Chicho and Chechi do Pichilemu

Last Sunday, I went with Cami and her host family to Pichilemu, Punto de Lobos, and Bocalemu. A bohemian surf town with houses of every color lining the narrow, muddy streets, Pichilemu was our first stop. Although the weather was not ideal for sun bathing, in fact it was about 55 degrees with a bit more than an ocean breeze, we walked down the black sand beach, admiring the bright red, orange, and yellow fisherman boats and the arch of the coastline, eventually blending into hazy mountains.




The beach walk got chilly quickly, so we ambled around the town, noting a strange juxtaposition between Pichilemu's winter desolation and the countless fully functioning fish markets. On some corners, fish hung from their tails, mouths gaping wide and on other streets, the carcasses were stacked high, waiting to be sold. The smell was pungent, of course, but not strong enough to deter an appetite for mariscos.




Before satisfying our seafood fix, we went to the most famous surf spot in Chile. We drove out to a cliff that hugs a cove called "Punto de Lobos." Every December and February there are international surf competitions in these treacherous waters. The cover is a labyrinth of rocks and ferocious currents that can be deadly to novice or veteran surfers alike. Preferring dry land to a wet suit, Cami and I watched as two surfers crawled down the steep and slippery red clay path towards the ocean. The surfers fought against the current for some time before finally propelling themselves past the rocks. We stuck around long enough to see one surfer get up on their board as a crest of brilliant turquoise water collapsed behind her. When the wave broke, the water looked as if someone had either poured bright blue food coloring or shoved a blue glow stick beneath its surface.




On the opposite end of the cliff is a famous view of tremendous rocks covered by thousands of pelicans in the winter(behind us, below), and in the summer, sea lions. The birds flew around the rock, stopping to rest before swooping towards the waves for lunch.




Following their lead, we reluctantly left Punto Lobos and its incredible 8 meter waves to go eat "Sopa Pescada Marina." The soup had huge clams, mussels, and white fish stewed in a garlic broth. The shellfish were steaming and the warmth of the soup was a haven from the cold weather. As we ate lunch, Cami and I talked to her parents as much as we could in Spanish. I have found that conversations with people in Spanish typically start well, if they start at all, but after ten minutes or so I start to lose interest and get tired of concentrating so intently on relatively mundane topics.

At the end of the meal, we were taking pictures and the waiter approached us, saying something in Spanish very quickly. I assumed he was asking to take a picture of all of us so that Cami's mom could be in the photo as well, so I said "si si si" excitedly. Cami's mom looked at me funny, cocking her head a little, and the waiter disappeared. Cami and I looked at each other, confused. But, quickly, our waiter reappeared with a huge, awkwardly shaped piece of wood. He thrust it at me, throwing it almost, and I jumped back, realizing it was carved into the shaped of a snake. I don't know why I was surprised, the appearance of an ornately whittled snake is completely in context? Frankly, I'm embarrassed that I hadn't predicted it myself.

Anyway, Cami and I had some fun with the snake and took some silly shots to justify its presence at our table (Cami and snake, below).



After the serpentine "almuerzo" (lunch), we went to another small town called Bocalemu. Bocalemu was not nearly as classically cool as Pichelumi, nor as awe inspiring as Punto de Largos. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Bocalemu is a tiny fishing town with clear economic hardships. Cami's dad explained that the fishermen in this town live off of their fish, but it has become harder and harder for them to make a living as many local fish species have been exhausted. Along with the paint crumbling from houses and boats, the incoming thunderstorm and the disturbingly high population of emaciated, wandering dogs complicated the beach town ideal.




After a day of solely Spanish interaction, Cami and I jabbered in English the whole car ride home. We were laughing a little too hard at some points during the trip and I believe it was starting to bother her host family, because they couldn't understand our conversation. Por eso, they started calling us "Chico and Chechi," two supposedly famous Mexican clowns who, I assume, are more concerned with entertaining themselves than their audience.

¿Soy una professora?

If my week observing classes and getting settled in Rancagua wasn't a hint, the following newspaper coverage confirms that we are indeed going to be teachers for the next six months and everyone in Chile is excited about the English Opens Doors program:




For a closer view or our publicity stunt click the photo.

