Days of Our Lives

Yesterday marked one week that we've been in Puerto Varas. Each new day brings new connections, new insight, more spanish, and a delightful assortment of baked goods. It's been a week and a day today, but it already feels like we've been here for months.

The dog that guards our property with a ferocious growl and a nubbin tail is acclimated to us, I think. We can creep past without so much as a look in our direction. I caught him lapping water out of his water bowl today, and soaking up the sun. I think I will try to pet him soon. We can be friends.

We noticed the other day that Amanda's face looked abnormally tan. Strange, considering the highs are usually in the 50s here, and we walk everywhere in jackets. I found out why this might be. When I asked Luz, our grandmother/roommate, if tanning in the summer was a possibility here, she said yes, but to be extremely careful and apply sun screen. Well of course, I responded, that's always a good idea, but I'm trying to be a bronzed goddess (my Spanish isn't that advanced yet, so I think I responded with some more along the lines of, Si). She reiterated the need for sun screen, more forcefully this time, and added this little nugget of information: there's a hole in the ozone layer in the part of the world, so the UV rays are especially dangerous. Ahhh, okay. That would explain the freak winter tanning incident.

We connected with a couch surfer yesterday, an American ex-pat who has been living in Chile for a little over a year now, following a five year stint in Tonga (or is it the Republic of Tonga? I don't even know where this place is. I suppose I have google at my fingertips to learn a bit more, but let's be real, once you switch tabs productivity decreases by 90%). He works full-time as a bicycle guide in the areas around Puerto Varas, but also volunteers at a school and has started a gardening workshop with the kids there. He needs volunteers to help, so I'm planning on getting dirty once a week and taking my vegetable scraps to his compost pile as soon as we can organize the schedule. Also, he is interested in introducing more workshops to the kids, and I bounced off my idea about the creative-writing program. He wholeheartedly approved. So, it looks like that will be getting off the ground far sooner than I ever anticipated! I'm thrilled, to the point where it felt like there was an active cauldron of joy inside my chest today, so I'm excited to see how this will unfold. If it doesn't work out with his particular school, I know that this will come to fruition soon enough. The power of intention! Sheesh.

I feel as though I don't have much to comment on regarding the culture here in Chile. That's not to say that there's nothing worth commenting on, but rather, coming to Chile was by no means shocking for me. Maybe I'm accustomed to harsher living conditions - Mexico, the jungles of Guatemala, the transient lifestyle of backpackers - but it feels to me like just a slight variation on life in the US. There are big differences to be sure, but the differences are ones i'm used to encountering. Chile is unique, but the feel is overwhelmingly Latin American. I'm sure that if this were my first encounter with Latin America, I'd have more to say.

One thing I can definitely proclaim is my surprise at being able to drink the tap water. Yep, been doing it for a week now, and no gut-wrenching diarrhea to speak of. Score!

I'll highlight the finer aspects of Chilean culture as I learn more. But as far as gas trucks blaring songs at 7am each day, tuk-tuks roaming the roads like aimless chickens, or stout women slaving over open-air stoves in the pursuit of the perfect tortilla, there is none of that. Traffic is orderly and sensible. I feel like i could easily drive someplace if I need to and felt like learning stick shift. Fruit and veggies stalls exist, but most people shop at the local Lider (Chilean Wal-Mart). Cafe's and restaurants are trendy and upscale at times, and prices are comparable to America.

I'm in the difficult process of learning slang right now. It's not going well. Sometimes when the youth get together and talk, I actually am not sure if they're speaking Spanish. It's not always identifiable as a language I've heard before. I've got my work cut out for me.

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!

It's a small world...

But it can still take two full days to make it from one home to another. What's up, Oregon Trail!

Let's be real, the distance we've covered in the past several days is phenomenal. From one hemisphere to another, one continent to another, we are thousands of miles south of Ohio and it only took two full days. Incredible job, human ingenuity.

