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!
Saturday, April 13, 2013
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.
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.
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.
Tuesday, April 2, 2013
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.
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.
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
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.
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.
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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