The Countdown Begins

Let's be fair, the countdown is actually ending, since today is my last day before I leave Puerto Varas for my three-week stint in the north. Tonight at 10:30pm I leave on an overnight bus to Santiago. I'll check into my hostel tomorrow, spend a nice afternoon/evening in the capital, then check in for my flight to Easter Island on Friday at 8am.

Am I thrilled? You bet. Excited? Heinously. A little bit braindead due to the onslaught of experiences, vistas, and newness that awaits me? Absolutely. On top of all this, I am in a strange state of denial about the fact that my time in Puerto Varas has come to a relative end: sure, I'll be back here at the end of March, but the majority of my friends and acquaintances will have fled by then. So these past few days have been rife with goodbyes, celebrations, a-little-bit-too-much drinking, and a helluva lot of FUN.

Yesterday my friends and I celebrated my birthday a bit early with a home-cooked Jambalaya at the Guesthouse, followed by tres leches cake, Sex on the Beach (the drink...come on, guys), Euchre, a brief nap, dinner at a local nice restaurant, a stint at the Casino (I played Blackjack without having any idea what I was doing and was up 6,000 pesos at the end, roughly $12 USD), then a long night of Champagne and Cosmopolitan consumption at the Garage with some close buddies. Truly, a lovely way to celebrate my 2__ th birthday early in Chile.

Now, off to go celebrate my real birthday on Easter Island this weekend.

Expect pictures and stories and details and a general explosion of thoughts, but maybe not until the whole trip is over. There's no telling if I'll fully disconnect on the island; though that's the goal, I may be too inspired by the moai to be able to hold it in (I'm bad at holding it in).

Another notable sunrise in Puerto Varas.

Looks impressionistic - good job, Mother Nature. 

And then also this one.

HOT DANG.

Catch you on the flip side, ya'll. Thanks for reading, and I wish you all the most delightful experience in whatever you are currently doing. NAMASTE!

The End of Times (in Puerto Varas)

Contrary to what the title might suggest, this is not an apocalyptic prediction. Rather, it has come to my attention as of late that my days are numbered here in Puerto Varas, and this realization has left me feeling a bit confused, a bit scared, and wholly sad.

I leave on March 6th to begin my three-ish week voyage To The North: Easter Island, Valparaiso, and Atacama. I am so excited for this trip I could perform a number of bodily functions; but at the same time, the arrival of the trip means The End Of Our Time in Puerto Varas. We are all excited for our various pursuits and Next Steps, but there is an inherent sadness in seeing the "summer" come to an end. (I use the quotation marks because there were approximately 30 days of sun and the other 90 days have been clouds and frustratingly chilly breezes and drizzle.)

We arrived here knowing no one, with only a general idea of our living arrangement, and a decided lack of plans. Now, almost four months later, we have a circle of friends, jobs, a routine, favorite hang outs, and too many memories to count. It's always like this - just when you're settled, it's time for the tides to change.

Amanda and Leslie will be heading back to the States for various endeavors. I will be heading north to Valparaiso in April sometime. I want a bigger city, full of vibrancy and art and life and chaos, and I definitely don't want to weather a rainy cold winter down south. But I am profoundly aware of how nice my life has been here - the comforts of a place like Puerto Varas shouldn't be overlooked. Though it's small, it offers an intimacy that can't always be replicated. I walk downtown and run into at least 10 people I know. Every night at the bar, it's a gathering of friends, old and new. While sometimes this very fact can be irritating, especially on days when I most want to be invisible and anonymous, it's a reassuring, invigorating aspect of the community here. Sure, we may not all be best friends - but you can go anywhere knowing that you will find someone you know, and the friendliness of Chileans assures that you will be welcomed and greeted no matter where you show up.

Perhaps it's a bit too early for the Goodbye Puerto Varas posts, but this has been on my mind recently. I have about three weeks before my bus ride to Santiago for the trip to Easter Island, and I plan on fully enjoying the rest of my time here (obviously, since one doesn't plan to spend time miserably or half-assed).

Speaking of taking advantage of my time down south, I took a trip to Puerto Montt today with a friend, and we visited the fish market of Angelmo. Here's a photo journey:

Market scenery at Angelmo. 

Great prices, super fresh.

Take your pick of freshly caught seafood.

Oysters, clams, salmon, conger eel, and more...

Is this too gruesome for a blog post?

Anyway, here's a fish face. 

Abandoned boats by the sea.

For some reason, there are a lot of sunken/abandoned ships

near the fish market. Are the waters really that dangerous?

Lunches in the sun

Leslie, Amanda and I got pretty lucky in Puerto Varas. We've found such a fun, open-minded, smart group of friends here, and most importantly, these friends know how to cook.

We've been prone to spontaneous lunches and dinners here; a gathering of friends that leads to food talk that eventually leads to a trip to the supermarket and ends with a seamlessly choreographed group meal. Our friends Robert and Ignacio really get creative with the meals, to the point where if they don't go into business together sometime down the road it will be a severe tragedy for the mouths and stomachs of the world.

Here are some photos from just a couple of our group lunches/dinners. Warning: Viewing the following photos will inspire an insatiable hunger for homemade meals using whole foods and fresh ingredients.

Roasted red pepper, homemade falafel with french fries

(that's how they do it in Egypt, at least), homemade wheat tortillas,

freshly baked bread, some sauces that were also obviously homemade

since that's the entire theme of the post,

and lettuce (purchased, not harvested).

Here I am peeking out from behind the french fries.

(Also something that is typical to Egypt.)

The group lunch at last. Delicious!

And a good chance to tan while enjoying really, really

really, really good food made with love by people I love. 

