Piscola. Maybe.

My roommate was teasing me mercilessly because tuve canas (okay, I admit it, I was hungover). I was absolutely incapable of forming a sentence in Spanish on the ride home, which made my communication with my Chilean roommate pretty funny. Here, I have my scarf on to keep from burning anymore--man the Chilean sun is a scorcher!

The road home. I can't believe I'm lucky enough to live here!

So, in the memory of my neighbor Agnes and my Chilean cat Petunio, do me a favor, go out and live today like it's the best day of your life. Take a risk, be happy and celebrate your life with renewed joy.

Que te vaya bien,
C in C

I love this song (detour from Chile)

2008-10-16T22:55:00.004-03:00

So I have tons of photos to show you but I have to make them small enough to put on the Web and since that takes time...and I have time...but I don't want to do it (haha), I've decided to let you listen to a song I love.

Recently, I downloaded Jennifer Hudson's new album from iTunes (aw, the beauty of the Internet). This the is the first video I've ever embedded, so I hope this works. Jennifer Hudson is one of my favorite singers these days. From getting voted off American Idol to winning an Oscar for her performance in Dreamgirls, she has absolutely won my devotion. What a voice! This song just gets me and I usually end up lip syncing by the end and pretending I've got her powerful voice. So, enjoy!

Saturday Night In

2008-10-11T23:17:00.013-04:00

Perhaps it's the foggy weather that's got me in a "stay-in" mood or the fact that I knew both my roommates would be gone and I would have the house to myself (a pleasure I have enjoyed since childhood). I don't know what it is about being home alone but, sometimes, it can feel so comforting. The quiet is mine to enjoy. It is a time when I can be absolutely myself. Staying in, if done correctly, can be glorious.

The best "stay-ins" usually involve me turning down an invitation or two to go out. This is key to the stay-in because then, not only do I actually have friends that want to hang out with me (yay!), but I am secure in the knowledge that the stay-in is truly voluntary.

So on this Saturday evening (which has become the best kind of stay-in thanks to my friends who were kind enough to invite me out and who I hope won't be deterred from inviting me again), I have read a little more in Artemis Fowl, a young adult book I bought in Spanish to boost my Spanish skills. Turns out you actually have to read it though to see any improvements to your Spanish vocabulary.

And, of course, I'm writing this blog.

Now that I think about it, the other key to a good stay-in is having already gone out a lot the previous week. This way you can justify staying in with, at the very least, an excuse about saving money...which I am.

So, below are photos from all the fun nighttime adventures I've had this past week. Enjoy!

Last Saturday night, I went to a trance party. My roommate's friend was DJing at this private party on the rooftop. They'd set up a slide projector to show videos, too. The combination of great dance music, great company and a view of half the city (which looked like the whole city to me) was spectacular. It was like something out of the movies.

Here I am being silly.

The Santiago skyline and my silohuette. Moody huh.

I took a photo of the moon for my dad--see the tiny little sliver of light next to the building.

Then on Tuesday, my roommates and I went to listen to a friend sing at a bar in Bella Vista. Definitely upscale, cozy venue.

Caitlin and Kanke--two cool chicks that I get to live with

Meeting new people and having fun. This guy I think told me he was a stripper (though translation is always questionable). He's either a stripper or a lawyer. Yeah. I think I need to learn more Spanish.

Then on Thursday, Caitlin, Mari and I went to see Carmen, the ballet playing at the Teatro Municipal. We paid $8 per ticket which just floors me. So cheap! I can't wait to go see something else there!

We were on the fourth floor I think, in the galeria seating, which meant we had to get there early to try and get the best seats available. We spent a lot of time leaning over the railing to see what was happening on stage.

Here are we, Women of Valor, as Mari calls us.

And so, there ya have it folks. Lots of good fun, and certainly more fun on the horizon.

It has been my perfect justification to say, "Let's hang out next week because this Saturday, I'm staying in."

