Primary Reflections

It’s hard to believe it’s been nearly 4 months. Only four months. 134 days. Four months looks so short on a calendar, but so many things can happen in four months – according to Google, you can learn to run a 4 hour marathon in 4 months. I didn’t do that.

Seriously, though, it is so strange to look back at the things I have accomplished, or haven’t accomplished, in the past semester. I’ve made new friends; I’ve taken classes in a different country with a different education system and in a different language, and I think I managed to pass them all; I’ve become more comfortable speaking in a foreign language, and while I’m not quite as fluent as I’d like to be, I’ve discovered it’s not so much about how well you speak, but how confidently you speak; I’ve travelled to new places and struck up conversations with complete strangers, for no better reason than that we were both alone in places were being alone was not a common situation; I’ve been lonely, I’ve felt crowded, and I’ve decided it’s ok to miss people for no other reason than just needing that one particular style of hug; I’ve laughed harder than I’ve laughed in a long time; I've climbed mountains and walked through the clouds; I’ve learned that Latin America is far more interesting than I expected it to be; I’ve been scared and felt targeted, but I’ve also never felt so welcomed and wanted; I’ve been laughed at for my gringa-ness, and I’ve been mistaken for a Chilean; I’ve gotten lost countless times, and been on so many adventures.

It’s been an Adventure with a capital A, and it’s coming to a close. What with classes winding down and finals looming, I’ve been rushing towards the end without even realizing it. I realized last week that I was saying goodbye to my classmates at la Catolica for the last time. It was a strange realization – how do you say goodbye to people you’re probably never going to see again?

I’m so torn about having to leave. On one hand, I’m looking forward to seeing my friends and family again; to having a higher level of independence, to driving my own car, speaking in english, using my school library (I swear, I daydream about that library – it’s probably not healthy). I’m looking forward to leaving this city. I love Chile, and I love South America, but I am not a city person, and I have realized the extent of that since I’ve been here. I’m just not comfortable in a big city like Santiago, and I’m looking forward to leaving the crowds, the noise, and the pollution behind.

At the same time, I’m not ready to leave yet. I feel like there are so many things I have yet to accomplish, and that last minute panic is setting in – all of those things that, all of a sudden, you realize you HAVE to do before you go or your entire stay will have been utterly worthless. There are so many places I still want to go, so many things left to do, so many people to meet, and I know that I just don’t have the time or the ability to do it all. But that just means that I have more of a reason to come back in the future!

I think the hardest part about coming back is going to be knowing what to say. How do you summarize an experience like this in a two minute timeframe? I have so many stories that I want to tell everyone, and it will be hard to come to terms with the fact that, as much as I want to pretend otherwise, most people just won’t want to hear them all. And that’s ok! Because no matter how many stories I tell, there is no way I will be able to capture this experience for you. It’s not something I can wrap up with a bow and give to you. This is what they mean when they say that study abroad is a life changing experience that you need to live through to really understand. I can tell you that it’s cold – I can’t explain to you what it feels like to see your breath in the bathroom. I can tell you all of my stories and how I felt, I can lay it out in perfect detail with beautiful imagery and no spelling mistakes, but no matter how I write it out, I cannot bring you into my head and help you to experience what I experienced, I can’t show you what my study abroad experience actually was. I can’t bring you into the heart of what study abroad is, which is throwing yourself out there into the completely unknown and trusting that you’ll be able to catch yourself and that, in the end, it will all be worth it. When I return to the states, I will want to tell you my stories, and I will be so frustrated because no matter how hard I try, no matter how many stories I tell and no matter how many you are actually willing to listen to, I won’t be able to show you what it all meant.

And you know what? That’s ok.

The Best Time to Wear a Striped Sweater

My host mom and several of my Chilean classmates are currently under the impression that I don't get cold. Now, anyone who has seen me at school reading under a small mountain of blankets can attest that this just isn't true -- I get cold as easily as the next person, and rather easier than some.

A Note About Heating in Chile

Central heating just really isn't a thing in Chile. It's expensive, and it's not very common. Most of the buildings at school aren't heated, so it's up to us to bundle up when it gets cold. At home, in houses and apartments more than 5-10 years old (that is to say, most of them), there is also no central heating, so we use a little gas stove and lots of sweaters. When it started to rain last week, I found myself wearing a sweater, a scarf, and a thick pair of socks -- inside the apartment. I plunked myself down in front of the stove and I spent the next hour trying to figure out how exactly I could ball myself around my mug of tea in order to obtain maximum warmth from the heat it gave off, but also be able to drink it without spilling it. I'm sorry to say that I never did figure it out, but I did manage to do it all without spilling a single drop.

So do I get cold? Obviously. Why, then, do Chileans seem to think I'm invincible? It's simple --Santiago simply isn't very cold.

I have no doubt that it'll get colder -- it rained last week, and according to Katy's host dad, it's never going to stop (I'm sure he didn't actually phrase it this ominously, but I decided in my head that he meant it was legitimately just never going to stop raining and ark builders are just going to start popping up any day now). That was the first time it was actually cold enough to warrant more than just a sweatshirt. But for the most part, compared to what I'm used to, it just hasn't been very cold.

As far as I can tell, in Chile anything below 25°C demands a jacket, and every 2° decrease requires at least another sweater, if not a blanket. More than once, I've emerged from my room barefoot in jeans and a t-shirt, to find Rosita bundled up in 2 sweaters, a jacket, and a sort of poncho. In our gymnastics class, Katy and I wear leggings and t-shirts while our classmates layer up with socks and sweatshirts. It's a little funny, in a way, but to us mostly just a little bizarre -- at home, if it's 25° outside and you're wearing a puffy jacket, you probably have circulation problems; in Chile, it's completely normal.

I'm curious to see what the next month is going to bring. While it's just starting to get cold outside, inside it's been cold for a while. It's not uncommon for the inside of the apartment to be much colder than the weather outside, probably because no matter the temperature, the kitchen window is always open. I don't know why, but it's not just my host mom -- Chileans in general keep the windows open, even just a little bit. I've begun keeping my bedroom door shut, because I've found my room stays warmer than the rest of the apartment, for whatever reason. When that doesn't work, I sit the stove next to my desk, curl up in my chair with my sweater and my tea, and convince myself that the more I type, the warmer I will become. I can't say it's worked out for warmth, but it does help me finish my essays sooner. Maybe I should re-define my terms of success.