I botched the presentation on this picture, making the food

look like an actual pile of STUFF, but the deliciousness presented

here was fish tacos (Conger eel with avocado and a fun

peach/apricot/corn salsa that Robert invented, on handmade tortillas).

Also pictured here is FRESH non-alcoholic SANGRIA prepared by Leslie. 

(Can Sangria be non-alcoholic? Would that just be juice then?

Let's just say it's fresh juice.)

And the obligatory photo of Amanda and I doing

what we do best: being freaking awesome at the bar. 

All the days are magical

What I like is about 2013 is that every date feels magical when I write it.

For example...
1.3.13
1.11.13
1.19.13
I like this year's date aesthetics.

And then of course, 3.9.13 promises to be pretty magical. March 9th is my birthday. I'll be turning [insert twenty-something age here] and I've had the inclination for awhile now that I wanted to make this birthday abroad pretty spectacular. As it stands, I've had several notable birthdays, both US-bound and abroad. My 19th birthday was spent in Mexico, complete with a surprise Mexican birthday party featuring a pinata, my surrogate Mexican family and tres leches cake shoved in my face. My 21st birthday was spent hungover on a plane on my way to Mexico for Spring Break with Kelli.  My 23rd birthday was spent in Cairo, Egypt. And last year's birthday was one of the best, in Sandusky with all of my friends having a ball on the town and listening to live music from the Womacks.

But this year will be different. I've made plans to spend 6 nights on Easter Island, alone, in a cabana on the ocean.

I've made all the reservations; I'll arrive on March 8th and leave the 14th. My cabana is booked, and all I have to do is get my gringa ass to Santiago by the 8th. I'll go with my yoga mat, my notebook and plenty of space on my camera. (Oh, and clothes and stuff.)

I don't normally splurge so much on trips, but the rationale is that I will never go back to this place, and I want to make it something quite memorable. Hence the non-hostel accommodations. I'm usually averse to spending more than $15 a night anywhere in any part of the world, but for what I'm aiming for here, my little cabana on the ocean was both a deal and a necessary component for the trip.

WHEE!

Now, here are some more pictures from life in Puerto Varas.

Osorno at sunrise.

The sunrises and sunsets here are so magical and pink,

all the time. 

One of my friends here, Fu, is from China and practices

Acupuncture here in Puerto Varas.

He showed me his vaguely communist cigarette case.

Delightful. 

The wooden German church here in Puerto Varas,

early morning snapshot. 

Non Sequitur

 Here's a shot of my cutting board, for no particular reason.

I was really impressed by the mushroom design.

Look at how gnarly that thing is.

(The red pepper bits are just for artistic effect.)

And then I found this rainbow a couple days ago.

Usually you see the beginning of the rainbow but not the end.

Well the end of THIS rainbow was in Lago Llanquihue.

And look at how brilliantly vivid it is.

Another shot of this epic rainbow. 

It was actually a double rainbow (not noted here).

Soo....a little bit better than just one rainbow. 

A shot of the Great File Transfer of 2013.

My files were distributed between two laptops (my old one

and the one borrowed from my friend, far left) as I

awaited the arrival of the New Vaio (far right).

Completing the transfer using only a 4gb stick was fun,

let me tell you. 

My new bike!

Her name is Hermanina. 

She has tricky gears and wobbly handlebars,

but I love her because she let's me zoom down hilly streets

and enjoy crisp Chilean airs atop two moving units that are not my legs.

Holidays Below the Equator

I've never spent a susbstantial holiday away from home, despite my extensive travels. This trip was the first time I'd ever spend all the major ones away from home - Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's, and then who knows what else in the future - and away from family.

I was slightly apprehensive about how I might feel during these days. Obviously Thanksgiving came and went successfully, complete with Bursting Gut Syndrome yet thankfully free of Black Friday Madness. Christmas was quiet here and save a little unexpected Tearful Joy after talking with all of my family on Christmas Eve, I felt very calm and happy. Even away from family, I can have a successful and fulfilling Christmas.

Me on Christmas Eve! Note I'm not wearing a heavy jacket.

Because there's no snow here, Ohioans. No snow. 

It helped to have the girl's here. We opted to spend our Christmas Eve helping out with a dinner at the guesthouse where Leslie works, which allowed us to spend the time together, eat really well, and be surrounded by Americana-type comfort. The guesthouse is really gorgeous and it's decorated impeccably, so being surrounded by such cozy Christmas touches helped the holiday spirit.

Vicky readying the gourmet salads for the Christmas Eve dinner.

We made the decision to not purchase presents. None of us are really in a position to spend mass amounts of money on gifts, much less ship them around the world. So without the pressure of gift purchases, and the weather indicator (first Christmas without snow and cold - WEIRD!), it was really hard for me to remember that Christmas was even approaching.

Our awkward family portrait on Christmas Eve.

New Year's Eve festivities commenced with a fireworks display downtown at the beach. Around 11:50pm everyone started shooting off silly string and screaming and cheering and popping champagne bottles on the street. Then right at midnight, a huge fire sign lit up that said "Puerto Varas 2013"; it was really impressive. Then the fireworks started, and they went on for quite some time (far longer than the July 4th Cedar Point fireworks, for the record).

The rest of the Eve was celebrated in typical fashion (partying) but what was different about this New Year's Eve partying was that I was working. And working really, really stinking hard. We were slammed to the gills with people from 12:30am until the (not so) early morning, and I've never run so much at that place as this night. I think the first time I was able to look past the wall of people waiting at that bar was around 5am or so. Two girls were supposed to come in and help us serve drinks that night but something didn't work out right, because they definitely showed up behind the bar. Amanda, Keko and I served hundreds of people that night. Phew!