Que te vaya bien!
C in C

Where I've Been Lately

2008-10-08T21:49:00.011-04:00

Lately, I've writing about my internal journey. But, of course, while my mind has been wandering inward, my body has been busy taking photos of places in and outside of Santiago. Traveling is a balance of both the internal and external journey, so, without further ado, here are photos of places I've been and people I've met. Enjoy!

First, the hare krishnas. I went on a Sunday afternoon to the countryside with my roommate and a bunch of her friends. I wasn't actually sure where I was going exactly. I was just promised lots of nice people and dancing to drums. It was both the little I was expecting and of course, so much more.

It was a brilliant day: blue sky, green grass, poppies bending in the breeze. Notice the freeway is practically empty. It has been this way every time I've left Santiago.

Dancing in front of the hare krishna altar. This was really, really fun and I only wondered for a second if it was offensive for me, a non-devotee, to be dancing away. Nobody kicked me out so I figured it was okay.
On the way to the hare krishna sanctuary.

The crew. Raza, me, Vishaka, Romi, Prema and Kanke, my roommate. Really, really nice women!

An official spirit dude tending the fire while four couples were married. Notice all the food around the fire. Beautiful!

Favorite picture of the spirit dude below.

I love this. A little old school blended with a little new school.

Don't you just want to join in and dance seeing this photo? I saw them dancing in the field to the drums, just a mother and her daughter, and I was filled with such joy.

The next week, I decided I would take a day to wander about Santiago. I ended up near Plaza Brazil and a street lined with universities. Here are the highlights:

Pretty mural/graffiti. Ever since I met a guy at the hostal who was really into graffiti, I've been noticing it everywhere.

Every time I see a horse drawn cart, it just moves me. This was the Chile I had expected.

This a cafe de piernas, or a cafe that serves tea and coffee, with the added bonus of the waitresses being pretty much naked except for underwear. They're very inconspicuous and though I'd heard about them, it took several weeks before I actually noticed them.

Near La Moneda. This is downtown Santiago. Notice all the people. It is crowded. Always. I literally end up running into people when I'm downtown. This is where you also need to watch your purse closely. The other day, I watched a guy steal the seat off a bicycle in plain sight on one of the busiest streets. He saw me staring and started yelling at me. Since I didn't want my stuff stolen either, I just hurried my stride toward the metro station. But I wished I was a Charlie's Angel so I could kick some serious butt.

In Plaza Brazil, a man plays guitar. This is how I play guitar, looking at my fingers, sometimes resting my chin on the top. He notices no one while he plays. Flow at its best.

Artists show their wares in the Plaza de Armas. Look at the architecture in the background. I love coming here. Reminds me of Mary Poppins when they jump into the chalk drawing. Like something magical could happen here.

This blue building stood out to me so much. I decided I wanted it to fill up the photo so I turned everything else to black and white. Fun effects!

And third, to the Museo de Bellas Artes. I have the worst luck with taking photos of art. I never really know which painting or exhibit will stick with me. It's hard to figure out which one I will still be contemplating a week later. My friend Nacho and I went and of course, I did not capture the ones I liked best: photographs of people in their sixties with their eyes closed because the photographer thought our faces change with our eyes closed, photos of buildings without people and windows--the landscape of our time; photos of faces with mismatched eyes and mouths stitched on--why did they choose to sew them on instead of using glue?

What's most interesting to me about the faces below is how they looked really interesting at first glance, but that for both me and Nacho, they didn't hold our interest for more than that first glance. I was surprised that I was not more impressed. This was the exhibit I thought I would like the most. But I felt like it wasn't really saying anything.

This is an artist's rendering of the devil. It made me laugh. I especially love the levers coming out of its head.

This is Nacho being totally dwarfed by this amazing venue.

Okay, and lastly, I wanted to give you another quiz. What do you think this is?

That's all for now!

Que te vaya bien!
C in C

What! No s in Que te vaya bien? Impossible!