We left Leslie's father's house at 3:30am; arrived at Dayton Airport at 4:30am; boarded a flight for Chicago around 5:30am; hung out in Chicago for awhile (MY LAST GOOD BYE, BELOVED CHICAGO!), then got to Miami around noon. Our layover there was about six hours, and it was there that I noticed the Language Shift -- everything was a blend of Spanish and English, actually perhaps more Spanish than English. I was reveling, in Miami, that none of our luggage had been lost yet, no real scares regarding our eventual arrival in Chile, nothing had been apprehended or confiscated from our belongings...really, it was all going according to plan.

I should know, by now, that this is rarely how things remain. As we checked in for our flight to Santiago, the counter person sternly informed us that we would be refused entry to the flight without a return ticket to the United States. Oops. He acted as if this was common knowledge (um, hello? CheapTickets.com let us book the flight, and obviously visa legality is their priority....RIGHT?!), but what we managed to conclude was that we just needed a flight OUT of Chile (not necessarily back to the US) in order to enter. The Chilean government just needs, for paper purposes, proof that we are not going to be there permanently. So, we were forced to buy a plane ticket out of Chile. We trudged downstairs to the LAN airline office, and purchased a perfunctory ticket from Santiago to Buenos Aires for sometime in December so that we could board our flight. Problem solved. The counter guy finally relinquished our boarding passes and we were on our way.

We boarded an enormous plane bound for Sao Paolo, Brazil around 6pm, which is where the next language shift took place - Portugeuse now became dominant, and I struggled to remember the few words I'd been taught by the amazing ensemble of Brazilians that I befriended last winter. (I failed pretty miserably.)

The flight to Sao Paolo was only nine hours, but the previous two flights had ensured that my hips and legs were adequately stiff and begging for yoga, so the flight was similar to what I imagine a cattle car experience might be like. I pitied all my seat mates - on each flight, I was fidgeting and rearranging my limbs so often they probably thought I had a nerve disorder. I didn't explain that I just needed a hip-opening asana and all would be well, but for some reason airplanes don't come equipped with Yoga rooms.

We arrived in Sao Paolo around 5am local time, with a frustrating layover until 8am. Leslie and Amanda laid out on yoga mats and continued sleeping, and I wandered the airport a bit before bunking up on some seats. I slept about an hour before a gaggle of stewardesses arrived and I spent the next few hours people-watching and eavesdropping on conversations I couldn't understand -- truly one of my favorite past times. In Sao Paolo I began to notice the differences of appearance - recognizing the distinct facial structures associated with people from different regions. The European influence is definitely noticeable in the Chileans and Argentinians. Some people looked as physically familiar to me as Americans, yet their language was distinctly Argentine Spanish. Genetic drift is fascinating - I think the people of a region is the truest testament to the history of the area, and the mixing of populations throughout time.

Our flight from Sao Paolo to Santiago was about four hours, and once we landed in Santiago, we took a cab to the bus station. The weather was beautiful, the clouds plentiful, and mountains loomed in the distance. I had watched a Chilean movie on the way to Santiago from Sao Paolo, just to prepare myself for the accent and vocabulary that I would eventually encounter, and I was dismayed to find that I only understood about 20% of the film. I actually had to use the Portuguese subtitles to help deduce the meaning of some phrases. That's sort of embarassing, considering that I don't even speak Portuguese.

However, once we were in Santiago, I had no problem being understood or understanding others. Sure, there were cab drivers who spoke too quickly, or little pieces here or there that escaped my Penetrating Radar of Comprehension, but overall, I'm understanding everything just fine. Nothing a little clarification or repetition can't combat. It feels good to be immersed again - really good! My month and a half away from Spanish since quitting the job didn't set me back too far.

Once we had successfully purchased our bus tickets at the bus terminal in Santiago, we decided to hunt down some food and explore the area a bit, since we had a solid nine hours until our overnight bus to Puerto Varas left. We ate at a restaurant called "Pito's Pizza" that had no pizza on the menu at all; Leslie taught me how to play the card game Thirteen, then we wandered some open air markets near the bus station until we descended into the subway system and took a quick jaunt to the Centro to wander and see a few sights before we headed toward Patagonia.