Plus I got a sunburn on the beach later that day, and took a dip in the Lago Llanquihue. Invigorating!!

Me and a friend braving the cold waters...

Not a bad backdrop, eh?

Merry Christmas (a little late) and Happy New Year to all my loved ones and dutiful readers! 2012 was a ridiculously fun, magical, eventful, rewarding and inspiring year...here's to 2013 being all that and more!!

All in a night's work...

Pouring a Schop (draft); it's Kunstmann.

I am a sub-par bartender because I don't drink beer 

and don't understand beer terminology...

nor do I care to learn. The most you'll get out of me is, "It's an amber beer,

and no, we don't carry any cerveza negra. Get a Heineken and shut up."

Guitarist for the tango group.

The Tango is very Argentine; you could tell the Argentine 

members of the audience based on who was reacting

the loudest/most fervently in favor of every tango song. 

Lovely performance by these two;

I can't wait to visit the 'tanquerias' in Argentina!

Our team! Leo (the French DJ), me, Amanda, 

and Keko, our boss (and the bar owner).

We have a lot of fun together...

which includes the implementation of unnecessary dress codes, 

as seen above. 

The International Cookie Conundrum

I don't know if many of my readers know this about me, but I make chocolate chip cookies. Not just any chocolate chip cookies, mind you - Vaguely Healthy Chocolate Chip Cookies.

I sold these things for four years at my local farmer's market. Initially, the name drove some people off. I frequently heard "Ugh, no thanks, I prefer my cookies unhealthy." I gently reminded my customers that my cookies were not entirely healthy, thankyouverymuch - just vaguely, due to the fact that I used the best quality and minimally processed ingredients available  in the market.

While my exact recipe remains a secret that I refuse to disclose except in the event of a very large sum of money, what makes my cookies different is the fact that they are infused with a flax meal egg replacement, and feature REAL vanilla extract, alongside stone ground whole wheat flour, kosher salt, and more. It's a hefty, hearty, vaguely healthy experience. My clientele were testament to this - after four years and one 3rd place award in a general baked goods contest, I was selling out nearly every week at the market and taking large orders for those customers who just couldn't get enough of my vaguely healthy goodness.

Four years, man. Four years of baking something like once a week for 50 weeks each year. So it stands to reason that I might be going through a little withdrawal here after almost two months without a single sniff or taste of my beloved recipe.

So I broke down and hit up the local Lider store on a mission to bake MY cookies. "It's almost Christmas," I reasoned, "I need to share cookies with people." I make this sound easier than it was - I had to go almost four separate times before I recognized the baking aisle (it was that small), and then a couple more times before they had chocolate chips in stock (one brand, super expensive, one package available). Awesome.

Furthermore, it appears that Chile does not differentiate between baking powder and baking soda. Due to the specifics of my secret recipe, I won't elaborate on which one I use, nor the brand, but let's just say that it's still unclear what I was using, how it was processed, and why the other kind isn't also made available to the baking public.

i was able to find wheat flour, which was nice, but stone ground varieties were conspicuously absent. I had procured my own sea salt from the local vegan store, which I ground using mortar and pestle. Raw sugar (or what looks like raw sugar) was also available - score. (I am slowly revealing my whole recipe to the general public, and I realize this, BUT I'LL NEVER DISCLOSE MY RATIOS!)

I got a little stumped when it came to Brown Sugar Time. It was nowhere. Like, actually, physically non-existent. Como como?? Hello, I thought this place was founded by Germans. There is an explosion of pound cake around every corner, and while I don't actually know if brown sugar is a requirement in any of the pastries or baked goods produced in the area, you would think it was.

So I turned to Luz for help. I described what I was looking for, and after much explanation and lack of dictionary and/or online translator, we got to the bottom of it. She hands me a brick of something that smelled like brown sugar, tasted like brown sugar - by god, it was brown sugar in brick form. She told me to use the crazy grater instrument that I have never once in my life used. What a genius implement, I see now.

This was a therapeutic and invigorating experience.

When it was all said and done, I had a basic approximation of my recipe, minus the flax meal, which meant I baked cookies using eggs for the first time in four years. Similar to my Thanksgiving Baking Experiment of 2012, I did this all without a single measuring tool. Boy was that fun. Again.

Uhhh...yum?

What emerged from the oven after a very nervous and pacey 7 to 11 minutes (once again, cannot disclose the time allotted in the oven - also this number is unclear to me because I have no way of telling what temperature I set the oven to, making any attempt at my prior method a total gamble) was this:

Readily identifiable cookies! Chilean Success!

Luz's reaction after tasting my not-so-vaguely-healthy-anymore cookies?

"La encuentro bien. Muy bien." I find it to be good. Very good.

My reaction after tasting my not-so-vaguely-healthy-anymore cookies?

Shit, these are buttery. And sorta gummy. And maybe I didn't use enough sugar. Maybe it was the brown sugar, since I did get lazy and not add the whole [amount has been censored] cup. Is it possible to have a buttery cookie? What purpose does the brown sugar serve, anyway? Why does it not come pre-grated here? Do these chocolate chips actually taste like anything? I better eat another one and find out. 

Next up: making these again, but this time WITH the flax meal, which I was able to find. Now I just have to wait for those chocolate chips to be in stock again...

Navigating the Cosmos (in Puerto Varas)

There is a conference of astronomers visiting Puerto Varas right now, and they have been visiting the Garage each night they've been in town. I never imagined scientists and astrophysicists could consume so many mojitos and draft beers. Furthermore, I never imagined they would be at a bar at all, much less MY bar. But alas, these scientists were rocking out, dancing, having fun, involved in conversations of most likely epic proportions (I imagine their jokes must be infinitely more intelligent than mine).