A Night-time Visitor

I just realised how long it's been since I've posted -- I'm sorry about that! Schoolwork is finally starting to pick up, so I've been spending a lot of time staying on top of all of my reading (and, if I'm being honest, watching far too much Doctor Who as well). In all seriousness, though, while I'm a quick reader, reading in Spanish takes at least twice as long as reading in English, so while it's not any more than I'm used to, it does take longer than usual! But I promise to try and keep up with the posts from now on!

Anyway, onto story time! So last weekend -- the 25th to the 28th, specifically -- my program took us on a field trip of sorts to Valparaiso, Viña del Mar, and the surrounding areas. It was a lot of fun! We got to participate in all kinds of activities, including making our own pottery, visiting Pablo Neruda's house, taking a boat around Valparaiso's harbor, checking out Congress, visiting an alpaca farm, meeting an organ grinder (and his parrot), and walking around the beautiful city of Valparaiso itself. Phew! And that brings me to Saturday.

Saturday started out as a pretty shitty day -- literally! As it turns out, there was something a little off with the meat we had been served at dinner the night before. What was supposed to be a one-and-a-half hour drive to the campo turned into a three hour drive, complete with four or five bathroom stops. The worst part was watching everyone on the bus slowly being picked off, one by one, and wondering whether or not there would be a bathroom nearby when it finally struck you!

We eventually made it to the camp where we would be staying the night. It felt a lot like summer camp -- all of the girls squished into one room, and all of the guys in the other. Unfortunately, there are around 45 girls, and fewer than 10 guys, so our room was a dense maze of bunk beds and mattresses, while the guys had enough floorspace to host the inaugural ball.

The afternoon was pretty relaxed, in order to allow some recuperation for those in the Poop Group who had been hit the hardest. We hiked around, played some games -- Katy taught me some fencing moves, and we both tried to teach Addison how to do a handstand. We ate a delicious dinner, and later tried to find some of the southern constellations (with moderate success). Eventually, Katy and I decided to head up to bed a little early, since we were tired and knew we had to get up early the next morning.

We found another group of girls who had had the same idea as we had, and we all chatted idly as we prepared for bed. Talk soon turned to spiders. Earlier that afternoon, someone had discovered a tarantula in the girl's bathroom outside, and naturally, nobody was very pleased.

"No, seriously you guys, if I see a spider in here, I will cry."

"I don't think a tarantula could get up here -- it would have to get up the stairs, and the stairs have gaps between them. Plus the door was closed this afternoon."

"Yeah. But our beds are all raised up off the floor, so it wouldn't be able to get to us anyways."

"Dude. My mattress is on the floor."

"Oh. That sucks."

We all agreed, though, that a tarantula would have to try really hard to finagle its way into our room. And as it so happens...one of them did.

We were first alerted of its presence when Margaret, who was sleeping on the mattress next to mine, dropped her toothbrush and said, "Oh. My. God." I whirled around, and there, slowly picking its way across the wall, was a fully grown tarantula. Now, I like spiders -- I think they're interesting, and they're really fun to watch! But I don't particularly like them on me or my things, and this particular tarantula had crawled out from behind the curtains that would be hanging directly above my head. It wasn't a particularly comfortable feeling.

The resulting reaction was a combination of gasps, screams, and "that's so cool!" As we gazed at it, we realized -- we didn't know how to get rid of it. Obviously, it couldn't stay there. Hanging out in a room full of girls all night? It would have to buy us dinner first. But none of us were particularly keen to pick it up and chuck it out the window, either. Margaret flew outside, to see if some of our manly-men (or womenly-women) wanted to give us a hand.

While we waited, we all pulled out our cameras and took some pictures. This was a story to remember! And then we waited. Belatedly, I remembered that I had tupperware in my bag! Unfortunately, the spider was hovering on the wall right next to them. I inched across the mattress, and then, with lightning speed, I unzipped my bag, dug around for the container, re-zipped my bag, and scuttled back, all without breaking eye contact. There should be a contest for this kind of thing. Speed tupperware fetching -- the next sport of the 2016 Olympics!

A minute later, Margaret returned, with Brooke and Benjy trailing behind her. Between my tupperware, Benjy's newspaper, and Brooke's skill, the tarantula was eventually safely contained and brought outside to be released (and, of course, to be boasted about). We all double checked the curtains and the gaps between the mattresses and the wall, and settled down to sleep, still flinching at dark spots on the wall.

Waterfall Hide-and-Seek

I promised a while ago that I would post one of my Pucon adventures, so here it is: Waterfall Hide-and-Seek!

In Pucon, Katy and I befriended a young German couple named Pia and Julian. They were really awesome, and as such they offered to let us tag along with them for the day! In the early afternoon we visited the Playa Blanca (White Beach) and hung around by the lake for a while. After stopping back at the hostel, we decided to check out one of Pucon's many waterfalls before the sun went down! Armed with some rudimentary directions and a map sketched on the back of a piece of paper, we set off in a little white rental car with the horsepower of a miniature pony.

We quickly exchanged the paved roads for dirt paths, which was not uncommon for Pucon -- our little white car bravely tackled the dirt mountain roads to make it to the lake in the afternoon. We were told to take a left at the fork, so we came across a fork and took a left. It was a lovely drive, and we rolled all of the windows down to enjoy the fresh air and the forest view.

As we continued to drive, the path began to get steeper, the ruts deeper, and the rocks bigger. Julian was an excellent driver, and our poor little car prevailed against all odds, but as the trees began to disappear and the area around us converted to grassy rangeland, we began to wonder if maybe we had taken a wrong turn. This did not seem like waterfall territory. Besides, we had been told that it was possible to bike to the waterfall in about an hour -- we agreed that any biker who could make it this far in an hour was probably Superman in disguise.

We stopped periodically, but we were all certain that we could hear water ahead of us, so we kept going. However, after a while (and a really foul-smelling collection of manure) Pia tentatively suggested that maybe we should turn around. Julian insisted that it was just a little farther, and we agreed that since we had made it that far, and the sun was beginning to set, that we may as well find a nice spot to watch the sunset.

Our car finally made the decision for us by getting stuck in a particularly deep rut. We looked out the window -- at this point, the road really wasn't a road anymore, and we were surrounded by farmland and a herd of traumatized cows. Pia turned to Julian and said, "Now do you think we took a wrong turn?"

Julian stuck his head out the window and looked around. "Maybe....this may have not been the right way," he conceded.