This week, I have been observing the English classrooms of 5-8th grades all week of El Collegio Aurora de Chile. My host teacher is wonderful. Her name is Patricia and she is a great teacher, but the students are so disobedient and they accomplish very little in a given class period. The Chilean school experience as a gringa has been an adventure every day. The first day I came to school, everyone stopped and stared at me, whispering and giggling as I walked by. I felt so self conscious in front of 5th graders! Especially, when I tried to talk to them in Spanish. When I say "Hola" to a group of staring kids, they would just laugh at me and say "Hola" back in a gringo accent. And when I say "Hello" in English, the same reaction transpires. I never imagined I'd be self conscious in front of 5th graders, but I really want the little tykes to like me!




At first I was alarmed by the lack of order in the classrooms: the girls were pulling each others hair, throwing things at each other, sitting on top of desks facing the back of the room to talk to friends, while the boys got up and walked around, listen to music on mp3 players, and openly had fist fights in different corners of the classroom. Of fifty or so students, only about ten were paying any attention to Miss Patricia.

The only time they were completely silent and attentive was when Miss Pati explained how we would be dividing the class. Only ten kids in each class, those who participate, are behaved, and are genuinely interested in learning English, get to leave Miss Pati's class and come to mine. When others' behavior improves, they can come to my class as well, but no more than twenty will be chosen for the semester. If everyone behaves, then we can switch halves in the middle of the session so everyone gets to be in my classroom.



I could see looks of desperation in the kids' eyes as Miss Pati explained that so far, their behavior indicated that most of them would be stuck in her class. I noticed the kids staring at me throughout class, making me incredibly self conscious, and every time I made eye contact with one of them, they would break into a huge grin and motion for me to come over to their desk. Throughout classes students would call me over to them, urgently shouting, "Mees Mees!"across the room and when I finally approached they would ask me something simple like, "Cuál es tu color favorito?" They wanted to know my favorite music, movie, TV show, etc. No one knew where Pennsylvania was, so I started saying I lived a couple hours from New York City. They loved that. My other volunteer friends and I are actually having a contest to see who can get away with the most extravagant lie...tomorrow I'm telling the chiquitos that I dated a Jonas Brother.




Other times, they would ask really awkward things like "Do you have a bololo (boyfriend)?" or "Is your hair real?", and my favorite so far was "Are you a Charlie's Angel?" Their English ability is very minimal, but there are few kids in the class that either have had more exposure than others or are incredibly intelligent. They have larger vocabularies and understand most of what I say when I speak very slowly. I am not supposed to speak Spanish to them, but with their small vocabularies it is difficult to get an idea across.



After every class and walking through the hallways to the teachers' lounge, where there are twenty minutes breaks for tea and talk every hour and half, I am be swarmed by kids. the girls want to look at my ojos azules, spray me with perfume, and touch my hair while the boys want to give me hugs and ask me how to say swear words.

A little girl was wearing a sweatshirt that said "Bitch" today and the kids wanted to know what it meant. In another class, a boy asked me what the F word meant (My grandparents are reading this). I was completely caught off guard and just told both parties that I didn't know and to use a dictionary. I was afraid if I told them they were bad words that they would use them all the time. Meanwhile, I'm still trying to learn swear words in Spanish. By lunchtime I am exhausted from the kids' energy, but luckily I never work past lunch time unless I come back to school for extra curricular activities.

All of the teachers are really young, in their late 20s and early 30s, and this weekend we are going to go to a discotech together after the volunteer reunion asado (barbeque) at our coordinator, Fernando's, house. Last night I went to an asado at Cami's house to watch the Chile vs. Bolivia fútbol game. Chile won 4-0 and the family went wild. After the game, around 11:30 pm, we finally started the barbeque. It was so late by the time we were on the second course that I could not stop thinking about waking up in the morning long enough to enjoy all of the wonderful food: Chilean ensalada (tomatoes, onions, lemon juice, vinegar, salt), grilled chicken and pork, corn and green beans, and lots of wine. We didn't end up leaving Cami's til around 1 and 25 minutes later after getting lost on the way to my house, I got home. I felt so bad, because my mamita was waiting up for me, but I tried to assure her that I would call if I need anything next time.



