"Is this real life?!?!??!"

The “in Santiago” part of the “Sophie in Santiago” blog is ending for good in four hours. This is all too big to think about. Since I can’t formulate coherent thoughts right now, I’m going to make a bulleted list of my incoherent thoughts:

• I’ve been planning my study abroad semester since my senior year of high school. Now it is over. I have used it as motivation and something to look forward to since I was seventeen—a semester of break from normalcy. I don’t think that I will be in this type of situation again.
• I will never have this type of experience again—living far away I mean. I don’t see myself ever living in a country other than the US permanently, which isn’t something I could have said four months ago.
• I leave for Brazil in four hours, where I will be meeting and staying with a few random relatives who I got in touch with via e-mail six months ago.
• I took my friends to the airport today—these are people who I have spent every day with (almost) for the past three and a half months. Although I’m pretty sure I will see almost all of them again, I highly doubt that we’ll ever all be together. Except at Kim’s wedding. (Kimi, I hope you still read this.)
• “Is this real life?!?!??!?” (The second most commonly used phrase of our program—after “It’s fine.”)
• There is a strong likelihood that I will never return to Chile. If I do, it will definitely be in a different context—I will be a tourist rather than a student. Chances are it will be in a long time.
• I will not be speaking in Spanish every day anymore (well, really that’s a three-weeks-from-now concern.) It’s pretty likely that if I do, people won’t be able to understand me because of Chile’s crazy dialect. They don’t exactly put “po” after every sentence anywhere else…
• There is a very strong likelihood that I will never see Mercedes again after tomorrow morning. I am trying not to think about this.

I’ll try to post from Brazil, Peru, and will definitely be posting reflections from home. For now, chau from Chile.

"The Imperialist Complex"

I am suffering right now from a bad case of what I have come to know as “the Imperialist Complex.” It’s not the first time this has happened to me—the thought first came up when I was sixteen or so. I’ve talked about it the back of Nicaraguan trucks, at restaurants in Holyoke, and in a ruka in Temuco not too long ago. But my ISP begins tomorrow, and it’s hitting me harder than ever before. I don’t know if I even have the right to do this—go into a random Chilean school of almost completely Mapuche students, and bring in western ideas of women’s rights and gender equality, essentially telling them that the American Way is better than what they’ve been doing for hundreds of years. It doesn’t matter if I do believe that the American Way is better than what they’ve been doing for hundreds of years—who am I, as some white girl from Westchester County, New York, USA to come in to their school and talk to them about how women should get out of the kitchen and go to school?

Over 25% of Mapuche women don’t complete primary school (roughly grades K-8 in the States.) That number rises to over 40% when only looking at Mapuche women who live in rural areas. About 4% of all Mapuche women finish university or tecnico, (where they would receive the equivalent of an Associate’s Degree.) When you add the rural factor, that number drops to less than 1%. (Rapiman, F. ¿Donde está la Mujer Mapuche en las estadísticas chilenas? Local Development and Gender, 2008.) Is it just my ethnocentrism, or is this completely unfair? Is it strange of me to think that everyone, regardless of race, gender, or location, deserves at least a primary school education? (Not to mention one of quality, or equity…)

For my ISP, I’ll be visiting two schools in the Temuco area: Liceo Pablo Neruda, a municipal school in the city of Temuco, which has an almost 100% Mapuche population (many of the students from rural areas outside of Temuco go to this high school), and Liceo Guacolda de Chol Chol, a municipal technical school that focuses on Mapuche culture, and is one of the best high schools in the Araucania region. The population there is about 90% Mapuche.

