Four on the Floor: Plaza Italia

I guess I’m continuing my favorite places in Santiago list with another no-brainer/somewhat cheesy place. And I suppose “favorite” is something of an overstatement: I’ve had friends get beaten up and robbed, I had a hooligan try to steal my purse (he really should have gotten it too…he was a very bad thief), and I was once surround by a group of drunks who proceeded to just stare at me and then get closer and closer…like being on the Metro but on a street corner with no one else around (save my taxi driver, who swept me away).

So I should hate Plaza Italia. And yet, there are so many reasons not to:

1) I lived there, and moved in the day that Pinochet died, hauling my belongings into my apartment to the increasing swell of chanting and noise from outside the window.

2) It’s the perfect meeting place, even for clueless gringos in their first week of volunteering.

3) Giant puppets pee in the street.

4) The Paulistano Schoperia – Best place to watch a futbol game….if you’re Brazilian (this is also the scene of the infamous “blondy girl” incident.

5) Dog fights.

Five Alive: Patio Bellavista

I'm pretty sure I'm going to get some crap for this (obvio), but as I was compiling my list of my lugares favoritos in Santiago, I decided to start at the bottom with number cinco. And that led me to the ever-touristy, but pretty damn awesome Patio Bellavista. So maybe the crafts are a tad overpriced (as is the Guinness), and it's not exactly a hideaway (on Pio Nono por Dios!), but let's break down the pros:

1) There is Yogen Fruz
2) There is Vino Navegado
3) There is the Organic Coffee Man, who told me not to worry about anything, it was all going to be ok, when I broke down in tears while choosing a tin to bring home, the day before I left Santiago for good.

All this and you can sit outside! This is truly a happy place.

Space, the final straw

People have left some pretty interesting comments about their relationship with Chile. Perhaps because it's clear from the blog that I'm from New York, or maybe because it's a city that many people have been to, there have been a few comparisons made as far as rudeness/crowdedness/etc. that I'd like to address. In rant form.

The absolute, without a doubt, worst thing about living in Santiago is the in-your-face lack of etiquette on both the transportation system, and in the street. If you are not pregnant, you deserve to be pushed, shoved, and otherwise manhandled at any time. As I've mentioned before, personal space not a thing here. It makes me absolutely crazy. It makes me hate everyone and everything, not leave my apartment, and give up entirely. When I get to the Metro during rush hour, get shoved in with the crowed and actually make it on the train, and then some man in the doorway puts out his arms and pushes everyone even further onto the train just so he doesn't have to wait for the next one...let's just say, if I could move my arms, there would be violence.

I want to make something clear: This doesn't really happen in New York. I've lived in the city for almost my whole life, and have commuted from both the UES and the Bronx. Sure, some idiots push themselves onto trains, but generally people don't want to spend their half hour-to- an-hour on their way home after a long day pressed up against a stranger. I'll just say it: that's really strange. I admittedly also find it strange how much people make out with each other in public, but that's because I'm not much for PDA. Culturally, people have very different notions of physical boundries in this city, and it is that mentality, combined with the "big city get ahead" thing, combined with lingering memories of scarcity and oppression under Pinochet that makes walking down the street, or getting on a micro, sometimes unbearable.

So I understand. I sort of get the why. But please, for the love of God, let people off the metro before you get on. Wait for the next train, since it's coming in 2 minutes anyway. Wait in line for the micro. Walk to right in the street. That's what we New Yorkers do (except for the last thing), otherwise the entire city would implode.

What's Up?

We invited some friends over tonight to watch the game. A big game, because it's my team and they're doing pretty well. As well as one can when their QB is so hit or miss. The wrong sports metaphor, I know.

Because I've screwed up the schedule so many times, I made sure to check espn.com to make sure that MNF would in fact be gracing us here in Chile. Even with the recent time change. Anticipating a 9:30 start, I was horrified to see baseball highlights, and began to assume that the Sox had bumped my beloved Giants. I checked again, this time in VIVO! my trusty cable revista.