While the first few days here I was feeling a little smothered with concern by my host family, I have figured out the collectivo system, am looking for a cheap bike, and am working on the bus system. I figured out that I can walk to el centro from my school in about 15 minutes and there is a gym close to my neighborhood that I can also walk to. I know my host family just wants me to be comfortable and safe, but it was quite a culture shock moving from hostel life back into a home. I absolutely don't want to be any kind of a stranger to my family, so I am doing everything I can to balance family time with friend time while establishing a routine with work, the gym, and traveling. Tomorrow night, my friends are coming over for "once" which is a lite meal in the late evening, usually consisting of a small sandwich and hot tea or coffee. Since lunches are so large here, breakfast and dinner are relatively smaller and in some cases, nonexistent.



This Sunday, I am going with Cami's family to a famous beach called Pichilemu that is about an hour away and apparently has 8 meter high waves. Although it's too cold to thoroughly enjoy the beach, knowing the drive will be useful once the weather starts to change in August. Next week I start teaching alone in my own classroom, so that should yield some hilarious encounters. More next week.

Mi Familia Anfitriona

After a long night of vino, dancing, pisco sours, and more dancing, waking up Saturday morning was next to impossible. But, I was so excited to meet my host family and finally unpack that I somehow crawled out of bed, washed the night's make up off, and downed a litro of water in hopes to freshen up. I may or may not have called my host family when I was a little tipsy after the Terremoto, so I was anticipating a second chance at a first impression. I was just so excited to finally get our host family information that I wanted to say hello! Friday was a day/night of poor judgment overall, so it seemed to fit with the theme of the day.



After an hour bus ride from Santiago to Rancagua, we pulled into the station and saw a group of about twenty people awaiting our arrival. I was the first to step off the bus and everyone waited patiently to see whose hija americana I would be. When I said my name was Kate, my mamita embraced me with tears in her eyes and muchos besos. She had a huge bouquet of flowers for me, a chocolate bar, and kept calling me "mi amor, mi amor." She is a very pretty older woman, tiene 58 años, and she is tiny, probably about 5 feet tall. Her son, Niko, was there too and he was such a gentleman. He insisted on carrying all of my luggage and my mamita wouldn't even let me carry my purse. Patricia, my host teacher, was there as well, and after the excitement waned, she gave me a warning about my school. I am teaching 5th to 8th grade at El Colegio Aurora de Chile, and she said the kids had a lot of social problems and learning disabilities. I am glad she warned me, but la información no me molesta, because those are the kinds of kids who need the extra help.



(Lost camera cord and will upload accompanying pictures tomorrow)

When we got to the house, I was so happy to unpack and get settled. The house has a huge stove that keeps the place warm, a lovely back porch area, and a perfect dormitorio for me. The walls are bright blue and the bed spread is orange, yellow, and blue. I learned a few things about my host family immediately...my mamita is so kind and generous, constantly asking if I am okay or if I need anything. She cooked a wonderful lunch that had three courses: ensalada mezcla, carne con champiñones y papas fritas, y postre. I sat with my new mother and brother, trying to converse in Spanish for a long time.


Ver mapa más grande

Above is a map of Rancagua. The city is small, but we are más o menos in the suburbs, so we often use the "collectivos." A collectivo is a type of taxi that has a specific route and picks up more than one person.

Conversations are funny here, because there are usually about five misunderstandings until we agree on the meaning. Since sometimes I think my mamita is trying to tell me something important, I try to repeat it back to her in my own limited vocabulary. Other times, like when she was carrying on about how attractive Chris is and saying that we look like Barbie and Ken, I can get the gist without too much effort. It also helps that Niko speaks a bit of English, but usually he can't translate the meaning exactly.



Niko is a sweet boy and will be a wonderful brother. He is 19 years old, just like Gray, and has an incredible musical talent. They have a large keyboard in their living room and he can just listen to a song and play by ear, augmenting it with his own ideas. He has written many of his own songs and can play the classics without struggling. Every time he sits down to the piano to practice, something beautiful follows, and I am in awe of his ability, especially since I took lessons for ten years and was only ever able to read music.