It’s 1:58 PM the day before my project begins, and my advisor still has not contacted the first teacher I’ll be working with to tell him I’ll be taking over his or her class for 45 minutes tomorrow and every day for the rest of the week (I was told not to contact the schools myself; to leave that to my advisor—who, as a Chilean, has a better grasp of the Spanish language and Chilean school system than I do.) My advisor’s name is Wladimir, and although he is nice, intelligent, interested in my project, and very well-connected in terms of schools and women’s rights organizations (as well as an anthropologist who focuses on gender…perfect for interviewing) he has kind of dropped the ball on this very, very, important aspect of the project. He’s had my proposal now for two weeks, and has known what schools I need to be at for that long, but we weren’t able to meet until yesterday (due to location) and he didn’t call before then (even though I asked him to, multiple times, in e-mails and phone meetings.) I called him this morning, reminded him how imperative it was for me to get to the schools tomorrow, and he said that he was going to call the school and tell them that I’d be there tomorrow—not ask, just let them know that this gringa girl was going to be taking over one of their history classes for the week. This isn’t something I’m okay with—I feel rude and imposing, and wish I had time to talk to the teachers before I stormed into their classrooms. I also recognize how being white and American affects the situation—I’m just another imperialist, and a disrespectful one at that! Charging in unannounced to bring my western ideas of women’s equality to an indigenous community that is trying to preserve its culture. How American of me.

But, don’t they deserve to know? There are girls who don’t go to university just because they don’t think they can. There are girls who don’t speak up in class because it’s simply not expected of them. There are girls who don’t realize that there is opportunity outside of the kitchen; that it’s okay to put off having kids until they’re older so they can live for themselves first.

And it’s not like I’m going to be telling them straight-up that “girls can” or anything—I’m asking them to examine the roles of Mapuche women in past, current, and future generations, and draw their own conclusions about the future. But, the fact that we’ll be having this conversation still says something, and I’m sure that my bias will show through.

I can’t do much about this; it’s inherent in pretty much all the work I’ve been doing, and all the work I’m planning on doing in the future. But I can’t help but feel like it shouldn’t be me leading these projects—that it should be someone from inside the community instead. I guess the question is: if no one from the inside is able to encourage these changes, is it okay for an outsider to do so?

Sophie in Buenos Aires

Last Wednesday, I unwillingly took part in a typical Chielan experience—I was robbed. I was carrying my cell phone in my sweater pocket at a market, felt a tug, looked down, and had no phone. I went to a mobile police unit, filed a police report, and went home. I am completely fine, no worries, but currently phoneless in Buenos Aires…although I am going to buy a new phone when I get back to Santiago.

We are in Buenos Aires for our last two weeks of the structured program, and it feels more like a vacation than work. We have interesting academic seminars, school visits, and educational excursions—more on those later—but we also have significantly more free time than we did in Santiago. It is really relaxing, and a good break for all of us before our Independent Study Projects begin.

I haven’t taken much time to talk about our group as a whole, although it has been a huge part of this experience. Brief overview: there are fifteen of us, fourteen girls and one guy, from all over the US. Hampshire is the only school doubly-represented (go Hamp!) and, although most go to schools on the East Coast, a few go to schools scattered across the Midwest and West. I feel really fortunate that in a group of fifteen, we all get along well enough to go out to dinner together, or to just hang out after class. I’m so happy that it’s worked out this way—that I feel comfortable with everyone, one-on-one or in a group; that I never feel self-conscious about my opinions on education or politics, even though they differ significantly from others’.

It’s really strange that, on November 6th, I will no longer be in this group to which I have become very accustomed, and that, chances are, I will be spending a significant amount of my ISP alone in Temuco. This is both exhilarating and nervewracking, but probably the best thing that will happen for my Spanish language skills.

Since arriving in Buenos Aires, I, along with other people from the group, have started to notice my English grammar and spelling going out the window. I think in English words but with Spanish grammar, for example: “I will go to the house of Kim at nineteen hours” or something like that. And I think about almost all of my conjunctions in Spanish nowadays—so if I come home saying “entonces” (so, anyway) all the time, please forgive me.

Entonces. If Santiago is a South American version of Brooklyn, then Buenos Aires is definitely Upper West Side Manhattan. There are trees and everyone is thin and beautiful. People always say it is very European, which it is—but it really reminds me of the area in Manhattan by Central Park.

