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.