One of them was a Chilean man, a Santiago native, who lived in Edinburgh, Scotland for seven years before coming back to Chile to continue working with the telescope in the Atacama Desert. He spoke English very well, and we chatted for awhile about the work they're doing up there, what type of telescopes they use, the dimensions of the antennae, nerdy things like that. I showed him my space shuttle necklace as proof of my dedication to all things outer space.

We had a live tango band last night. At one point, this Chilean astronomer came up to me and asked why there was no one on the dance floor, dancing the Tango. I felt a particular lightning bolt of wit come scorching through the cosmos and land somewhere in my chest cavity, so I thought I'd follow this inclination. I told him, "What do you mean? There are tons of people out there dancing; you just can't see them." 

He looked at the dance floor, then back at me, confused.

"They're in a different dimension," I clarified. "You just can't see them, but they're there."

He watched me a moment, still somewhere between amused, confused and horrified.

"Like in the tenth dimension, you know? String Theory and all that."

Another pause, and then he says slowly, "What are you talking about?"

I felt my joke shrivel and crumble and return to the interstellar dust bits from whence it came. I was a little surprised; I mean, I dropped the term 'String Theory'. Isn't it obvious that I'm being witty in front of an astronomer?

"I was trying to make a scientific joke," I said. "I thought it would be funny...People dancing in the tenth dimension."

"Oh, you mean the eleventh dimension?"

This time, I paused. Sure, maybe I'd gotten the specifics of String Theory wrong. But was my joke so unintelligible with that slight, barely noticeable, quark-of-a-gaffe? Come on, Astrophysicist; cut me some slack!

He threw me a pity laugh and we went on our separate interstellar paths. I thanked the astronomers later for sharing their presence with me and the bar and Puero Varas in general. I was strangely honored and thrilled to be in the same breathing space as the people responsible for some of the most cutting edge scientific research in today's world. 

Oh, and by the way, these guys found water in distant galaxies!! Look for the articles coming out soon...

Snapshots in December

A little friend I like to call 'caracol' (snail).

These lil' guys are everywhere.

Be careful not to smoosh them on the sidewalk!

Us girls with Francisca, a friend who was giving 

Amanda and Leslie Spanish lessons.

It was always a treat to sit in on the classes...

(more for entertainment purposes!)

Robert and I posing in downtown Puerto Varas.

I look inexcusably 90's and I'm not sure how it happened.

But there it is. 

This is the Garage, where Amanda and I work

as two overly-enthusiastic and color-coordinated bartenders.

We frequently dance in sync and are rarely seen not having a good ass time. 

More Jobs and Reflections

Once upon a time, Kelli and I were spending Spring Break 2007 in Guanajuato, Mexico exploring the little nooks and callejones of that delightful colonial city.

We went to a bar (we were freshly 21) and had a couple drinks. As time wore on in the bar that night, I became ever-more intrigued by the bartender who'd served us. Bartenders don't normally intrigue me unless they're male, tall and handsome, but this one was different: she was very blonde, very short, very American, and very clearly living in Mexico.

Before we left, I made the decision to approach the very-blonde and very-American bartender to pester her with questions about how, exactly, she'd managed to find herself living and breathing in Guanajuato on a daily basis. It boggled me then; the whole notion of ex-patriot lives in foreign countries was so foreign and strange and alluring. Sure, I had lived in Mexico once, but as a student. There was a start date and an end date and a legitimate visa to go along with it. This girl was clearly making a living there, renting an apartment, slangin' with a group of Mexican friends, just existing in her own Mexican life. I wondered, How does someone just pack up and move to a foreign country and become a part-time bartender and English teacher?

The notion isn't so strange to me anymore. In my trips and journeys since that Spring Break trip, it has become apparent to me just how easily, and oftentimes unexpectedly, one can find themselves rooted in a city or country different than the familiar hometown. It's oftentimes unplanned - you go somewhere, fall in love, make a decision to go back, and then see what you find. Look at us for examples: none of us knew any of the people or opportunities that would find before we got here. There's no craiglist ads or facebook groups to join for this type of thing. It comes from daily life in a place.

In fact, perhaps as an homage to the Great Irony of the Universe, it seems that I as well will become a very-blonde and very-American bartender here. The bar where Amanda works, the Garage, wants me to join the staff. I agreed to one or two nights per week (making it my fifth job), but it excites me for a number of reasons: the money, the side-stepping of full-time commitment, the access to playing MY music with LARGE speakers, a great boss, working with a friend, and, of course, the delightful nod to that moment in my life where I so desperately wanted to be that girl living abroad, picking up opportunities like change on the street, making it work even though so far from home and my culture.

I think it is a healthy and essential practice to think back on our pasts and find those memories from youth when we were looking ahead with dreamy eyes and hopeful sighs, and remember those small things we hoped for, grasped at, and find the ways in which we have manifested them or accomplished them throughout our lives. This of course doesn't apply to some of the more grandiose dreams - obviously I'm not an astronaut OR a mermaid now, even though I always wished to be both of those things.

But when I think back to the things that I most wished for or aspired towards, here is what I see: I see a young Shannon hearing Spanish on some early-afternoon court TV show and becoming totally captivated, wishing so badly to be able to speak the language like the woman on the TV. I see a young Shannon enchanted by history from a young age and wanting so desperately to see pyramids and mummies in real life. I see a coming-of-age Shannon being affected by an experience abroad and vowing to move back abroad someday, somehow.