They even have a tiny dog, who reminds me very much of little Louie, but is allowed on the beds and wears a cute little sweater every day.




After unpacking, a shower, and a large lunch, we met many of the neighbors, close friends, and went to visit Isabelle and Felipe, Niko's aunt and cousin. At their house, we had sopaipillas (traditional fried zucchini that taste like pancakes and nothing like vegetables), and watched the fútbol game entre Chile and Paraguay. Chile won with two points and the familia exploded with applause. Felipe was the most excited—he is a sweet kid who loves to dance and sing to music, and has an ear for it like Niko.




After family time, we came back to the house and more friends came over to say hello. My mamita made us "once," which is a very small dinner usually consisting of tea and a snack. Last night, she made me a completo, because I mentioned earlier that I like them. Later, I was exhausted, so I read for a little bit and then we watched The Devil Wears Prada. most of the action in the Chilean household takes place in the master bedroom, so everyone piled on the bed and watched the movie together. I don't think I've ever been that close in proximity to my own family, but it seemed so normal to them that it didn't bother me at all. I actually kinda liked it.

Sunday morning, I slept in until around ten thirty, but thought it was a lot earlier because my room is so dark. I was embarrassed at first that I slept so late, but Niko was seemingly just waking up and my mamita was still in her pajamas, so I don't think it mattered. My mamita asked me if I wanted breakfast and I said sí, sí a few times without really knowing what I was getting. She then told me that I should get back in bed.



I was really confused, but I thought maybe she thought I was cold or something, because she always tries to put more clothes and blankets on me. It is not that cold here, about 50 degrees, but she is so cute and worried that she even went out and bought me stockings. About five minutes later, she carried breakfast into my room on a tray and I didn't know what to say. I've never had breakfast in bed before, at least that I can remember. When I tried to get up and help her, she made me sit back down. Again, when I tried to carry my tray to the kitchen, she took it from me and told me to relax.



So...there I was, eating toast and drinking coffee in bed. I was confused for a while, but later in the evening the meals in bed began to seem pretty normal. Just minutes ago, many hours after another large lunch of ensalada, pescado and papas púre, y una manzana, my mamita brought a piece of home made pizza on a tray into the bedroom where Niko and I were working on our computers. The pizza was piled with tiny sweet sausages,ham, mushrooms, cheese, and fresh tomatoes, and was obviously delicious, just like all of the food she has made so far. Later in the day we visited la Plaza de Los Heroés, where there is a huge statue of the liberator, Bernardo O'Higgens, a beautiful, yellow cathedral, and huge pedestrian shopping center (pictures above).

I really couldn't have imagined a more loving and generous family and I am so happy to be here. Anytime I ask to help, to do my laundry, or to clean my dishes, my mamita tells me "soy la mama, soy la mama," and not to worry, to be "tranquila," and to relax. They want me to feel at home, but that's funny, because while my homes in the United States have many amenities that I am thankful for, they certainly do not include breakfast in bed!

La Segunda Semana

I feel like I've been here for months, but en realidad it hasn't even been two weeks. The Chilean people are so welcoming, but are quick to spot a gringo. Until now, I thought gringo had a negative connotation, but in Chile, it is like being a celebrity. All of the restaurant owners want to welcome you, people stop and stare at you on the street, and when you "no habla español muy bien" with a foreign accent, they thinks it's adorable. It also helps being blonde, despite that it's not my real hair color. I don't remember what my real hair color is though, so I am going to take advantage of being a rubia. When people here see blonde hair and blue eyes, they start talking to you very slowly in spanish, but then quickly forget if you can answer one or two questions competently.




While in downtown Santiago, the blonde issue became more apparent. The first day that we were in town, Laurel, Kelly, and I (all blonde) ventured out to find a hole in the wall restaurant where we could eat lunch. Without much effort, we wandered into "Donde Zacharias," where we were instantly greeted by the waiters, the cook, and the manager.



They helped us with the menu and told us that we must try a "completo," (above) if we haven't yet. A completo, as we found out, is a hot dog covered in guacamole, tomatoes, lettuce, mayo, ketchup, and mustard. It is huge and impossible to eat. It even comes on this little plastic stand to keep it from falling apart, but regardless of its messy nature, it quickly became a staple in my diet.