2008-10-05T19:23:00.003-04:00

I have just recently realized that I am quite the obstinate Spanish learner. I might have gotten a clue when, while listening to the Pimsleur Language Audio Tapes in the States, I was sure that Pimsleur had made several mistakes (which I later realized was of course, not true). Perhaps it was my work as an editor where I made a living seeking and correcting mistakes of others which made me doubt the validity of the Pimsleur program as well as over-fortify my sense of righteousness.

The depth of my obstinacy has been surprising (that and the fact that zapato (shoe) and zapallo (squash) are two very different words, and when ordering food, it’s best to go with the zapallo and not the zapato).

Recently I found myself challenging a Chilean about HIS language, and worse, I thought nothing of it. I kept right on arguing (he could’ve been wrong, you know) until he gave up and said, “You must be right. Let’s go with your version of Spanish.”

Yeah, not my best moment.

In fact, now that I think about it, I questioned him on several occasions throughout the evening, and while he tried to teach me how to speak Chilean Spanish, I adamantly insisted in the opposite. Here is an example of one of our conversations:

Him: It would be encontrarás. En-con-trar-as.
Me: En-con-trar-as.
Him: No. En-con-trar-as.
Me: That’s what I said. Anyway, I remember it being the infinitive, not the future.
Him: It’s grammatically correct in the future.
Me: But that’s not how I remember it.
Him: That’s how it is.
Me: I don’t believe you.

Which parent did I inherit this fine trait from? I would really like to blame someone for this.

But now that I think about it, perhaps I can thank this lovely trait (along with so friends and family who helped me get here) for being in Chile—because when I got resistance from people about Chile or when I read anything bad about Chile, I would just decide they were wrong and merrily continue packing. (By the way, obstinacy is also how people get eaten by tigers.)

Thankfully, no tigers in Chile and instead, many people kind enough to suffer through my efforts not to learn.

On another note, I realized that a couple of weeks ago, I accidentally told my Polynesian dance teacher I liked her…as in liked her liked her if you get my drift. The thing is, I only realized it recently after a conversation about the stages of dating and the phrases of dating (me caes bien, te gusta, te guiero, te amo). The first can be said to friends and beginning romances. The rest are for romantic encounters only.

So, anyway, I told my dance teacher that I wanted to pay her the full price of the classes even though I knew I could claim a discount because…and here was the foible…I liked her…a lot. Now that I recall the scene in my head, her eyes had gotten really wide and she paused for a moment and then asked, trying to correct me, “Because you really like the class?” Where I think I made it worse by saying, “Yes, and you too.” Oops!

Do other language learners have these problems or am I the only one who manages to stumble into these awkward situations? Perhaps the difference is that I’m willing to write about it?

Okay. That’s all for now…pictures are coming, I swear!

And of course…

Que te vaya bien! (Thanks Nacho for correcting this sign off…and thanks for not leaving me in Providence during our ten minute argument where I insisted there was an s on vaya)

C in C

I found the art of doing (almost) nothing in Chile (Part II)

2008-09-29T21:49:00.004-04:00

When I first got to Chile, I was so busy. There were people to party with at the hostal. My new friend Scott wanted to tour around Santiago. I had marketing writing to do.

Imagine my surprise when in the first week at my new house, I was alone…a lot. I attacked my loneliness the go-getter way and signed up for a dance class every night of the week. I promised myself I would go on a road trip every Sunday. I would kick loneliness in the ass!

Then I caught a cold. My roommate Kanke went off to a retreat. My eye got really swollen. And my other roommate left for a weekend getaway. I was sick and sequestered in a house with no TV, no comfy couch, no people and a lot of organic food.

And I was really scared. Scared to be alone. In a foreign country. Scared to not be busy. Scared of what would happen to me.

It was then that I found myself on the computer chatting with my friend Trevor about the fact that, I can’t believe I’m going to admit this, I was actually bored in Chile. I felt like somehow I had failed. I felt like unless I was exploring every second of every day, I was doing myself a disservice, and I would deeply regret my inaction when I returned to America. What surprised me was Trevor’s response to my complaint of boredom. He said he loved what happened when he was bored and was always interested to see what his brain would think up. He made it sound like fun. It was then that I decided I would let myself be bored and hope my brain was smart enough to think of something good.