We could still hear water -- we just couldn't figure out where it was coming from! So we parked the car and got out to walk a bit. After a few minutes, we came across the source of the water, and the result of all of our driving, walking, and the considerable effort we had put into getting lost. As Katy said, she's seen better puddles in her driveway.

Although we never did find the actual waterfall, getting there was nevertheless an adventure, and it was a lot of fun to hang out with Pia and Julian. Getting lost can be quite the bonding experience, and it gave us something to chuckle about for the next few days!

Peanut Butter Power

Ok, first things first.

Mandatory Poll

How do you pronounce Reeses?

A. Obviously, it's REE-SEES.
B. It's REE-SIZ, duh.

Responses accepted in comment form.

Ok, it's really not that important. But somebody (*cough* Zach *cough*) keeps making fun of me for saying it "wrong" so I'm curious as to how everyone else says it!

My friend Katy and I really enjoy peanut butter. We splurged before our trip to Pucon and bought a jar of peanut butter to make sandwiches -- opening that jar was the most glorious moment of the whole trip (or at least pretty close to it). But you know what's even better than peanut butter? Peanut butter mixed with CHOCOLATE. So, you know, kinda like Reeses!

Unfortunately, Reeses are just not a thing in Chile. We literally have not been able to find any -- and it's usually possible to find most US candy down here, even if it is really expensive. But for some reason, we can't find Reeses! It's been quite upsetting, but we've been coping by eating ungodly quantities of ice cream, cookie dough, and manjar (sometimes all together). We tell ourselves that our metabolisms are still running on full power after climbing that volcano, so naturally we're just taking advantage of it, as any reasonable person would.

So all of this backstory leads us to this afternoon, which found Katy and I desperately combing the supermarket for some ice cream. Today was an important day -- Katy has been converting me into a Doctor Who addict, and today we began season two, with the wonderful David Tennant. If anyone has made it through the first through episodes of season two and still not proclaimed an undying love for this show, then they're obviously not trying hard enough and probably have poor taste.

"You want weapons? We're in a library. Books are the best weapon in the world. This room's the greatest arsenal we could have. Arm yourself!"

How could anyone not love this show. 

Moving on! So as I explained before, we had big plans for this afternoon.

The Plan

1. Buy ice cream, preferably chocolate.
2. Make cookie dough.
3. Eat and watch Doctor Who.
4. Rinse and repeat.

We were pleased to find a tub of chocolate ice cream at a moderately cheap price. Then we dropped the tub of chocolate ice cream for ice cream with peanut butter swirls. We proclaimed that life clearly could not get any better than this.

Then we saw it.

Decadent Fudge Tracks: chocolate ice cream with chocolate fudge ribbon and mini peanut butter cups.

Peanut butter cups. 

We nearly started crying in the middle of the grocery store. We practically skipped home -- it was all we could do to put it away in the freezer while we made cookie dough and began planning our end-of-semester trip (we did have some work to do before the magic began). At long last, it was time. We hovered around the stove and Katy slowly peeled back the lid. The top was a smooth layer of chocolate goodness, interrupted at times by a hint of chocolate ribbon. And there it was, in the bottom right corner -- the edge of a peanut butter cup.

I was allowed to steal the first peanut butter cup, and then we almost panicked when we couldn't find a second one for Katy. The excavation began -- but it's ok, we found another one! It was heaven on earth.

All together, quite a fantastic evening -- and it wasn't accompanied by the usual mass chaos that follows us whenever we try to make anything! Maybe all of the chaos was expended in the morning, when we made empanadas with some fellow extranjeros from our university. But that's another story! In the meantime...

I've still got half a tub of ice cream waiting for me in the freezer.

A Special Video Just For You!

Katy and I had plans to document our experience, but in the end we only made two videos, one at our first rest stop and one at the top. I have the first video; she has the second. If I ever get a copy of her video I'll post it here, but in the meantime enjoy the first video of our Volcan Villarrica adventure!

EDIT: Here's the second video, for your viewing pleasure! We forgot it was recording towards the end, so you don't have to watch through the end unless you're unusually dedicated.

Opportunities

There are few places as full of possibility and opportunity as a full bus stop. Not a little, street-side bus stop, although those in themselves can be pretty special. I'm talking a huge, train station, airport of a bus stop. I've never been in a bus stop so large before. Airports, bus stops, train stations -- they have so much potential, so much emotion. You can stand in the crowd and almost taste it. Backpackers -- the ones just starting, bright eyed with a spring in their steps, and the returners, slower, more pensive, but with a powerful sense of energy and experience. Weary parents, laden with stuffed animals and bleary eyed toddlers. Businessmen and con men (sometimes one and the same); couples and best friends. Pacers, writers, gamers, movie watchers, music listeners. Everyone is going somewhere, but they're all stagnant, caught in this web of anticipation. We're all linked in our anticipation, excitement, anxiety, and our inability to do anything about it. It's a kind of helplessness, but a welcome one. For some, it increases the anticipation, the suspense; for others, it's a rest before the storm.

I love feelings of community like this, where people of different origins and different destinations all meet together with a common link -- in this case, that suspension in time. It's like being in limbo -- a traveller's limbo.

Some Travel-Inspired Poetry

I would like to note that I'm copying this almost word-for-word from my journal. At this point, my entry was interrupted with this gem from my friend Katy:

There once was a pick-up truck named Bob
He had one important job
To make lots of money
and put gas in his tummy
Katy likes corn on the cob

You're welcome.

This weekend, we were fortunate enough to meet so many wonderful people from all over the world. It was really such an incredible experience. I am still astounded by people and their capacity to find common ground, no matter what the situation. On Thursday night, most of the guests from the hostel sat around the same table and ate an asada together (an asada is like a Chilean barbecue -- it was delicious, and there was a loooot of meat. My dad would have approved). Between the 15 of us, we had representatives from Germany, Sweden, the US, Canada, Chile, and New Zealand.  Snatches of Spanish, English, German, and Swedish flew around the wooden picnic table. It is so fascinating to me, and so amazing, that people with such different backgrounds and experiences can always find something in common to talk about around a fire or a couple pints. We are drawn together by our similarities, not pulled apart by our differences.

I love travelling, and I love talking with people who enjoy travelling. Everyone is so open and willing to share everything from stories and advice to food and even money. I think it does take a certain kind of person to be willing to travel, especially in a foreign country. Obviously every traveller is very different, in their goals, methods, and ideas, but they all have a certain drive and a certain wonder, an instinct that drives them to see more things and try out new experiences. It's a unique feeling but it was so apparent in every single person we met in Pucon. It's such a wonderful bond to share.