On our walk back to the hostel, we had to pass a large group of adolescent boys. As we approached, we weren't sure what was going to happen, but we knew there would be whistles or some kind of vocal acknowledgment. What we didn't expect, however, was that the twenty boys would part completely down the center and would applaud and shout "I love you," as we walked through the group, continuing the applause until we rushed around the corner, embarrassed by the flattery.




That night we went out to a bar in Bella Vista with our new volunteer friends. There are 45 total volunteers, all in their twenty-somethings, so we caused quite a scene at the bars, taking flaming shots and dancing without rhythm. By the end of the week there had been three hospital visits, one resulting from an alcohol-induced seizure.... It was pretty sobering to see someone's body just collapse on them, but luckily Owen was okay and he is still able to participate in the program.



Even though there were cases of "excessive living" the first couple of days, as soon as orientation got under way, everyone settled down for the most part. Since the wine is so cheap here, about $2-4 for a handsome Carmenere (Chile's most famous wine), we drank wine at dinner each night and spent weeknights playing cards, ping pong, pool, and simply chatting.







Our orientation schedule was typically filled to the brim with repetitive courses on how to teach, what to teach, and more Chilean Spanish. Much of it was already covered the week before in CIEE orientation, so I spent a lot of time honing my doodling skills and writing post cards (check your mail in a couple weeks).



Every evening after class though, Cami, Laurel, and I would explore Santiago in our own vein: through shopping. We went to many department stores and artisan markets, where retail therapy and hand made jewelery relieved us from the long orientation sessions. We also visited a few museums, strolled through Parque Forestal (below), and walked to the top of Santa Lucia before sunset (above), so we could see the orange and amber hues embrace the city before nightfall.




Back at the hostel I either used my free time to Skype those of you who are computer savvy, or plan trips to take over our winter break with Laurel and Cami. We have two weeks off from teaching at the end of July, so Cami, Laurel and I at the very least, are planning on going to the beach and to the Atacama desert as well as to Buenos Aires, Argentina. I can't wait to travel, but in the meantime every day here brings something new and exciting.



The last day was kind of crazy. We explored the fish market and fruit/vegetable markets where the vendors were very friendly. Everyone whistled and said "Hello, I love you," and called us Barbies. Interesting experience, but it reminded me very much of the Mercato Central in Florence with its colorful fruit everywhere and bright green vegetables sprouting out of every stand.





After shopping at the market and trying a "cactus fruit" that was good despite its overabundance of seeds, we went to a famous restaurant called "La Piojera." There were live donkeys outside and a live band inside. Their specialty drink is called a "Terremoto," or "earthquake," (above) so you can imagine it was pretty strong. After one of these, we were a little too tipsy to find our way back to orientation and ended up almost an hour late. Luckily, others were late or had blown it off entirely, so there were no consequences. It's weird to feel like a student again, or at least accountable to anyone other than myself, but I guess that will be even more of a reality when I have a job. Ha! A job.



That night, EOD held an aseno (barbecue), where there was so much food and wine, no one knew what to do. At the aseno we danced for hours and then went out to discotech in Bella Vista where there was a live band in one room, karaoke in another, and overpriced drinks everywhere. Since it was our last night together before being sent all over Chile, we stayed out until four or so, only to wake up at eight and pack to move to our host regions. After spending a week in very close quarters with the volunteers, it was hard to say goodbye to them. But, since they are dispersed all over Chile, there is an added incentive to take weekend trips and visit their host regions. In the morning, myself and my fellow CIEE volunteers would leave for Rancagua, only an hour south of Santiago.

Álo Santiago

Last Monday I flew out from Philly and found Scott, another volunteer, during my layover in Dallas. Scott and I hit it off immediately. He is one of those people that is so nice it makes you suspicious, like there must be something wrong with him. But, as he has proved over and over again as I've gotten to know him these last two weeks, he has a heart of gold and is probably one of the last specimens of chivalry on the planet. Since the flight was relatively empty, we were able to spread out a bit and I managed to sleep a few hours until Scott nudged me, waking me in time to watch the sunrise over the Coastal Mountain Range of South America.