I’m really enjoying living with my new host family—it is the polar opposite of living with Mercedes, but it is good just the same. I am living with a single mother, Andrea, and her nineteen-year-old daughter, Agostina, in a relatively large apartment in a nice area of the city. Agostina is studying musical comedy and circus arts, with a focus on trapeze, and is a lot of fun to hang out with. (Tonight I’m going to her dance class, where I will learn the “Thriller” dance!) I’ve met a few of her friends, who are all really nice, and we went to see some of her classmates in a show the other day—so I feel like I’m experiencing Buenos Aires differently than I’ve experienced Santiago. It is incredibly different living with someone my own age—good different, but it’s not that the alternative is bad.

Agostina and Andrea are both out of the house until pretty late at night, so I usually am the first to get home—which is fine with me, it’s just a big change from Mercedes, who is always around. Also, food isn’t nearly as big of a deal here—usually the family just eats dinner together, at around ten p.m.

That’s pretty much all that is going on these days—although tomorrow we will be going on a very special educational excursion, marching with the Madres de la Plaza de Mayo. We got to sit down for a chat with one of the original founders of the organization yesterday, which was amazing—and I will post about it soon…I definitely recommend reading about them, they are incredible women and their organization is one of the most interesting and influential human rights organizations in the world:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mothers_of_the_Plaza_de_Mayo
http://www.madres.org/ (in Spanish)

Temuco Reflection

Ever since I’ve known enough to know that Yiddish is dying, I’ve been upset that I have scraped by in life without knowing much more than a schlep and an oy vey. My mom’s parents are fluent, but my mom and her brothers never learned much—and my cousins, my sister and I know nothing. I think the same thing has happened with Mapudungun, the traditional language of the Mapuche people. Parents teach their children Spanish first, because, frankly, it’s more useful in the world—and eventually, the old language is all but forgotten.

Perhaps the biggest surprise that awaited us in Chapod was the lack of traditional Mapuche culture that we had been learning about for weeks. We had been told that our host parents would speak limited Spanish, that Mapudungun would be their first language; we had been prepared to eat typical Mapuche foods, particularly lots of pork and lamb; and we had learned a bit about the Mapuche religion, which is very interesting (more on that later.) However, we arrived to families who no longer know Mapudungun, cook similar food to our host families in Santiago, and are devout Evangelicals.

The Evangelical Church came around a few generations back, and my family swears that it rid the community of some of its biggest problems, including effectively eliminating alcoholism in Chapod. But, with it went the Mapuche religion, and later Mapudungun. Kids now are scraping by with a mari mari (hello) and kofke (bread.) They learn English as their second language in schools, because it’s more of an asset in the global community than their own language. What will their kids have, if this generation is getting by with so few words? Probably the same as my kids will: a memory of a language so far past it seems almost irrelevant.

I see this as a net loss. But I am an outsider, so who am I to judge? I never saw the old ways, so how can I know if I’m idealizing them?

My host dad, Raul, is the principal of the elementary school we visited in Chapod, and a devout Evangelical. The family said or sang grace before all meals, and everyone was very involved in the Chapod’s one church. My host mom, Luci, like most of the women in the community, doesn’t work. My host sister, Mabel, is thirty-two and in her third year of university in the city of Temuco (where she studies music,) and she is very nice and friendly. My host brother, Ruly, was very interesting to say the least. He’s twenty-eight, and also in his third year of university, studying theater. He is one of the founders of a national theater company that educates youth about the four most present indigenous groups in Chile: the Penhuenche in the East, the Picunche in the North, the Huilliche in the South, and the Mapuche in the West. He’s also in a band called Kechu Werken with his cousins, the youngest of whom is thirteen years old…they do covers of Chilean music using traditional Chilean instruments.

