Que Lástima pero Adios

Six months have come and gone, but not without proper goodbyes from every corner of my little life in Chile.





Goodbyes at La Aurora de Chile

The last week of teaching was nearly impossible. Every day children would spend their recesses latched onto my legs or holding my hands with sticky fingers. They gave me curious little presents: a (potential) voodoo doll (maybe that was why I was sick 3 of 6 months?), action figures, heart-shaped notes, stickers, used lip gloss, home made hemp bracelets, and lots of candy. In return, I gave them copies of pictures and wrote recuerdos on the back of each one. With hand cramps and words failing me, I was relieved when I ran out of pictures and could resort to hugs.



On the last day the teachers surprised me with an acto or an hour of children singing, dancing, reading poems, and eating cake. I looked around the school patio and realized I had a huge family. There are over 800 children at Aurora de Chile and I hugged and kissed each one at least three times.

Walking out of the big blue gates, I turned around to look at the bright yellow school once more. The seventh graders saw me, leaned out their classroom window, and shouted at me wildly. I blew them one last kiss and kept walking.



Goodbyes at Home
After saying goodbye to my students, leaving my host family was next. My mamita. I measured her and decided there is a possibility she could fit in my suitcase. But if that doesn't work, how will I ever leave her? She is my family and my life has changed in the presence of her warm heart and open arms.





My host mom was set on spending Christmas together, so on friday night we had a secret Santa gift exchange. Imagine Santa in swimming trunks and sunglasses and you can understand that the concept of a "white Christmas" is foreign to Chile. Despite the heat, the volunteers and some host families gathered for a premature Christmas celebration.



By now we knew each other by heart and could pick out perfect gifts: a fanny pack for Scott, a silver stallion for Kelly, jewelry for Cami, jewlery for Laurel, a wallet for John, cooking supplies for my host mom, an Aerosmith cd for Niko, and wine for me. SUCCESS!








Bottle Shop Blues

Friday passed in good spirits, but Saturday was a messy adventure. When my host mom and I left to get pedicures, life was normal. But when we returned with shiny nails from our mother-daughter bonding, chaos had broken.



Estranged family made a surprise visit to Rancagua, but they refused to visit my Aunt Isabel. Apparently someone had wronged someone else at a wedding three years ago and the two parties haven't spoken since.

Now, readers should be aware that my Aunt Isabel seems to attract drama, but not in a catty desperate housewives way. Isabel is 4 ft 11, 100 pounds, with a deep smoker's rasp, and grey hair. She cares for a 22 year old boy named Felipe who was mentally impaired after contracting menangitis as an infant. Her life revolves around Felipe and the bottle shop where she works 60 plus hours a week.

Earlier this summer she was robbed and beaten at the bottle shop. Later, she had surgery for an ulcer. Soon after, Felipe had a heart attack and her son, Rene, had surgery for a vague stomach problem. She has been through a lot the past three months and we presently find her in a serious depression.

With her depression as bait, my host mom and brother managed to pursued the new family to visit her, to forgive, to forget. So we left for Isabel's. At Isabel's there were tears, some bickering, and the relief of long lost embraces.

Amidst all the emotions, my host mother blurts out: I know what would make everyone feel better. A weed cake!

Me: You have weed?

Host Mom: Yeah, I have it at home. It's in your closet actually.*

Me: Huh. Interesting.

Host mom: I'll go get it.

Isabel: No, you don't have to. I have some right here, but I don't know what to do with it.

Isabel pulls a bundled tissue from her pursue and unwraps a bag of weed. My host mom picks at it, pulling out "the good parts." Meanwhile, I rapidly text Laurel because I find the situation unbearably hilarious.



As Isabel has not eaten more than scraps of bread in days, my host mother urges Isabel to eat dinner first. We walk to the bottle shop where I help Rene grill some cuchifli (pork meat kabobs) outside. While I wonder where I am and how I got there, the whole family is laughing and dancing around the bottle shop. Maybe they didn't wait to "feel better" until eating after all. Crazy Chileans. I will miss them.



*My host mom is what I like to call a "witch" doctor. She can cleanse people through meditation techniques, herbal remedies, and of course her touch. She can also predict the future, but I can not testify to her abilities.

Pisco Sours in La Serena

85 degrees, ocean breeze, white wine, sunsets, pisco factory, hole in the ozone layer...with these powers combined La Serena surpassed our expectations and weathered our ingenuous, gringo skin.



These might look like barrels of wine, and knowing my vineyard frequenting history, it would be fair to assume that they are. But, surprise! I am interested in more than just wine. Peru and Chile still argue over who rightfully "owns" Pisco as its national drink, but regardless of borders, pisco is delicious en todos partes.



Although more like rum than wine, pisco is made from grapes and heavily produced in the Elqui valley (below), just miles from La Serena.



If you are craving an adventure, but don't want to go far from home, pick up a bottle of pisco at your local liquor store. Advice: Don't buy anything below 35 proof and opt for a brand called Mistral, named after Gabriela. And ask yourself: Why don't we name our liquors after famous poets, diplomats, or feminists?



Pisco Sour Recipe:

Ingredients:
2 ounces Pisco
1 ounce Lime Juice
1/4 ounce Simple Syrup
1/2 Egg White
1 dash Angostura Bitters.

Directions:
Shake hard with ice. Strain into a champagne flute. Use the bitters as a aromatic garnish to the top of the finished drink.



The rest of our weekend on the coast, we spent arguing with Cami's host parents over the best hangover food: Is it greasy hashbrowns and a cheesy omelette or ceviche. Ceviche? This concept is crazier than my chilean mom's diet advise. See previous post. Ceviche is basically raw fish cooked by lemon juice. Reduce or induce vomiting? Try it yourself:

Chilean Ceviche Recipe

Ingredients:

2 pounds corvina, or salmon, or sea bass
1 red pepper
1 green pepper
1 onion
1/2 cup of chopped parsley
½ cup cilantro finely chopped
1 cup lemon juice
1 cup white wine
2 spoons of olive oil
¼ cup vinegar
salt

Preparation:

Cut the fish in squares of about an inch per an inch, after you take all the bones out of the fish.
Put the fish in a glass bowl and in layers, the fish, the vegetables cut in little squares,
and pour over it after each layer, the mixture of juices and wine, and vinegar.

Don’t move the fish. Cover it all with the liquid preparation.
Let it sit in the refrigerator for 3 to 4 hours.
Serve it over lettuce leaves or in cups. And serve also a very cold white wine as a drink.




Whether or not we were up for fish breakfast at 10 am, the weekend was nothing but smooth sailing. We spent time with Cami's host family, tanned our hides, and regained our sanity before our last two weeks of teaching in Chile.

Chliean Nutrition Consultation

Me: "I don't want to eat a lot of white bread this month. I'm trying to lose weight before going home."

Host mom: "Very good. I will make toast instead of bread. Toast has fewer calories."

Me: "Wow. That book might actually sell in the United States."

Host mom: "¿Comó?" (Three minutes later) "Oiga, hija! Don't wear sandals, you'll get chronic sinusitus."

Me: "I thought you said sinusitis was caused by sleeping with wet hair."

Host Mom: "Si Si, los dos."

Me: "Well, it's 85 degrees outside, so how bout I blow dry my hair but risk the sandals."

Host Mom: "Silly gringa. I'll go make you some toast."


Dedicated to Laurel Benz.