I have so many stories to share about my four days in Pucon -- I promise to try my best to share them all here eventually! For now, though, I have a lot of homework to catch up on. It's time to kick off my hiking boots and pull out a pen!

Or, alternatively, just go to bed. They both sound like pretty excellent plans to me.

On Learning a Lesson

Maybe I take things too personally. But then again, there is something very personal about being stolen from. It's an invasion of personal space, someone reaching into your life and stealing not only personal objects, but also your sense of security and self-assuredness. There's something distinctly intimate about it, and it's an uncomfortable feeling.

Last week my backpack was stolen. I was very fortunate in that the only thing of real value in it was my Nook -- my laptop, camera, IPod, and passport were all at home. All the same, my backpack still held a significant number of items. A lot of things needed, and still need, to be replaced -- things like my phone, my student ID, notebooks, pens, my keys, my metro card, and my maps. Some things I had an emotional attachment to -- my water bottle, which was decorated by my best friend; my Nook, my Mokeskine, my ring, some of my clothes.

What's frustrating is that I wasn't robbed on the metro, or in the streets. It wasn't taken forcibly from me. I didn't even realize it was gone until I got up to leave. My friends and I had been eating lunch at a table outside, and my backpack was on the ground next to my feet, since there was no room on the table. We began to play a card game after lunch. A group of gringos shouting and hitting the table -- I'm sure we drew a lot of attention, and someone must have noticed an opportunity.

I reported it to the school police, who write everything down but told me that there was not much they could do, which I had expected. Most likely the thief wasn't even a student -- I have since heard of a few other cases where backpacks were stolen on the same day, which suggests that maybe a group walked on campus and started picking up bags. While it's horrible that other people also lost their bags, I admit it does make me feel a little bit better that at least I didn't lose my bag just because I was an inattentive gringa (not that that gives me an excuse for not having paid closer attention).

My friend Katy gave me some change for the ride home. I had planned to knock on a few doors and see if I could stay with a neighbor until Rosita got home, since I had no way to call her. But when I got home, I realized that without my keys, I couldn't even get into the building. I was stuck outside in the front gate with nothing but my class notes, a Marvel pen, and 30 pesos change.

I had held up well enough until that point, but when I realized that I couldn't even enter my own building, the shock wore off and it finally hit me that at that point, I had nothing. I hadn't just lost my backpack. I had lost my ability to get home on my own, and my ability to call for help; I had no way of getting into my building, nevermind my apartment; and I was stuck with nowhere to go and nothing to do except wait in the street as the sun went down. I felt so vulnerable.

I wandered the nearby streets for a while, and when I had calmed down some I returned to the apartment. I tried ringing Rosita's buzzer again, but she still wasn't home. I tried her neighbor's bell. Someone answered, but she said she could only open the front gate, not the second door to let me into the building. This still doesn't make sense to me, but at the time I was just glad to be behind a gate, rather than wandering the streets around Irarrazavel.

As I shut the door behind me, I realized that I was stuck. I couldn't open either door without my keys. I was trapped in a 5x5 foot entryway. I started to laugh at the sheer absurdity of the situation, and then started to cry, and then laughed and cried at the same time. Luckily nobody wandered by at the time, or I probably would have been institutionalized.

I sat in my 5x5 and alternated between reading my notes, singing a song, watching the dogs run by, and trying to figure out what exactly was going on on the balcony across the street, where an older couple appeared to be arguing about something. Maybe it was just a loud discussion. It's sometimes hard to tell. After maybe half an hour of sitting, Rosita came home. She asked me what on earth I was doing sitting there. She looked so surprised, I actually smiled and managed to tell her what had  happened before bursting into tears again. She let me into the apartment and I explained the whole story in between hiccups.

We called one of the CIEE staff, who told us that if we made a police report and brought back a slip of paper proving it, I might be able to get some kind of compensation for my losses. Rosita found a spare Bip! card, and we immediately rushed off to the station. She hadn't even eaten yet, which is saying something because she doesn't have time to eat lunch while at work.

While we were on the bus to the police station, I talked briefly with an older woman I was sitting next to. She told me, "There are many things you can learn while living in a developing country, and one of them is that people steal." I knew this, of course, but it's different knowing it in theory and knowing it from experience. It's a hard lesson to learn. Right now, that's one of the things I miss most about being home -- I miss the feeling of security. I miss being able to leave my laptop open at the SUB and feeling confident that all of my stuff will be there when I get back. I miss being able to put things in my pockets. I miss being able to blend into the crowd, and not be singled out as a target. I miss being able to feel safe when I walk around at night; being able to walk around without being whistled and shouted at; being able to walk around on my own without feeling the need to check behind me every block. As a naive girl from Utah, I definitely took advantage of that feeling of security while in the States, and particularly last week, I missed that more than ever.

Santiago overall is a very safe city, and I know I was just unlucky. I love being in Chile, and I'm so glad I came here! I've made some wonderful friends and already had so many amazing experiences. But some days are rougher than others, and last Wednesday was one of the toughest, in a lot of different ways.

Sunburns: Feel the Rainbow

I decided I would write about this colorful topic, since I've been complaining about it so much recently.

So, sunburns.

I'm not exceptionally pale. I do burn, but I don't burn very easily nor very frequently. When I do burn, it's usually on my face, shoulders, or back, and it lasts maybe a day or two. So basically what I'm saying is that I've been very lucky, and that karma's a bitch.

This past Saturday, a group of friends and I went to Viña del Mar for the day. It was a blast! It's been a while since I've been to a beach that I can swim at (ok, I know you can swim in the Sound, but just because you can doesn't mean you should). The sun was very warm, the water was very cold, and the company was excellent -- mix them together and put them in to bake, and you get a perfect beach day.We lounged around the beach from around 10:30 to 4:00, swimming, talking, sleeping, eating, reading, and crosswording. For more details, check out my Facebook photo album (or email me for a link).

I did apply sunscreen, more than once. I pride myself in the fact that I didn't burn my face, back, or shoulders. I have already gotten burnt once since I've been in Chile, and decided that once was enough. Besides, I made a promise that I wouldn't get burnt anymore. It (literally) pains me to say that I broke my promise -- but at least I don't half-ass anything. This is the worst burn I've ever gotten, and it covers the largest surface area of any burn I've ever received. Namely, the tops of my feet, my calves, half of my shins, the back of my knees and thighs, and both hips, spreading into the butt region. So I guess in that sense, maybe I do half-ass some things.