The center was lovely and lively and bustling. Santiago reminds me in some ways of a cleaner, more updated Mexico City, though not quite as many people. The Latin American feel is definitely present, yet there's a greater sense of orderliness and cleanliness - I've never seen so many trash picker-uppers as I have in Santiago. We paused by a tree in a pedestrian walkway that looked sort of like Las Ramblas in Spain, and looking at the exposed root system, I offered a blessing for us as we were beginning our travels -- like the tree, we are three girls moving forward and upward into the unknown, yet taking our roots with us wherever we go. A similar sentiment is behind my recent "Ohio Grown" tattoo.

The subway ride back to the bus station was during the peak of rush hour, so we were able to experience some Intimate Santiago Subway Moments. Also, the electricity went out during the ride, so we also got to experience some Intimate Stalled Santiago Subway Moments, in which I developed a fine sheen of sweat directly beneath my pleather coat, which acted like a sort of lubricating layer that I realized is unnecessary and, eventually, smelly.

Our overnight bus ride to Puerto Varas departed at 9pm and was set to arrive at 9am the next day. Yes, twelve full hours of Chilean countryside which went by in a delightful, comatose blur. The sleep was much-needed and way more comfortable than the airplanes and airport terminals. It was on the bus to Puerto Varas that I think we realized none of us had changed clothes or brushed teeth for a startling amount of time, especially considering the Iron-Man style luggage lifting we'd been performing across various countries, the walks beneath the sun, the forced proximity with hundreds of Chileans in the bowels of the transportation system in Santiago, and the general exertion that is required to cross continents and brave language barriers.

Our mission reached the status of Accomplished at 10am on Thursday morning. We rolled into Puerto Varas under grey skies with a crispness in the air akin to an early spring morning in Sandusky. We found the one taxi cab in the area, stuffed all our belonging into it, and drove roughly five blocks into Puerto Varas before we were face to face with our new home.

In the interest of wrapping up this now-epic blog post, I'll save more of the specifics regarding our new home and the family life/set-up for another entry! But we were greeted by Luz, the mother of Leslie's Chilean friend, and a very large rottweiler with a terrifying snarl that will most definitely protect the shit out of us. The three of us are sharing the upper level of the house with an Iranian artist named Sara. We all have our own beds and a little common area with enough room to store veggies, spices, clothing, and more, so all is well in Southern Chile.

Hasta luego, mis queridos....

(Here's a picture of Luz's little cactus garden by the front door.)

Pre-departure Farewell

The time has arrived! Leslie, her sister Amanda and I will depart Ohio tomorrow morning around 6am, with a brief layover in Chicago then Miami before our actual flight to Santiago departs around 7pm.

I have everything I could possibly need, and then a little bit more. Leslie helped me pare down some things I was undecided on (i.e. a hammock and spice jars...hey, those are almost-necessities), but I'm still bringing the most crap of us all. I think some of it has to do with my jewelry inventory and supplies, and the heavy-duty Manduka yoga mat. And the cowboy boots. And the variety of tank tops and leggings. To my own credit, I have a definite USE for everything I'm bringing. There is no unneccessary item. For example, that pair of red sandals I bought and never wore? Not coming with me.  And when you think about it, the Shanonce afro wig takes up almost no space. For how large it can expand, it condenses surprisingly well.

(Yes, the wig is a necessity. That's one of my creative pursuits, guys.)

I've triple and quadruple-checked that I have my passport. I have my finances arranged. I've said goodbye to everyone, tearfully. We have a place to live. I know Spanish. I've got these two girls with me. And we have resources, creativity, and travel know-how bursting from our pores.

I think we're ready.

I'll post again soon, from the bottom half of the world! Hasta luego, amigos!