There was a sliver of sunshine sandwiched by heavy clouds. The clouds were thick and stretched forever in continuous rolling waves, interrupted intermittently by sharp, frozen mountain peaks. We must have descended through three minutes of clouds until the lights of Santiago were finally visible.



Elsa Maxwell, our CIEE coordinator, picked us up after extensive customs procedures and swine flu laden warnings. Everyone was wearing masks and we had to fill out a survey indicating whether or not we suffered from a cough or a fever. Worthless precautions. Elsa is from Minnesota, but her rapid Spanish speaks nothing of the Midwest. She seemed kind of tense the first few times we met, but we learned that she has a lot on her plate. She leads orientations every couple weeks, works full time, and is simultaneously working on her Master's thesis in Latin American Studies. Later, we would joke that she needed to drink two or three pisco sours (the national drink) before meeting us to relax her tiny frame. With Elsa were two of the other volunteers, Laurel and Kelly, who despite long flights were charming and in great spirits. I was instantly enamored with the girls and was thrilled to get settled in a little hotel apartment where we would get to know each other better.




Orientation basically revolved around lunches and dinners at some of the best restaurants in town. One, called Liguria, revolved slowly like the Space Needle, so that we could see all of Santiago. These meals were enormous, sometimes with three courses and always a dessert. When we weren't eating lomo all pobre (frenchfries, a cut of steak, and two eggs sunny side up), we endured classes on culture adaptation, how to survive the Chilean school system, lectures on how to live with a host family, and an intense Chilean Spanish course.



In our free time and often with Elsa as a guide, we we able to tour many parts of Santiago. Since we were such a small group, we were even able to hike up the heal of the Andes, a small mountain called Cerro San Cristóbal. At the very top of this mountain, there is a clear view of the Andes and a glowing white statue of the Virgen Mary that overlooks all of Santiago. Among the echo of chanting monks, many locals came to the Cerro San Cristobol for a romantic afternoon or to pray.



The first night of Orientation, we went out to an area of Barrio Providencia filled with bars, but they all had incredibly cheesy decor. We finally decided on "BedRock" which was basically la casa de Fred Flintstone. The Bedrock personnel were incredibly friendly, offering free pisco sours as soon as we sat down. Within a half hour, some locals coerced me into dancing, and I bashfully complied. As I feared, my local dance partner soon realized that I can't dance. Instead of a graceful, sexy partner, he had to break the salsa?/tango?/cuaca? steps down and count out loud so I wouldn't bruise his feet. Laurel and Kelly, however, proved to be very skilled dancers and John and Scott were not shy with the karaoke machine.



A few more nights out with basically the same plot line except that Cami finally arrived (my dancing didn't improve much though) and we were shipped out of our hotel. We were piled into a hostel that was in the center of the city, close to La Moneda and Barrio Bella Vista.



La Moneda (above) is the center of the city where the colonial government buildings still fully function and Bella Vista (below) is an artsy, bohemian area where Pablo Neruda built a secret getaway for himself and his mistress. We toured Neruda's house, which is filled with hidden passages and incredible artwork.



We would visit Bella Vista and its colorful mural-covered walls many times in the next week, but in the meantime, our clan grew from six to fifty after meeting the other volunteers in the "English Opens Doors," program (EOD).

Graduación y la semana antes de Chile

The day I had been dreading all year finally came and passed in a montage of blue robes, family photos, and lots of wine. Although the PSU Liberal Arts ceremony was almost two and a half hours long, it felt shorter thanks to constant, sardonic texting with Kerri, my little B.A.Economist. After a couple painful hours, Chris came with my family to Spats for dinner where we had fabulous meals and I almost set the restaurant on fire. Luckily, I have reflexivos increíbles, and I smothered the flaming napkin before it matured to reach its potential.



After two bottles of wine and some créme brulee, Chris and I braved the pouring rain to find Candace and celebrate something a little less depressing than graduation: her 21st birthday! Finally. When we got to Candace's, she was already celebrating with some of her best friends. The 21 year olds swept her away around 11:45, just in time to buy her first legal drink at the Phyrst. Basically the entire racquetball team was there in addition to room mates and close friends. As Candace has been my primary motivation for all underage appreciation nights in the last year, it was amazing to finally incorporate her into the world where you get to pay for your own drinks at any watering hole. She will learn quickly that it is expensive to be 21.