In all seriousness, though, it's pretty bad. The worst has been the back of my knees and my right hip. As of today I can completely bend my left knee without pain, but I'm still working on my right knee. As for my hip...I don't even know. At one point, the veins around the burn were bulging and it was a sort of brownish color -- does anyone know if that's normal? The vein-swelling has gone away, so I'm going to assume it's fine.

A Helpful Tip

Never google sunburn side effects. Especially when google throws in some pictures at the top. 

At any rate, walking around with a sunburn in such vulnerable areas has certainly been an experience. I take special care on the metro to make sure I don't get hit in the hip by a handbag, and pants are off limits for a while. I went to my first gymnastics class yesterday, and I've got another tomorrow -- it wasn't as bad as I expected, and I'm hoping it stays that way at least until next week. I can't sit or stand with any kind of fluidity, and I go to bed every night virtually swimming in a pool of lotion.

I'm not saying I'm never going to get burnt again -- I have at least learned not to make promises I can't keep. But for the remainder of this trip, I'm certainly going to try to be more careful -- starting this weekend, with our bike tour around Santiago! I'll make sure to apply plenty of sunscreen.

I promise.

A Lesson on Avoiding Conflict

It's hard to admit mistakes.

Especially in a different language.

Especially when your mistake is walking into the wrong class, half an hour late, on the first day of classes.

I wasn't even planning on going to a class today. I decided this afternoon that I would accompany Maria to register for classes at la Catolica. For whatever reason, we're not allowed to sign up for literature classes until the 12th of March, but I did have a politics class for which I would be able to register.

A Note on Registration at La Catolica

La Catolica registers in the old fashioned way. That is, you need to go to the office of the department and request to be registered in a certain class. For each class, you get a slip of paper with your name and some information about the class. It's really easy and in fact more reliable than la Chile's online registration system, but it also means you have to run around campus to get a slip of paper for each individual class you're taking (which for me means four). Because we register late as exchange students, it isn't necessarily expected that we attend the first class or two, but it's certainly not discouraged.

Once we finally found the Political Science office, I waited my turn in line. When I requested to register for Conflicto Armado y el Politico del Trabajo Humano, the secretary said, almost off-hand, "That class is going on right now. You can attend the first class."

I looked at my watch. It was 3:45. The class was supposed to begin at 3:30.

"Ok," I said.

I didn't think to ask for the classroom number.

I had assumed that the classroom would be listed along with the rest of the information about the class, but unfortunately it wasn't, and I didn't realize it until after I had left. The course book we had been given at orientation two days ago fortunately had the classrooms listed next to the courses. Conflicto Armado was to be held in S6.

Maria and I frantically raced around the political science building, and by 3:55 we finally found classroom S6. Maria wished me luck, and told me she would meet me after class. I felt like a little kid being dropped off for my first day of school -- which, in a way, I was. My heart pounding, I swallowed and turned the handle.

All eyes on me. I kept my head down and avoided eye contact as I stumbled into the nearest open seat. I chanced a glance up. The professor hadn't made any indication that my tardy arrival was anything unexpected or unusual. I began to breathe again, and slowly began to tune in to what the professor was saying -- mostly details about the syllabus and exam formats. Suddenly I caught the word "Platon." I froze, and looked up at the board.

The board was filled with the usual first-day-of-class fare -- exam dates, the professor's email, and a list of readings. Among the list were Eutifron; Republica; Fedon; Fedro; and Sofista. Euthyphro; Republic; Phaedo; Phaedrus; and Sophist. I had walked into a course about Plato.

By this point, the professor was nearly finished going over the syllabus. He threw out a few comments about having nothing left to say, and I held my breath, hoping for an early release so I would perhaps be able to try another door in search of my politics class. There was a long pause, and I grabbed my backpack. The professor opened his mouth.

"Now, why do we study philosophy?"

I counted to five and released my breath instead of a curse. Now what? I couldn't stand up and leave -- I was too embarassed at my late entrance, and I didn't want to cause more of a disturbance by leaving five minutes later. Besides, by the time I discovered the actual room, it would probably be to late. I settled back in my chair and prepared for the long haul.

All in all, it wasn't a terrible way to spend an hour. It was an interesting lecture, and the professor was very good. I almost regretted that I wasn't actually taking the class, until I remembered that I've never really been much of a philosopher. It was certainly nice to be back in a classroom again -- as weird as it might sound, I really do miss taking classes. I'm excited to finally begin the school year! I'm hoping that my first Chilean classroom experience won't be indicative of the rest of the semester, although I suppose if it is, I can expect a lot of surprises coming my way! Which, now I think of it, isn't too terribly bad after all.

Concerning Food

Tonight's post is on food, because I love food and so should you.

Seriously though, the food here is amazing. Chilean food doesn't rely on a lot of spices, so by our standards it is fairly plain -- but all of the ingredients are SO fresh, it all tastes a thousand times better than what we have in the US. Nothing needs to be coated in spices. I am going to be so spoiled by the time I get home!

During orientation we mostly eat at restaurants. Our first night, we ate at a ridiculously fancy restaurant. One of the CIEE staff, Alejandra, suggested that we climb the stairs up to the restaurant. "It's only on the 16th floor," she said. Some of us thought she was joking; some of us only heard the "seis" in "diez y seis". Some of us didn't hear anything at all and just climbed the stairs with the rest of the group. Whatever the excuse was, Alejandra wasn't kidding. It really was on the 16th floor, and we really did climb the stairs. Not all of us, mind -- just those of us crazy enough to agree with her. We felt we were more deserving of dinner than anyone else, and we told them so.

The dinner at this place was amazing, to say the least. I won't spell it all out, because it would take up the whole page on its own (believe me, I checked) and I don't want to bore you. Suffice to say, it was a full 5 course meal stuffed with deliciousness.

Last night, Rosita and I ate with Brooke and Patti downstairs. Patti made salmon, mashed potatoes and mixed vegetables. I was really impressed by the potatoes, of all things! I am not sure what she put in them, but they were spicy and creamy and all kinds of delicious. I would like to ask her at some point, to see if I can replicate it.