Those are just some of the things that I remember from my childhood/young adult life that I can trace like lines on map from my formative experiences to where I am today. These things are easy to forget, but realizing that maybe we are exactly where we always wished to be makes for a much more meaning-full and profound journey on this planet.

The Universe Provides

Things have been unfolding in a strangely poetic and very satisfying way.

As I've said before, we've all been on various job hunts. Last week, I began to feel a bit overwhelmed, in a positive way, because I was actually experiencing an overabundance of opportunities. I don't need the money necessarily, but I had felt the urge to find *something*, just for the added stability. It was a source of conflict for me as I was presented with opportunity after opportunity and forced to really assess what my priorities are here and what, exactly, I want to do with my life and time and energy.

First, a Chinese restaurant here wanted me 6 days a week, 8 hours per day. Minimum wage, splitting the tips between all the servers and the kitchen. I said no; no question. I actually didn't even interview with them, I went with Amanda, who was looking into the job, and interpreted for her since the manager spoke no English. Taking a job like that would deplete both my time and my energy.

Then came another restaurant gig, someone looking for bilingual servers. Again, no thank you.

Next, I found an opportunity for "sporadic office work"; I met the owner, he wanted someone 2 or 3 days per week, 8 hours each day, to help run his kayak business. This one I really had to think about. It seemed like a good idea - "just what I was looking for", as I'd said. I thought of how it might fit into my life, my schedule, my priorities, and I eventually turned that down as well. I tend to give 110% of my time and energy to a given project, and he wanted someone for the entire season. As I thought more about it, I realized that that type of commitment, even though it was just part-time, was too much. Between my existing jobs, and my existing dedication to writing in every moment available, I don't have the time or energy to learn the world of kayaking, rafting and mountain climbing. Plus, all of those things scare me. (Running a yoga studio? Part-time receptionist for an organic farm? Maybe those things. But not activities that actively involve facing death in the wild yond. I still don't know how to light a fire by myself. This girl scout would be the first to die.)

After that decision, I realized that I needed to find an office space. Less than 24 hours after sending a message to the community about my search for borrowed office space so that I could focus on writing, an opportunity arrived. A young guy with a family-owned rental car business has a small office that he only uses part-time. I met with him and said, Hey. I want to use your space, I don't want to pay anything, how about I give you my sporadic services however you need me so that I can use your office the rest of the time to be an ex-pat writer? He said yes. It's a small affair, operated entirely by him and his wife, and he essentially wants me to just be there, in the office, to receive people that stop by, maybe answer the phone, and interpret for the English-speaking clients. SCORE.

So my new colleague/barter buddy has also passed my name along to other people in his area of work. Yesterday I received a call from a man named Marcelo who operates private tours in conjunction with the hotels around here. He had two Americans arriving today who wanted an English-speaking guide to accompany them on their three-day stay. He asked if I would be interested in going along with them on their various tours throughout their stay - full compensation of course, not to mention the free entrance, free meals and swanky private ride to all these destinations. I said, Hell yes, Marcelo!

Today began that adventure. I went to the airport with Marcelo, I held up a sign with a last name written in bold ink, loving the the fact that this was something my family and I do for shits and giggles when we greet each other places, and waited for the Americans to arrive. They showed up, an older ex-pat couple who has been living in Chile for a couple years, doing big farm business up north, but only know basic conversational Spanish after all this time. I got paid to hang with them all day and just look at stuff. And eat clams at the seafood restaurant. And interpret occasionally when Marcelo spoke too fast for the American guy to understand. What I'll make from these three days will pay a month's rent. And they might add a fourth day of touring that I'll be compensated for as well.

Overlooking Puerto Montt, the big city nearby.

Not too shabby.

Leslie has helped me realize that what I am looking for in this phase is projects. I don't want a long-term commitment, I don't want to sign a contract, I don't want to be expected someplace each day at a certain hour. I want a project - a three day companion tour, a random encounter with some English-speaking clients at the airport, last-minute assistance with a catering event, things like that. Just call me Project-Based Bradford. She who drifts between opportunities and one-time events.

Around the time that all these opportunities have been arising for me, the girls have also snagged their own gigs. Amanda is now working part-time at a cool bar downtown that often has live music and is part of the circuit here in town. Leslie took a job as the live-in manager of a bed and breakfast in Puerto Varas. We said goodbye to her at the house with the abuelita, but Amanda and I have "moved in with her" in a sense; the owner knows that we will be in and out constantly and we are, in essence, "lightly co-habitating". (Blogger says co-habitating isn't a word but I beg to differ.)

Amanda at work with her new boss, Keko!

It is strange and surprising and exciting to reflect upon the ways in which we have manifested, or discovered, these opportunities that fit us all so well. But at the same time, it is not strange or surprising at all - this is how life tends to unfold. I am so grateful for these new opportunities, for these new ways of flexing creative muscles and using skills and exploring facets of life that were previously unknowable to me. I gave thanks for this yesterday, as well as for all of the people in my life who support me.

Speaking of Thanksgiving, it sure was a micro-American Feast up in Puerto Varas yesterday! I started cooking around noon and by 4pm we had a Starch Explosion - I made the Bradford-famous corn crap (corn casserole), Vegan Stuffing and Shannon's Mashed Taters. All from scratch, without ANY measuring instruments, AND with only a general idea of what ingredients I was using really were (man, the language barrier sucks when it comes to specific baking ingredients). I sauteed some asparagus to add a little greenery to the landscape, and we topped it off with some German desserts purchased from a bakery downtown.