In the traditional Mapuche religion, there are two main forces present: el mapun, or the energy of the cosmos, and el chen, human energy and will. Both are present inside each human being, and both have a side that is male and a side that is female. In the Mapuche faith, woman came before man, and thus has a certain power—and 90% of Mapuche religious officials are women called machi, who are healers.

Taking this into account, I was shocked to find a very strong machismo attitude and an everpresent feeling of antifeminism while in Chapod. For the first time in my life, I was very aware of being in a “woman-in-the-kitchen, man-in-the-workplace” culture—and not only this, but a society where the man is valued more than the woman.

They start young. Annick, Lizzie, and I taught an English lesson in a fifth grade classroom of four students—two boys and two girls. The girls said close to nothing throughout the class, while the boys were clearly more animated and charismatic. The girls were shy, reluctant to share their opinions, and hesitant even when asked direct questions. “What do you want to learn about today?” Shrug. We talked about animals. “Do you have cats in your house?” One word answer.

In my family’s house, I saw it as well—my host mom was very timid, and barely spoke above a whisper to anyone. I rarely saw her outside of the kitchen or dining room, except when she was outside collecting eggs from her hens. It was clear that my host dad had all the power in their relationship, and he would oftentimes speak for her. While my host brother and host sister both attended the same university, Ruly lived in Temuco during the week, while Mabel commuted to school every day so she could be home to help her mother with the house.

In the community, even during program-sponsored activities, I saw even more. One activity we partook in was a game of palin, a traditional Mapuche sport which is kind of like field hockey. After everyone from SIT was given sticks, community members, including kids from the school were invited to join…but only males were given sticks. We were then asked to team up, and a ten-year-old girl, Carolina, who I had been talking to asked if she could be on our team, to which I said of course, although we didn’t have a stick for her. So I played for ten minutes or so to be polite, and then I asked Roberto if I could give Carolina my stick so she could play. He kind of shrugged, but gave me the go-ahead…so I gave her my stick and she played in the game.



I still feel weird about it. I feel weird that I asked and feel weird that I had to ask. It’s another big who am I question: Who am I as some gringa feminist, educated at a private college in the United States, raised in a completely different world, to come into Chapod, Chile and give a little girl a palin stick?

Don’t get me wrong though, I had an excellent time in Temuco. It was refreshing to be back in the countryside, to breathe fresh air, and to play soccer in a field where, every once in awhile, a pig would wander by. And, even though I witnessed a lot of things I perceive as negative, I think I’ve gained a lot of insight into a world that I had never even heard of before two months ago. Net gain? Maybe.

Learn to Count to Ten in a Dying Language (Mapudungun 101):

Kiñe - 1
Epu - 2
Küla - 3
Meli - 4
Kechu - 5
Kayu - 6
Regle - 7
Pura - 8
Ailla - 9
Mari - 10

Favorite Photos from Temuco:

Catch-up!

I realize that I haven’t been posting as frequently as intended, and thus haven’t had time to write about a lot of important things—so this is essentially a catch-up post…

Fiestas de Patria

Fiestas de Patria, the Chilean Independence Day festivities, basically consist of a full week of festivals, parades, and parties, which were fun, but very tiring. Tracy and I went to one of many military parades over the weekend, where Michelle Bachelet, the president of Chile, led all of the armed forces in a march around Parque Bernardo O’Higgins:



Everyone gets very into Patria; municipal schools and public universities are closed for the week, asados (barbeques) are on every corner (barbequed pork is the “official” food of Patria), kids and families dress up in traditional costume. Mercedes loves Patria, and we went to a fonda (fair) to watch the National Cueca Competition:

It surprises me that people who went through such horrible things at the hands of their country are still so patriotic. Mercedes proudly displays the Chilean flag on her balcony; it is the largest present in the apartment complex.