When Rosita and I were at the grocery store this afternoon, she bought me something called manjar, which needs to become available immediately at every supermarket in the United States. Seriously, can we get a petition going? Manjar is like a yummier version of caramel, the liquidy kind people put on ice cream. You can put manjar on bread, crackers, ice cream, apples, or just spoon it out of the jar like I do. I have every intention of filling my checked bag with manjar when I come home. Because who needs clothing when you could sit around in your underwear eating manjar?

Important Note

I don't actually sit around in my underwear eating manjar.

But trust me.

It's hot enough in the apartment that I think I could get away with it.

On a completely different note, I'm pretty sure my host mama thinks I'm crazy. She's convinced I don't eat enough. This morning, I had toast with quesilla, and then enjoyed a huge lunch with the rest of the CIEE group. After I got home, I ate a power bar leftover from my plane ride. When Rosita came home around 6:30, she was hungry and so sat down to eat dinner (she had forgotten her lunch, and so hadn't eaten all day). She asked if I wanted anything.

"No, thanks, I'm not hungry right now."
"....are you sure?"
"Yup, I'm sure!"
"Here, I brought out a plate of grapes for you. You eat these while I eat my pollo."

Around 9:30 this evening, I still hadn't eaten dinner (except for the grapes and some manjar-laden crackers).

"You haven't eaten anything yet!"
"Yeah, I'm just not that hungry tonight, I've had a lot of snacks to eat."
"Well do you want to eat now?"
"Nope, I'm ok!"
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah, I'm good, thank you!"

She turned to leave, and then came back half a second later, still looking concerned.

"You're positive you don't want anything?"
"Yes, I'm sure."
"You know you can eat whenever you want, whenever you are hungry eat something! The kitchen is all yours!"
"Yes, I know! Thank you, I will take advantage of that."
"Are you sure you don't want something else to eat?"

I sometimes fear that my eating habits are going to worry her to death. 

Encantado

It's time for a brief update of the past few days before I go to sleep! All of this cultural assimilation stuff is tiring! I mean, I am expected to sit in a room and listen to orientation information, and spend time with some awesome people, and then eat lots of delicious food, and then repeat it all over again. Life is hard, guys.

The plane trip was fairly uneventful. I sat next to a lovely German couple who shared their stories and their candy with me -- it was a pretty excellent setup. I made it through immigration, baggage, and I could see the light at the end of the customs tunnel when I was dragged back into the abyss by an orange that I had forgotten to declare. It turned out fine -- the people at the airport were very friendly. 20 minutes later, I signed a bunch of forms certifying that I was a forgetful student and not, in fact, an agricultural terrorist, and I was good to go.

It's been a bit of a whirlwind, I am not really sure how time has passed so quickly! It helps that each meal generally takes at least an hour and a half, if not longer. Part of it is how large our group is, and part of it is just the culture. It has taken getting used to, and sometimes we get a little frustrated by the pace, but I think by the end of this trip I will come to enjoy it (especially once my Spanish has improved and I can keep a conversation going for the whole meal).

This afternoon, I met my host mom, Rosita! I got off to a bit of a rough start -- to begin with, I had just had to struggle off of the tiny elevator with my bags, and was trying to haul my way across the crowded lobby when I heard someone call "Rebecca!" Given that I was standing next to another Rebecca, confusion ensued. On top of being confused and unprepared, I was terribly nervous. I assumed that my new mama would say something to the effect of "pleased to meet you," and my plan was to imitate that and then clam up until I could work out another clever sentence to say.

So Rosita walked up to me, warmly kissed me on the cheek, and exclaimed "bienvenidos!" to which I replied, "bienvenidos!" You guys, bienvenidos means "welcome". Facepalm. I promise I speak Spanish.

Really, though, Rosita is an absolute sweetheart. She lives alone in a lovely apartment -- she has a son, who in turn has two young children, but she says while they visit sometimes, it is not all that often. Her very close friend Patti lives three floors down, and is hosting another student, Brooke. Rosita doesn't cook much, but Patti does -- I am hoping to maybe pick up some new recipes while I am here! I would also like to cook something for Rosita sometime, maybe as a "welcome home from work" surprise or something.

Well, I think I have rambled enough for the night -- I may or may not read through this tomorrow morning and edit half of it out. But for now I'll leave it be, and go to bed! Tomorrow, we tackle public transportation! Get ready, Santiago.

The World Ahead

All of my favourite books are about Adventure.

"To die would be an awfully big adventure."

 "Let us step into the night and pursue that flighty temptress, adventure." 

"'No, no! The adventures first,' said the Gryphon in an impatient tone: 'explanations take such a dreadful time.'" 

"I am looking for someone to share in an adventure that I am arranging."

Adventures are exciting -- that's why they make such excellent stories! But now, as I find myself on the brink of my own adventure, I find myself feeling more akin to Bilbo Baggins than to Peter Pan. I leave tomorrow at precisely 1:02 in the afternoon, and already my stomach is twisting into knots. I've lost count how many times in the past several hours I've second guessed myself, wondering if I've gotten myself in too deep. Why did I choose a program that is known to be more difficult? Why did I choose a country where people say it will take up to a month to properly understand what people are saying? What if people stare at me? What if I forget all of the Spanish I ever knew as soon as I arrive? What if I get lost? What if I miss my flight? What if I can't get credit for my classes? What if I fail? What if I'm too shy? What if I don't have what it takes? 

In my head, I know I'm being silly. I know I'm going to have a wonderful time, and it will probably be one of the greatest decisions I've ever made -- I've heard so many stories about how wonderful study abroad is, and I have no doubt that I will have a wonderful time. But just now, on the brink of leaving, I can't help but fret about all kinds of things that I can't change. It's in my nature -- I worry a lot, especially about the kinds of things that I can't change.

It's also hard to say goodbye. I hate goodbyes. I avoid even saying goodbye -- I'll say "see you later," "talk to you later," "goodnight!", anything to avoid saying goodbye, because there is just something so final about goodbye. If I tell everyone "I'll talk with you soon," I can pretend that it really will be as easy as a quick phone call. In Chile, I won't be able to conveniently talk with my friends and family at home, and that's hard to come to terms with. I'm just going to hold onto the hope that some of them check their emails as obsessively as I do (I may or may not have my email pulled up in another tab right now).

When all is said and done, though, I know I'll be all right. I'm going to Chile! Seriously, how cool is that? My bags are all packed -- I run no risk of leaving the house without my pocket handkerchief (or whatever the equivalent of that would be -- pocket tissues?) It's time to tuck The Hobbit into my back pocket and face south.