Although Candace was a hot mess most of Saturday night (for evidence, see photos on Facebook where she looks very much like a relapsing drug addict), she was impressively composed on Sunday morning for graduation brunch. My parents stayed in a friend's house outside of town, so my friends accompanied me to brunch there, where we drank salty Bloody Mary's, strong mimosas, and ate warm quiche and fruit. Well...I guess the mimosas weren't very strong at first. About a half hour into the little gathering, my mom noticed that none of the champagne had been opened yet. As I was the designated bar tender, oddly enough the blame was quickly placed in my name. Who knew I was to mix the drinks myself and not just poor from a seemingly prepared pitcher? Once we got that straightened out, however, the morning progressed smoothly.




Saying goodbye to everyone was the worst. First was Grace, then Amy, then Candace. Shortly thereafter were the 604 girls, Alex, Libby, Lauren, and Lindsay. Tuesday I said goodbye to Michelle and Kerri on my way out of an empty apartment. Most of the drive home I cried, trying to keep it together so as not to further aggravate my already vulnerable driving habits.



When I finally had myself more or less composed, a serenade by Amy Winehouse was crassly interrupted with a very familiar set of circumstances: flashing lights, black and white sedan, and an obnoxious wailing siren. I glanced in disbelief at my speedometer, reading 72 mph. I'm getting pulled over for 72 in a 65? Really? The levee of tears broke before the officer even opened his car door. He approached my window with an air of self importance and a funny little state trooper hat. Despite my feminine charms, the merciless police officer was resolved to punish me as I was actually in a 55 zone. To ensure that I didn't revert to my former, devilish ways, the devoted law enforcer proceeded to follow me at a pace of 54 mph for the next six miles, where the road subsequently turned to 65 mph. I had been so close to impunity, it was revolting.

When I got home, I spent the first night and day unpacking and organizing my room, and then of course, repacking for Chile. Lauren, Sara, and Emily came to keep me company, and we had so much fun telling stories and reminiscing until late in the evening. Wednesday morning came quickly and I found myself on a plane to North Carolina. Chris was waiting for me at the airport and when I stepped into the sun, I felt the frosty Pennsylvania spring thaw instantly. But then again, when Chris is around, I always get that feeling, so it may be completely unrelated to the weather. Corny, but true.




 


Chris had to work the next two days, but I had plenty to do. And by that I mean, I slept and went to the pool. A few days in the sun caused what I like to call a "rosy glow," and others might call "sunburn," but since I am going directly to another winter in Chile, I felt justified in the indulgence. We had most dinners with Chris' roommate, Jared, and Jared's girlfriend, Elizabeth. They were great additions to the good company of grilled steaks, burgers, veggies, and wine. One night we went out to a bar that Chris had been bragging about for months, called "The Saucer." Every Wednesday the Saucer serves a specialty beer in a collectible glass. The beer that week was somewhat like a heiferweisen and it came in a pretty goblet that I ended up forgetting at Chris' despite my determination to collect a Saucer cup of my own.



After a few tranquil days with Chris and an impossible goodbye, it was back to the madness of preparing for Chile and stomaching more of the same. As soon as I got back into Lancaster Saturday night, I met all the girls out for dinner at Annie Bailey's, a restaurant and bar in Lancaster. We sat outside, braving the potential thunderstorm, and were entertained by good conversation, $2 pints of Blue Moon, and a live band. We had so much fun together and later in the evening many Lancaster loves came out to play.

On Sunday, my mom kept asking me if I was nervous. I honestly thought I should be, but I wasn't at all. I was just excited to meet new people, travel, and learn another language. I couldn't wait for the confusion, the mishaps, the miscommunications that accompany traveling. But, most of all, I was excited to do something I am proud of—to give something, English—that actually has the power to improve the prospective opportunities of the next generation of Chileans.

When I had gone over my check list ten or twenty times, I finally felt prepared for departure.