Sickness and Homesickness

I’ve been feeling kind of sick lately, which has put a damper on things. I’m exhausted most of the time, which is problematic when I want to go out at night and explore the city, but all I can do is sleep! Plus, a lot of things are going on at home and at Hampshire that I wish I could be there for—as in, protesting the prospect of Hampshire College turning into “Hampshire University” straying away from liberal arts education, as well as just really missing my friends and family a lot. Skype is great, but it’s hard to not be able to give people hugs through the computer. Don’t get me wrong, though—I’m having a great time here.

Valparaiso

Valparaiso is, without a doubt, the most colorful city I’ve ever seen. Murals adorn every wall, and the colors are reflected in the ocean and beautiful beaches. The people even wear more color than they do in Santiago!



(Alex surrounded by murals)

Our group visited two schools in the Valparaiso area—both municipal schools. The first we saw was an all-female technical school, Liceo Tecnica Feminina, where students complete a general track the first two years, and select one of five foci the last two: childcare, senior citizen care, design (like graphic design, but most of the time computers aren’t used), textiles (essentially sewing), and cooking. (Childcare and cooking are the most popular.) Of the 1,100 students in the school, 100 are mothers and 60 are currently pregnant. We spent a lot of time talking to students in the childcare program (four of the twenty-five or so students in the room were mothers, one seventeen-year-old had two children already) and discussed post-graduation goals, life in Valparaiso, and got many suggestions on what kind of food we should eat while there. I spoke in detail with four students, Tamara, Alexandra, Isabel, and Anjelica, who all said that they were happy to attend Liceo Tecninca Feminina, although some mentioned disappointment that the school wouldn’t prepare them for university (the school does not offer the standardized testing necessary for university acceptance, nor does the curriculum cover all of the material required, due to technical programs.) Tamara and Alexandra both wanted to be preschool teachers, and Isabel and Anjelica were interested in careers in education, as well. They had each spent a week working in a special school for children with autism, and had enjoyed that—Anjelica wanted to work there for awhile after she graduated in December.

The second school we saw was a municipal elementary school in a rural town an hour outside of the city. What surprised me the most was the contrast between this school and the rural schools I had seen in Nicaragua. I guess I had a preconceived notion of what education in rural farming communities was—but this school was actually very “modern.” They had an abundance of materials, innovative special education integration programs, school gardens, and small class sizes (16 students in a class with one professor, although the levels were mixed (first and second grade in the same classroom, third, forth, and fifth, etc.)) Even though we went to the school on a Saturday, three students and one alum (who was now in high school) came to talk to us, and all were very happy with the school. The principal was very welcoming, and took us on a tour of the school’s five classrooms, explaining along the way different types of intelligence, how the school has no violence, and how every graduated student is bussed, for free, to the closest high school a few towns over.

High Holy Days in Santiago

On the morning of the parade in Parque O’Higgins, Tracy and I went to Rosh Hashannah Services at Comunidad Isrealista Sefardi de Chile, a conservative Sephardic synagogue in a Santiago suburb. When we arrived at the gate, a security guard started talking to us, and we explained that we were exchange students who wanted to attend services for Rosh Hashannah. He then began to interrogate us: When did you get here? How long are you staying? Where are you from? What is your home synagogue? What movement? etc. We handed over drivers’ licenses, student ids, and cell phones (so they could confirm Tracy’s homestay.) Two women, who breezed through security with tickets, apparently complained to the president of the congregation that there were two gringas outside who weren’t being let in, and she came outside to chat with us. She was really kind about the whole ordeal—she explained, slowly enough for us to understand, that this was just a security precaution and she didn’t want us to feel unwelcome. As they were scanning our IDs, we talked for a bit about what we were doing in Chile, our home synagogues, and the fact that she was the first female president of the synagogue, where women still can’t read from the Torah. All in all, this ordeal took about forty-five minutes, but it was worth it—the president then walked us into the synagogue, helped us find seats, and invited us back for Yom Kippur.