In a house in the south, there lived a girl...

Challenge by Choice

My friends: Yeah, I've got about 7 essays to write and about 1,000 pages of reading due tomorrow. Also I work full time on the weekends and I like to bake in my free time.

My boyfriend: I'm working in lab for 40 hours this week and then I have 50 lab reports to grade and also homework. But I'll still call and talk with you for a few hours, too.

My parents: We have regular work and also let's pull apart the dishwasher and put it back together again.


Me: I'm pretty sure I can eat this entire bag of chocolate in a day.

You guys, there are 7 days remaining until takeoff. And then I promise I will have loads of exciting things to write about!

T-minus 3 Days To Adventure (I)

-An explanation-

There is a (I) after this adventure because this isn't actually the big Adventure.

This is the preliminary adventure, where I visit all of my lovely friends in Washington and then swing by San Francisco to pick up my visa! More on that later, though -- right now, the focus is Washington!

-Important Information Everyone Should Know-

I will be in Washington from Thursday, January 31 to Monday, February 4. I will be IN WASHINGTON and I want to see all of you Washingtonians before I leave!!

I realise that a lot of my posts make it look like I hate being at home. That is absolutely not true -- I love Salt Lake, and I love spending time with my family at home. But I also love keeping busy and having a lot of things to do, and that is unfortunately just not the case when I've been at home for a long time. Without things like classes, homework, lacrosse, work, clubs, meeting with friends, and general shenanigans keeping me running about, I tend to alternate between a dull, bitter lethargy and endless energy built up through pent up frustration. As you can imagine, neither of those are a lot of fun for people around me to deal with (nor are they much fun for me to deal with).

That's one of the reasons why I am beyond thrilled to be able to visit Washington in just a few days! I intend to keep myself busy visiting people, stopping by meetings and practices, and in general poking my nose around where it doesn't really belong. My goal is to be so exhausted by next Thursday that I collapse at home and sleep for days. Actually, I changed my mind. My goal is to run around and visit people and have them so exhausted that by the end of my visit they collapse and sleep all weekend. Because, really, you guys probably all need the sleep anyways.

-A confession-

I love you guys a lot, and I really miss you.

But I'm still not going to hold back any of the energy that's been slowly building up since the beginning of January.

Aren't you excited to see me now? ;)

Adventures on Ice

This morning, I woke up to a thin sheet of ice covering EVERYTHING.

Well, literally, I woke up to a cat jumping onto my belly. But that's neither here nor there. I checked my phone and saw that I had received a message from my mom, warning me that the roads were "really icy." However, this was coming from the woman who worries about me driving when there is barely an inch of rapidly melting snow on the ground. So I thanked her and told her I would be careful, and then went about my business. I'm currently house-sitting for a family, taking care of their dog, Elsie, and cat, Snowy. Elsie is very excitable -- she loves being let out, so when I opened the door this morning she rocketed out the door, skidded down the steps and landed, paws splayed, at the bottom. Seconds later, Snowy rushed out. She made it out a little more gracefully by simply skipping the steps, but at the bottom waved her paws about wildly to keep upright.

 I watched them and giggled a little bit -- silly animals, didn't they see the ice all over the steps? Then I felt a little bit bad for laughing at them, but to be honest, it was quite a funny display. I carefully side-stepped down the steps, arrogantly ignoring the hand-rail. Upon reaching the bottom, I gave a sigh of relief, then promptly slipped and fell. If Elsie and Snowy had voices, and if they had been paying attention to anything but their food bowls, I'm sure they would have been laughing.

The rest of the morning passed smoothly enough -- de-icing my car was a bit of a struggle, but it was kind of worth it to be able to slice through the ice with the scraper. I felt a little bit like insert superhero-who-can-slice-through-ice. It was pretty sweet, let me tell you.

Upon arriving home, I realized that my car was simply not going to make it up the driveway. My car struggles up the driveway at the best of times, and while I can coax it up the driveway in the snow using 4 wheel drive and a bit of luck, it absolutely refused to even attempt to tackle the ice.

I parked in the street and stood at the bottom of our driveway, hands on my hips, wondering how exactly I was going to do this. The ice didn't look too bad from there, and just because my car couldn't make it up was no reason I shouldn't be able to do it. Today's newspaper lay sadly on the left edge of the driveway, about 7 feet above the base of the driveway, so I decided I would hike up and heroically rescue it from its icy prison.

I took one step up the driveway -- and promptly slid back down. I tried side-stepping, running, taking large steps, taking small steps, skipping, jumping, cartwheeling, swearing, bear walking, penguin sledding, and a brief stint walking on my hands, but to no avail. The newspaper sat there, just daring me to try again.

"Well, FINE then," I snapped. This obviously wasn't going to work. After accepting a handful of mail from our amused and relieved mailman ("Hey, Downton Abbey came in! Sweet!"), I turned to the snowbanks lining each side of my driveway, each towering over two feet. I sighed, and resignedly plunged into the snow.

I finally made it to the house 5 hours later (or something like that), soaking wet up to the knees. I stood in the kitchen, staring out at the driveway, which stood twinkling innocently at me in the smog light. There at the base sat the newspaper, still gleaming with ice, and probably amusement at my struggles. I glared at it and stuck out my tongue.

See if I care. I'll just do the crossword online.

Take that, newspaper.

The Adventure of the Tangled Yarn

You guys.

I just spent an hour and a half untangling yarn.

An hour and a half.

In case you wanted to know, that's about the amount of time it took to listen to a lecture about bonobo sex (among other things) with a couple of Beatles songs tossed in at the end.

Well, ok. I didn't start out intending to spend an hour and a half fighting with a tangled, knotty fiend from hell. It all started out because I wanted to listen to a series of lectures entitled "Global Problems of Population Growth" (if you're interested, you can find it here). I have a hard time just listening to lectures, especially if I'm not taking notes. I have occasionally been known to bring jars of Play-Doh to class with me, to the amusement (and sometimes resentment) of my peers. So I decided that today would be the day to learn to crochet!

After pestering my brother for clues as to where I might find his crocheting materials, I finally unearthed some yarn and a needle from a pot next to the fireplace (what?). A few Google searches later, and I was ready to go!

At first, I actually felt as if I was doing quite well. I taught myself to tie a slip knot, and moved onto the chain stitch. According to the pattern, I was supposed to crochet 224 stitches, and then turn around and come back for step two. I made it to what seemed like 224, and then prepared to turn around and come back. That's where I ran into problems.