Despite my concerns and general dismay regarding the consistency of the corn casserole prior to putting it in the oven, everything came out BANGIN' and FRICKIN AMAZING. It smelled like Thanksgiving in that house all day, and that was maybe the best part of the experience. Also, being able to share this holiday with these girls, in a foreign country, giving thanks and celebrating a facet of our culture that nobody knew was occurring that day (we shouted "HAPPY THANKSGIVING" to every Chilean we could find and the amount of blank stares was, well, comical at best) was pretty fun as well.

I think Chileans have their own version of Thanksgiving, obviously with different historical details (unless, I don't know, maybe John Smith made his way down here too? Maybe for a winter vacation once?), but it definitely wasn't yesterday. We left the house later in the day, once our bellies and intestines had been thoroughly assaulted per American Tradition, and were surprised to find everything open and bustling with people. Oh yeah, it's only Thanksgiving in America.

Also, I didn't have to suffer through/be tempted with Black Friday Bullcrap, so that was another really nice part of this year's Thanksgiving.

Vegan Stuffing!! 

Featuring freshly picked herbs from Luz's garden.

Thank you again to Life, family & friends: for the bountiful amount of love, sharing, reciprocity, mutual understanding, support, creativity, fun, laughter, words, closeness, positive energy, wholehearted Being and more. La vida es buena!

Amanda has been taking photos of flowers around Puerto Varas

This one is my favorite.

It makes my heart hurt (in a good way).

I took this picture on my regular route

into town.

These might be my favorite flowers. 

Waiting for Packages and The Job Hunt

Leslie and I both sent packages in advance of our arrival to Puerto Varas, thinking that they would be here when we arrived, bursting with forgotten treasures and sundry wearables that would positively impact the number of dresses available for our daily wardrobes.

It's been three weeks since our arrival and neither has shown up. I sent mine about a month ago. What's worse is that Leslie sent hers nigh on three months ago from Vietnam.

I spoke to the post office once already about this and they told me that packages from the US usually take about a month to arrive, depending on customs, if they get detained, etc. A tracking number will let them know where on Earth it is, or even if it's on Earth, if it's been too long.

I have yet to remember to email my dad about finding this tracking number that I wisely set aside prior to leaving the US (hey dad, if you read this, could you send me that? My short-term memory loss has prevented me from remembering to email you about this for a week now). Leslie's tracking number was in the wallet that was ganked (re: stolen) in Santiago. She's sure that the Saigon Post Office will be less than helpful in finding said number, if she were to attempt to call.

So we wait. And we wait.

Or, we show up at the post office and articulate in half-Mexican Spanish and half-Chilean Spanish that I am still waiting on a package and would kindly like to know if there's anyway I can receive word about my goods.

I was given a list of received packages today when I went to inquire. Nigh on one hundred pages of boxes, arranged by date received. I combed the list, looking for anything resembling "Shannon", "Leslie" or "Luz" (the woman we're living with). About twenty pages in, I saw a package sent to the name of Luz that arrived October 30th. Hark!

My excitement needed no translation (though I'm not sure if the mail clerk was looking at me suspiciously or if that was just his lazy eye). He checked in back and said, "Yes, the package is here". As in, on the premises, perhaps a mere twenty feet from where I stood. He asked me how I knew Luz - what connection did I have with the lady and why was I trying to procure her mail? I told her we live with her, and our packages were sent to her name.

"Luz must come pick it up."

Fine. Fine. I receded graciously, but fuming on the inside. I'm not one to mess with protocol, but the simple fact that perhaps Leslie's or my personal belongings were sitting within sneezing distance from where I stood was a bit too much to walk away from. God knows how hard it is to accomplish any variety of tasks in the US regarding proof of personal identification, so I wasn't planning on pushing the issue in a foreign country. BUT DAMN. IT'S RIGHT THERE.

Or is it? Perhaps something for Luz was waiting back there, snickering and rubbing its hands together, waiting to devastate the fervent hopes of two American girls expecting an iHome, summer dresses and a variety of VERY IMPORTANT BOOKS AND JAMS.

The anticipation is killing me. Luz will know, the second i see her later, that there is a mystery box that has been waiting for someone at the residence for almost two weeks now. And we must find out immediately what lies within. SO HELP ME GOD.

The American "Instant Gratification" complex is a personality trait that doesn't translate well into other cultures.

This personality trait (or flaw?) applies nicely to the next area of discussion, that of job seeking. We are equipped with varying amounts of money, between the three of us, but as time passes and we continue to slowly permeate the community, funds dwindle regardless of initiative, intent or success.

My job search is technically postponed, but the other two need them a bit more urgently. I am still making good money coming from the US, and so what I'm looking for, if anything, is something part-time. When I first got here I joined the job hunt along with the other girls, and even applied for a position ("applied" meaning left my resume in a deposit box in the basement of the local casino....like that's ever going to be reviewed. Sheesh.).

But as it turns out, I'm actually able to maintain livable income via my stateside pursuits, and devote the remaining working hours and free time to the pursuit of publication. I have been a writer since I was 9 years old (my first novel was called "A Weird Moon" and later that same year I received my first rejection letter from Highlights Magazine) and have written a startling amount of novels and have an even more startling amount of unfinished short stories. Not to mention the travel articles that go up online (Vagabondish.com being a notable source), and other pieces that appeared in my college years.

Part of my goal for coming here was to devote myself full-time, or as close to full-time as possible, to Writing. To get back into the creative groove. I used to write every single day for years, staying up way-to-late writing in my bed with actual *gasp* pen on paper, but it tapered off once I graduated college and entered the adult workforce. Pretty soon I was looking at my novel once every six months, and my creative writing juices had almost dried up. Creativity is a skill that must be practiced, so once I quit my job at the health clinic I began exercising these muscles again.