Getting into the synagogue for Yom Kippur was much easier—they remembered us, and let us and our two other friends breeze through security. The Kol Nidre service was beautiful and incredibly moving. The rabbi began by asking us to put our arms around the people next to us, and there was something really special about having one arm around Susannah, a college student from the US, and the other arm around a random middle-aged Chilean woman, while the rabbi sang the blessing over the talit. The music was incredible—there were no instruments involved, just voice—and the rabbi and three cantors sang everything in a four-part harmony (with help from a choir during Kol Nidre.) I don’t consider myself to be a very religious person, but it was very comforting to be sitting five thousand miles away from home, singing songs I’ve grown up singing, in a language that isn’t English or Spanish, even if I don’t believe in all of the words.

Those are pretty much the big things that have been going on here. Tonight, Mercedes and I made strawberry jam and are going to begin a new puzzle of Pablo Neruda’s house in Valparaiso (I didn’t write about that before, but we went to La Sebastiana, and it was beautiful—by far my favorite of Neruda’s houses!) We have a lot of adventures planned for next week, which I’ll write about as they come along. It’s hard to believe that our time in Santiago is almost up—we spend most of October traveling, and then I’ll be spending most of November in a rural community in Southern Chile. Then December will roll around and I’ll be coming home. Time is going so quickly, and so slowly at the same time!

A Long Week

I think my least favorite part of being a language learner is the miscommunications that are inevitable in almost every conversation. Luckily they're usually small, such as putting something back in the wrong place, or saying somethign grammatically incorrect which changes the meaning of the sentence--but later turns into a funny joke. However, when it's a combination of linguistic and cultural miscommunications, things tend to turn very stressful very quickly.

I had a great time with Mercedes, her daughter Caty, and her grandsons Nestor and Camilo last weekend in San Antonio. A really great time, in fact. But when Mercedes said we’d be returning to Santiago “early on Sunday, around ten,” I assumed that we’d be returning early, around ten—am. Because of this, I didn’t bring any of my homework with me, and when I realized my mistake on Sunday around noon, I began to get a bit stressed. Luckily I was able to call a friend, who gave me the homework assignments that I could do without my materials, and I was able to complete some of the work before late that evening—and luckily Mercedes understood my frustration and we left a bit earlier, and arrived back home early, around eight (pm.)

Regardless, San Antonio was fantastic. It’s a beautiful city in general. It is a coastal city; and generally poor—most of the people who live there are artisans or fishermen, although Caty is a psychologist. But color is everywhere—in the houses, in the vegetation, in the clothes the people wear. In the morning, I taught the boys how to make panqueques gringos (pancakes) which was a blast, and later I tried to teach them how to play Go Fish, but Nestor didn’t really get it and Camilo kept cheating (I think it’s a general truth that kids will try to cheat you when playing Go Fish. They always do…) Later, we went to a seaside market where literally hundreds of pelicans and sea lions perch and wait for tourists and fishermen to throw them food. It was an incredible sight:



This week has been very busy, but in a good way—full of interesting and fun things. Tuesday was Ana’s birthday, and we had multiple celebrations. In the middle of Spanish class, the two levels joined together to carrate (party) with a special lunch topped off with delicious chocolate cake. We sang Cumpleanos Feliz (Happy Birthday) about thirty times before getting it right, and then proceeded to sing and dance to other songs we’ve been learning in class. That night, went over to Ana’s house for empanadas and pisco sours. (There are three things every Chilean drinks: black tea, Coca-Cola, and pisco sours. I feel like I have been talking a lot about pisco sours and need to explain: they’re one part pisco, one part lemon or lime juice, and one part sugar. They’re really delicious.) Ana’s family was really sweet, and I’ve heard a lot about them, so I was excited to finally meet them. It was interesting, also, to see the different environments in which we’re living—Ana lives with her host mother, her mother’s boyfriend, and two younger siblings (aged four and two years) in a large house in Nunoa, a suburb of Santiago. Needless to say, this is a very different situation than mine—Mercedes and I live in a small apartment in the city, and life with two kids under the age of five is pretty much the exact opposite of a very calm, one-on-one environment with a sixty-eight-year-old.