You see, I made it through step one mostly by admiring the pretty pictures and imitating what they had done. Step two told me to run the hook through both loops for the second row, but there were no pictures. No pictures at all. I assume they figured that if you can make it this far, you must clearly be a competent crocheter, and therefore no longer need pictures. I felt like a child who has been told that they could no longer read picture books, and must instead move onto chapter books. In other words, I was a little bitter...but mostly just lost and confused. All of a sudden, the innocent chain I had been holding turned into a snarling, writhing mass of loops that refused to behave or at least give me a clue as to which loops I was supposed to be mauling. I struggled along for a while, and then decided for whatever reason that this would probably be a lot easier to figure out if the yarn was thicker. Please do not ask me why I thought this.

The thing about the thicker yarn was, there was half of a hat attached to the end of it, from the days when my brother was into crocheting. Well, he wasn't going to finish it, and I decided that I needed the yarn more than he needed the half hat, so I started unravelling. And the hat continued to unravel. And unravel. Soon I had a mountain of yarn sitting next to me.

I began to dig through the pile in search of the end, which I had inconveniently misplaced as soon as I had finished unravelling the half hat. Unfortunately, this just served to tangle the mess of yarn even further. By the time I found the end, the yarn was so hopelessly tangled that I couldn't hope to do anything with it. I decided to try to roll it up to make things easier, dropping the end again in the process. I reached a knot less than a minute into my yarn rolling process, and upon failing to untangle it (and probably making the whole thing even worse) I decided I would just start from the beginning and untangle the whole thing. This, of course, meant finding the end yet again. I eventually did manage to find it again, and overall the whole process, aside from being excessively lengthy, was rather what you would expect -- a lot of trial and error, a lot of swearing. But at long last, here I am, one lecture and a few Beatles songs later, with a lovely little ball of yarn sitting next to me on the couch.

The fucker.

The Adventure of NOT Destroying the House

To travel would be an awfully Big Adventure.

Planning is exciting, and travelling is an Adventure. Unfortunately, waiting is the inevitable pain-in-the-rump intermediate step, one that I tend to struggle with. As many of my friends have found out over the years, I’m not very good at waiting. I get impatient, and if you give me enough time, I come up with really absurd projects to pass the time (see my freshman year photo album on Facebook). Given that I will not be travelling to Chile until the end of February, well, I’ve got quite a bit of time.

In order to keep myself from going crazy (and to keep my parents from prematurely kicking me out of the house), I’ve come up with a list of things to do while I’m at home. Mind, this list is far from complete (actually, I came up with it about ten minutes ago) and I may or may not actually end up doing any of these things. But it kept me occupied for a good ten minutes, and hey, maybe some of these things will serve as a replacement for re-arranging all of the kitchen cupboards next week. 

• Practicing Arabic

I actually audited a test-run Arabic class last year, and I have the CDs and textbooks from that class. I figure now is as good a time as ever to bring my Arabic alphabet up to scratch!

• Learn calligraphy

I’m not a very artistic person. Actually, one might even say I’m painfully bad at drawing and...well, visual arts in general. Some of my Pictionary sketches have nearly reduced my best friend to tears (well, we can’t all go to art school). But I figure, learning calligraphy is just like learning to imitate fancy writing, so it can't be that bad, right? Right?

• Practice origami

By practice, mostly I mean learn origami in the first place. Cheap supplies, lots of internet help – definitely something that could keep me occupied for a few hours. 

• Learn to knit

I’ve actually tried to learn to knit before, and for whatever reason it’s really painful to me (physically, not emotionally). My knuckles get really mad at me, and overall whenever I’ve tried to knit it ends up being a very short lived endeavor. But the last time I tried was a few years ago, so maybe the time is ripe for another go!

• Duct tape crafts

I’m not actually sure what this would entail – I saw a book about it somewhere, sometime. But we do have a lot of duct tape! Anyway, duct tape is pretty amazing stuff, so any duct tape craft is guaranteed to be pretty awesome, even given my lack of artistic ability. At least that’s what I’m telling myself. 

• Practice juggling

             
            I really do need the practice. 

• Learn yoga

I am quite interested in learning yoga – if I can, I’d like to take a class next year. But in the meantime, I may as well look up some poses online and give it a whirl! It looks like a lot of fun, and it fits right in with the next activity.

• Exercise

Because, let’s be honest, I could use it. I am climbing a few times a week, but a little cross training never hurt anyone!And it's a good way of getting rid of some pent-up energy. 

This is just a quick list of some of the more interesting options I have available. Actually, that's not true. This is a quick list of options that I might actually follow through with. There are always things like creating the world's largest rubber band ball, hunting down bears, learning to live in the wild, creating recipes using only materials found in my backyard, learning to play the flugelhorn, or  handmaking soap. And who knows, maybe I will pick up the flugelhorn! But for now, I think I'll stick with yoga.

If you have anything you would like to add to my list, by all means let me know! I am open to all suggestions (well, within reason). Maybe I’ll set up a challenge for myself, or something – you send me ideas, I show you the results of that idea. Hmm, that’s a possibility…well, I’ll keep you updated!

I can’t wait to update you on my exciting Chilean adventures – but in the meantime, I hope you have fun reading about the Adventures of Becca trying to entertain herself for the next month and a half!

The Adventure of the Tricky Title

I'm not great at coming up with interesting titles. Actually, you could probably say that I'm painfully terrible at it. My paper titles usually tend to run along the lines of "The Effect of AIDS Education on Women Empowerment in Sub-Saharan Africa" or "El tiempo en Continuidad de los parques." Informative, yes. Interesting? Well, maybe not so much. So I put quite a lot of time into coming up with a title I could be proud of.

Some of you may be a little bit confused about the title, and how on earth it is relevant to me and/or my studies in Chile. So, a little bit of backstory:

My freshman year of college, I ran across a magical movie called How to Train Your Dragon. My roommate and I watched it to death -- I want to say we watched it probably seven times in a semester? Maybe more than that. We can quote passages if you prompt us. Anyway, at one point I changed my name in her phone to Hiccup, and the name stuck -- now, more often than not, she calls me Hiccup instead of Becca.

So, as you can see, the title of this blog pertains to me just a little bit, and not at all to my studies in Chile. But it made me giggle for a good 5 minutes when I thought of it, so I'm going to call it good!