When you enter a country, the visa forms require you to fill in an Occupation box. This used to be easier, back when I was a Student or Gainfully Employed. What does a straggler vagabond put in the Occupation box? I didn't want to lie, and I didn't want to put "Vagabond", either. So when I entered Chile and was faced with the somehow demeaning and too cut-and-dry task of defining myself, I slowly and purposefully spelled out "Writer".

So, it's official now. And with the recent success I've had re-committing myself to this goal, and the inspiration I feel to make this dream finally become a reality, I suppose this is my first job here now. I am a writer living in Chile. A writer doing a variety of other things with her days and breath, but I suppose that's life, isn't it? Rarely is there one pursuit that occupies 100% of our attention. And knowing my lifestyle and my brain habits, I tend to be pursuing a minimum of 10 different things on any given day.

The other girls continue their search. Soon we will be hanging fliers advertising English classes, and then we will continue to scour the city for serving jobs, bar tending positions, kitchen help, anything that puts some pesos in their pockets. High season is just on the cusp of exploding. December is when it all happens around here. So within a few weeks, we should really be able to find something.

More than anything, I am confident we will all be wildly successful. Even if it takes a minute, even if it means the brakes on our budgets start smoking. We'll get there. And if we don't, I'll be ready and waiting to write all about it in our pending travel memoir.

What the hell are we doing here?

This question gets asked a lot by other people, for sure. But also, we tend to ask ourselves this question a lot.

Not so much in the metaphysical sense (but really, what the hell ARE we doing here???) as in the sense of "What the hell are we doing with our days here? What, really, are we doing?"

This trip has been different in a million different ways as compared to my previous journeys abroad. It's different from Mexico because I was studying there, and only 19 years old and just getting a grip on the whole "living outside of the US and speaking a different language" thing. It's different from Guatemala, because then I'd just graduated college and was interested in getting some more abroad experience, but only temporarily, and only prior to my backpacking trip. And then the Middle East/Europe was different still, because it was a three-month backpacking trip, where the intent was couchsurfing and sightseeing and pure exploration. And of course it differs from my other jaunts abroad, which were time-constrained vacations with friends, full of fun and jam-packed activities.

So this, my friends, is vastly different. I've come here to live creatively, as I've said before, and I can only answer this question for myself, as I'm sure the answers from Leslie and Amanda will be slightly different (or maybe startlingly similar). But what has unfolded, and what I suspected might unfold, is that my life has continued as before. The landscape is different, the language is different, but I now know so much more about what kind of life I want, and how to live that life, than I ever knew before.

I wake up and eat granola. I do yoga and center myself. I spend my days enacting some form of productivity (this used to be working at the medical clinic, but now it is working with the various jobs I have in the US), wandering the city, drinking coffee, writing stories, facebooking, cracking bad jokes, laughing in large groups of people, cooking my meals and chopping vegetables and picking herbs from the yard, sharing energy, singing loudly, observing things around me, creating sounds and faces, talking to friends and family back home, learning new words and phrases in spanish, sneaking photos of moments that inspire me, and journaling.

Really, nothing has changed. Except the official language is now Spanish, and there are slightly different customs and taste patterns and ways of getting from Point A to Point B. Oh, and there are those volcanoes in the distance. Those definitely didn't exist back in Sandusky.

This is the most resounding insight that has come to me throughout all my years of travel and wanderings and vagabonding and backpacking and surfing: life is basically the same, everywhere. People wake up, they eat, they spend their days in the fashion they see most fit for their beings, and then they go to bed. The difference is landscape, language, and some degree of cultural construct.

The differences between here and there are limitless, if you look only on the surface. I don't have my own car, I can't find natural peanut butter, utilities are more expensive, bottomless cups of coffee are non-existent, people walk more and are accustomed to different types of transportation standards, there are no commercials on TV, all the houses are gated for security, and on and on and on.

But as far as my emotional and psychological experience has been, this shift - this literal enormous shift from one hemisphere to another, from one country to another, from one language to another - has barely registered. How could it be?

What I believe to be true is that I have been afforded the space - physically via a new location, mentally via quitting my job and my prior life and the bulk of my possessions - to really assess that which comprises a meaningful and rewarding life. And I can only assess this due to the fact that I have been cultivating this life amongst my family and friends, my familiar sights and my hometown and my house and my creature comforts, for years, all with the intent to really discover what it is that I want from this life.

So what is it that I really want? What the hell am I doing here, then? I'm here to live, as I've been living, but with new energies coming in, new influences and new experiences. New on the surface at least, but very similar to that which I've been accustomed: sharing, learning, experiencing, and loving.

Notes on Cultural Differences

I stated in an earlier post that Chile hasn't shocked me. Life here is somewhere in-between what I'm used to in Mexico/Guatemala and the USA, but more toward the USA end. Orderly traffic, structured shopping centers, a lack of haggling, fixed prices, etc. However, that doesn't mean it's the same as America. I shall begin an on-going list of the differences as I encounter them. Let's begin.