On Wednesday, I went with Mercedes to a meeting of the Writers’ Society of Chile (she’s a member there) and was invited by the professor to participate in that day’s workshop. The topic: nonverbal storytelling (perfect for Spanish language learners!) and a lecture on Pablo Neruda (perfect because he's a Chilean writer I've actually read!) Everyone spoke really slowly, as many writers tend to, so I was able to understand pretty much everything that was going on, although I had problems expressing my own thoughts, as usual. It was incredible—it was only me and a bunch of published Chilean writers telling stories with our bodies, and then verbalizing them, and talking about what we saw in others’ work. I have a feeling that this will be one of the more memorable events of my stay in Santiago, and I hope to attend at least one more workshop before I leave--hopefully I'll be able to write in Spanish by then!

Wednesday night, Roberto invited all of us over to his house for dinner and, yes, pisco sours. We got there at 8:30, and dinner wasn’t served until after midnight—but it didn’t matter, because we actually got to meet and talk with Chileans our age. Roberto’s sons and nephews were there, and they introduced us to some of their friends, and we danced and chatted with them, and each other, and Roberto’s parents (who are completely adorable—they performed the cueca and a tango number for us.) No one left until 1:30 am. I was one of the first people to leave, and felt incredibly lame, but I almost fell asleep in the cab, and didn’t get home until about 2. Luckily, class on Thursday didn’t start until 11, so I was able to get some shut-eye…

Today began Patria (Independence Day) activities, and they’ll be continuing throughout the weekend, so I’ll post about that soon. I will say, for now, that I ate more food today than one ever should in twenty-four hours, and that I tried pork for the second time in my life (l’shana tova!)

New Things

I started out thinking it was only my mother, then I thought it was Jewish mothers, but now I’m beginning to realize that it’s just mothers—wherever you go, mothers always try to feed you.

This has been slightly problematic since I’ve been here. I don’t eat that much—or rather, I eat a lot, but I eat small things throughout the day and don’t usually sit down for big meals other than breakfast. But that doesn’t exactly fly here—where there’s culturally very little breakfast, a huge late lunch, and a big dinner late at night (10:00). And there’s very little snacking.

Mercedes packs me a lunch every day for school, and it is always delicious—but huge. Yesterday, I was literally given enough food for three meals. Mercedes made this incredible stew, and I ate as much as I could, and gave the rest to other people in the program who didn’t bring lunch or wanted to try it, so I wouldn’t have to throw anything away. It’s harder when I’m at home though—I always try to ask for small portions, but at the same time I really don’t want to be offensive. As soon as I finish, there is always pressure to eat more: Are you sure you don’t want something else? Eat something! You don’t eat enough; you’ll get too skinny. And it’s not just Mercedes—her niece came over the other day and kept handing me cookies. I would say no thanks, but she would literally ask every two minutes if I was hungry…so I just kept eating them. I guess it’s good that I walk 30 minutes to and from class every day…

Classes are moving along this week—it’s been getting a bit easier every day, but it’s still pretty difficult to understand what everyone is saying. We have three hours of Spanish class in the morning at Universidad Alberto Hurtado, and then we come back to CasaSIT (our school building) for our thematic seminars. Spanish class is going well; I’m learning a lot very quickly. The thematic seminars begin on Monday, but we’ve had introductory lessons about the history of education in Chile, and I felt completely lost. Luckily, a bunch of my classmates felt the same way and we went over everything after class—in English. I kind of felt like I was cheating, but I’d rather leave with a full understanding of the material.

Everyone in the program seems great so far. The other night we all went out to dinner after class, ordered random items off the menu, drank delicious Chilean wine, and got to know each other. Everyone is so interesting! Our academic directors are great as well, and they make it very easy for us to ask questions (we all think that they secretly speak English and are just very good liars!)