And it did!

As I write this, I’m imagining some of you thinking, “What’s the big deal? So you’re bored…” I guess the big deal is that I’ve expended a lot of effort in my life to never be bored. I was, for whatever reason, terrified of being bored. And even more frightened to be bored and alone. Add the foreign country element, and I was practically paralyzed.

Aimlessly, I tried chatting more with friends on Facebook. I watched a video. Then I crept onto my blog and tentatively began to write. And it was like opening a long-closed book. The pages were brittle perhaps, the smell was a bit musty, but it was still capable of entertaining for hours. It was a thing alive, and I was a thing alive, finally, fulfilling my heart’s smallest pinecone-wish to write what I wanted—not what someone else needed. To write without obligation.

I have always gravitated towards the introspective magazine articles, pined over the writings of Carrie on Sex and the City, communed with Elizabeth Gilbert in Eat, Pray, Love. But I could never reconcile the idea of revealing my thoughts to the world so candidly.

Turns out, it’s not as hard as I thought. Turns out I really, really, really love it.

And I’ve discovered something. It’s in our moments of flux, where nothing is planned and everything is possible, that we can be our most creative selves. Harnessed by nothing but the wind, we are capable of listening to our hearts’ deepest desires and realizing them.

Strangely, my need to “do” and “go” has faded so considerably that I’ve gotten nervous. Shouldn’t I be doing more things? Shouldn’t I see more of Santiago? And each time, I push those obligations aside and think, “When I want to, I’ll go. But for now, this is my Chilean experience. I can’t imagine anything that would make me happier than to sit at this computer and write.”

And I am.

I’ll leave with you very cool designs by shaderlab.

I found the art of doing (almost) nothing in Chile (Part I)

2008-09-26T23:20:00.001-04:00

Anyone who knows me well, will know that I love being busy. It keeps me entertained and challenged, and for the most part, it keeps me happy.

But the past 2 years, I began to feel differently about being busy. My life was being taken over by “shoulds.” I should go to class; I should go to work; I should clean up this mess. But it didn’t feel like my idea anymore to do any of those things. I had a life full of obligations I had created and no longer wanted.

I began to try to change things with my New Year’s Resolution, which only consisted of two things: to have fun and be funnier.

I actually have had trouble keeping this easy resolution. (I know, I know…half of you have your mouths open and are just staring at the screen in complete incredulity. The other half might actually understand.)

Here’s the thing: I had to keep at bay my incessant need to plan six months in advance. I had to ignore the feeling that if I did not have some ultimate goal or if my life was not on a five-year plan I would escape Earth’s gravity and float up into open space. That without all my “shoulds” I would be lost. And if I were lost, I would feel terrible.

Every time I felt the urge to take charge, take on more responsibility, push for a management position, start some amazing new business, I resisted (do not try this if you want a spectacular career). I played videogames with my brother instead. I jumped on trampolines. I pursued the fun parts of work first. I cut class often. I came home and played with my dog. I felt better.

For my thirtieth birthday, I wanted to do something that would be a symbolic gesture, a message to myself to continue down this very scary (yet fun!) path.

So it was the combination of my 2008 fun resolution and a secret childhood dream to live in a foreign country which led me to Chile:

I now work around twenty hours a week instead of forty
All the classes (design, writing, dancing) I took on top of the forty hours I don’t have here
My dog is safely with my cousin, my cats with a friend in Davis
This house is not mine. This furniture is not mine. These rules are not mine. This language is not mine. There is no car to drive, fill up with gas, to wash. No mail to open. I don’t even have a plant.

And I’m the happiest I’ve been in a long time. So how did I go from being “on the go from the get go” to this new space?

Find out tomorrow! To be continued… (haha, I’ll write the next part soon…just wanted to keep it in bite-size chunks).