1. No commercials. Luz the Abuelita and Roommate loves to watch her nightly television shows. She is sometimes so enraptured that I hesitate interrupting her. In fact I've noticed that the volume of the TV increases proportionate to how loud Leslie, Amanda and I are talking. Due to my issues with remembering things, or at least remembering them when it's appropriate to address them (remembering everyday at the office that I've been meaning to go buy shampoo, and then never doing it once I leave work for weeks on end; forgetting to get the one thing you went upstairs for until three hours later; things like that), I find it important and quite necessary to seize the moment when I remember something within the appropriate context. This is usually the reasoning behind my frequent outbursts. I've already developed the frustrating habit of forgetting to ask Luz important questions about Chilean life until she's gone to sleep or left the house for the day, and her TV time is one of the only consistent opportunities I have to ask her these questions. Due to her interest in the nightly programming, I often tend to wait until the commercial breaks to ask her what I need to ask her. However, it became apparent pretty quickly that I was waiting...and waiting...and still waiting for an opportunity to talk to her. It's because the commercial break never came; there are no commercials here. I can't explain how foreign this is (Is this Cuba?), how fundamentally unsettling it is to not have a break from the programming in which to rummage in the kitchen, go pee, or otherwise distract yourself during a show. I don't mind it at all - really, I don't miss the pathetic advertising aimed at shoving useless products and ideas down American's throats at all hours of the day - but it certainly makes conversation difficult. I've taken to just interrupting anyway. Problem solved.

2. The Tap Water is Great. Really, it is. And like I said, still no gut-wrenching diarrhea. I fill up my water bottle everyday and love it. I think it has an abundance of minerals in it. I don't know if that's true or not. Let's just go with that for now.

3. The Strays are Well-Fed. Per every other Latin American country I've ever visited, there is a large amount of stray dogs here. Except, these dogs are actual house-pet quality. I've seen several businesses around here leave out bowls of food for the dogs, and they're all extremely friendly and playful. Some can be found in the same spots everyday. We've had dog escorts a couple times already, strays that just pick up our pace and walk with us for a length of time like our guides (or maybe guards).

Views in Puerto Varas

Margherita Pizza at a local place called 'Parentesis'

It was really good.

Like, really, really good.

Walking along the shoreline.

Not sure which is more impressive...

the clouds, or the volcanoes.

The Daily Grind

Let me clarify, life here (so far) is by no means a grind, nor has it been particularly consistent. I suppose we're doing roughly the same activities each day - waking up, eating food, walking around town, speaking Spanish, eventually going to bed - but the rhythm and flow has yet to solidify. We remarked today that it felt like we'd been here for far longer than the mere 6 days we've been out of the country. We haven't even been in Puerto Varas a week, and it's already starting to feel a bit familiar, a bit like home. Progress!

It helps that we have the living situation we do. We live with Luz, an elderly woman who is the mother of one of Leslie's good friends, who she met while living in Vietnam. Luz is amazing - totally easygoing, one of the most active 78 year old's I've ever met in my life. She keeps a busy schedule, and participates in a lot of clubs around the city. She knits, crochets, cooks, tends her garden, goes out with the family, and I've noticed she has a particular fondness for wrapping up the evenings with American television (a lot of reality TV shows on TLC, in fact). She is extremely helpful, doesn't mind that I spend half the day in the kitchen using her herbs and cookware, and responds to any question we have with a smile and a witty answer. Luz is our Chilean grandmother, and  could not look any cuter than when wrapped up in blankets watching TV at night.

The rest of Luz's family is incredible as well. One of her three daughters lives about 100 feet away in the house at the front of the property, which puts her in frequent contact with two of her grandchildren. It seems to me that their lives here are bustling, pleasing, comfortable. Luz is conscious of conserving the gas (as soon as you're done showering, run downstairs as fast as you can to turn off the gas that heats the water!), turning off lights, and has an impressive stock of dried herbs from her own gardin (and quite a compilation of herbs sprinkled throughout the yard). It feels a lot like home, between the line-drying, the herb-using and herb-drying, and the attention toward minimizing money spent on basics. Her household doesn't feature a lot of extravagance, and I see plenty of whole fruits and vegetables in her pantry. Ahhh, home!

Continuing my lifestyle, at least in terms of the "Reduce, Reuse, Recycle" sense, was a point of concern for me. Not that I thought I'd be forced to eat McDonald's and throw perfectly good pairs of clothes away or anything, but I was very much hoping to continue my slightly-eco-conscious lifestyle and maintain good contact with the Earth. The only thing missing is composting...I'll see what I can work on with her.

This living situation is very beneficial, especially as I seek to forge my new self-employed lifestyle, because I'm able to come and go as I please. That was another point of concern for me, prior to arrival: I don't deal well with feeling constricted or "boxed in", or like I have to suffocate my inclinations or live according to someone else's standards. Maybe that sounds heavy, I don't know, but I'm very glad to be in a situation where I can come and go as I please, conduct my days as I please, and everyone lives in harmony.

Furthermore, the house is very close to the center of the city, so it's a pleasant walk to and from the house each day. Just enough to be a bit of exercise without dreading the haul. Also, when you get closer to the city, the snow-capped volcanoes creep slowly into view and it's one of those situations that it's so awesome and beautiful that I get angry and scream a little. I'm sure anyone who knows me can identify this reaction.

I'm thinking of buying a bicycle so I can bike to and fro a bit more easily.

I was also thinking of buying a car, starting a hostel, opening an orphanage, starting a non-profit to teach underprivileged children the art of creative writing, opening a cafe as part of the hostel where I can cook and share all my meals, and publishing three novels.

No, seriously. I'm doing all of that.

More later, friends!

Snapshots around town

Snippets of life in Puerto Varas 

(not much different from the Ohio laundry situation)

More local scenery

Photo session by the lake

The two volcanoes!

The view from the lake

Puerto Varas, at the lakeshore. 

I'll figure out what's going on in the distance there soon enough.

I know one is a volcano,

I'm thinking it's the cone to the left.

Ahhh, life is wondrous when you're somewhere new!