The other night, I did something that I’ve been warned against by my parents and friends and the program directors—I walked home from CasaSIT alone in the dark (I left around 9:30, after our dinner.) In my defense, I tried to call a taxi, but when I called they couldn’t understand what I was saying, or my location, so I gave up. I thought I’d be walking half of the trip with Jackie, one of my friends from the program, but it turns out we took different routes, and only walked together for about four blocks. I wish I could say the experience it was liberating and empowering, but I was pretty nervous the whole time. My nerves made me feel incredibly sexist more than anything else. I tried to walk where there were other women walking, and was always more on edge when a man was walking behind me than a woman or a group of men and women. I guess it makes sense, but it was just a bit disheartening to realize that I’ve given in to thinking this way. Anyway, I made it home just fine, although hopefully my Spanish will improve enough so that cab companies can understand my location…

On a more positive note, Mercedes and I have been working on two New York City jigsaw puzzles for the past week, and we finished them last night! Mercedes is awesome at puzzles. Pictures:

(Mercedes is on the far right, with her niece Sandra and her great niece, Marcela)

(Mercedes and the wonderful finished product!)

Home!

I’ve officially moved into my new home here in Santiago! I’m living with a woman named Mercedes, who is in her sixties, in her apartment in Santiago Central (downtown Santiago.) Mercedes is absolutely wonderful. For the past two days, we’ve been walking around Santiago and she’s been showing me interesting places and how to get around the city. I am her eleventh homestay chica, so I think she has this whole first-few-days thing down.

Mercedes is a really incredible person—besides being a wonderful homestay mom, she is a writer (she has written a novel, a memoir, and a lot of unpublished poetry (although one of her poems is in an anthology), a mother of four and grandmother of nine, and a political and human rights activist. She has an amazing story, although I don’t know all of it—I do know a bit about her husband, Ivan. Ivan was a socialist, and was assassinated by the government in 1973, about ten days after Pinochet took over. Mercedes was left alone with three young children, and was still pregnant with her youngest son at the time (or he had just been born). This is the subject of her memoir, and I really look forward to reading it one day when my Spanish is good enough. (I’ve been looking for a link to the book, but I can’t find one. I will post when I do.) I know that she’s still very politically involved, which is exciting because there’s a big presidential election coming up in December, and I’m very excited to learn a lot about the political situation here. Even with this background, Mercedes is very upbeat and happy—she laughs a lot, and is very kind and patient with me and my poor Spanish skills.

Yesterday, when we were walking around, we saw a wedding and sat in on the ceremony…I felt a bit like I was in Wedding Crashers, but in a completely benevolent way. It was a really beautiful ceremony, and I understood bits and pieces…and the bride and groom were very happy. This was the first first wedding I’ve been to—the rest have been second weddings—so it was really exciting. Mercedes kept joking that we should put on party dresses and follow the guests to the after party!

Today we walked around for a bit and saw one of Pablo Neruda’s other houses—turns out he has three: Isla Negra, the one we saw as a group a few days ago, Las Caschona, here in Santiago, and Sebastiana, which is in Valparaiso, a bit north of here. (As a side note, Las Chascona was the nickname of Neruda’s third wife, Matilda, and it has something to do with her crazy curly hair…I’ve finally found a word to describe the texture of my hair! It doesn’t translate very well, though, I don’t think.)

I had my first big Spanish challenge today—trying to buy a phone card to call home. I still have no idea what happened in that exchange, or how to use the card, but I do know that I can’t use it to call the States and that it cost 5,000 pesos (a bit less than $10.) Thank goodness Mercedes was there to help out with that one. I have my Spanish placement test tomorrow morning, and I’m a bit nervous…but I figure that whatever level I wind up placing in I’m going to improve a whole lot. Even over the past two days I felt strong improvement, and I’ve been learning a lot of vocabulary.

That's all for now! I have internet in the apartment (it was less challenging to get WiFi internet for my computer than a phone card) so I will probably be posting more frequently than I thought! Buenos noches!