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.
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
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.
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.
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
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.
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.
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