The game would be shown at 1:30am. For no reason that I can currently fathom. I have very real memories of watching MNF at Hooters, Publicity and the Geo Pub. In fact, once the Geo pub closed IN THE MIDDLE OF THE GAME I WAS WATCHING. What was different today?

Pablo tells me: It's Chile. Everything is different.

And so it is. We're trying to pick a new Program Director, and have to ask ourselves if an American, or Holander (?) or Mexican can adjust to life in Santiago, without the luxury of integrating with a class of volunteers like all the rest do. None of the current admin, save Luke who came on a fellowship, have come out of class. So many come for a very "latin" experience. The kind that you simply don't get in Santiago, at least not right away. I've struggled recently, especially with my impending exit from VE and Chile, with the fact that I can't say that I enjoy life here, outside of the volunteer and VE experience. Like so many expat bloggers, it gets increasingly difficult to enjoy life in a city where people don't appear to enjoy their lives.

So I ask the Chileans reading this blog (and I know that you're out there)....what do you enjoy? Do you have the same love-hate relationship that I have with New York? Is it hate-hate, or love-love?

And will I be able to stay away from NFL.com until 1:30am....

Home Stretch....

Four days to go, so much to do, and not enough time to feel the happy-sad-confused that I usually feel while I'm awaiting my flight from the Santiago airport. I so desperately want to go home, see my family, sleep in my old bed and have a real pint of real beer. And perhaps some Bombay Sapphire. And some Chianti. So maybe I just want to go home to drink.

But I'm also sad to leave these new people that I just me. They're amazing, and inquisitive and funny. They can't wait to get to work, they play all of our stupid get-to-know-you games, and they don't complain. They come from all over the world. They are the epitome of what I always imagined this experience to be.

They also ask me to translate everything, and don't understand the use of the word "po". I explain to them that I often, especially in collectivos, pretend that I don't speak Spanish, or English. Most people think I'm German, and most people don't speak German, so that works for me.

I asked my friend at lunch last week why people think it's ok to interrupt any conversation that I'm having, in any language, to ask we where I'm from. I could be pouring my heart and soul out to someone in a restaurant, tears in my eyes, and a man at the table next to me will turn to me and say "Where are you from?" No "excuse me" no "sorry to bother you", just the basic presupposition that if I am speaking English, or poor accented Spanish, it is ok to interrupt me.


So my Peruvian friend set it straight: "Who are they?", he asked.
"I don't know, just people. Whoever," I replied, ever helpful.
"Men," he laughed at me. "So, they're 'joteando'."

He's right, of course. It isn't just random people on the street who want to chat (they generally just stare). It's the jotes. Jote means vulture, and is the way to describe the men who circle you on the dancefloor, or at a bar or, apparently, in a colectivo. And the interruption is a lame attempt at flirting. What I always wonder is: Does this work? What would I want to talk to someone who's so rude?

And yet, we talk. We don't want to be rude, we don't want people to not like us. We're foreign, strangers in this country and any attempt to communicate can be a welcome change from feeling isolated.

Unless you decide that you only speak German.

A Donde Sea

Yesterday was possibly, the most productive day of my life. Maybe not my whole life, but certainly my Chile life. That's a lie, too. It was just a very very productive day, and I tend to exaggerate.

The new people are coming. In fact, some of them have arrived. We picked up our first at the airport in the morning, and installed him happily in the hostel. He had a book of spanish phrases he thought he might use, and I appreciated his effort (as did our Peruvian friend and driver). He was so excited. It was contagious.

New people means lots of communication. It seems like everyone needs to know which volunteer is going where (and why). And yet, even though Liz lead a great meeting on Thursday, only six institutions were represented. Sometimes the lack of effort is very discouraging.

Yet Liz and I decided that we should meet, personally, with as many institutions as humanly possible before the newbies arrived for their first day of work, timid and frightened and silent. The key to everything about intensive volunteer work is making expectations clear from the start. And talking.

We started in La Florida. I never appreciated the comuna when I lived there, how clean and suburban it is, its greenery. The neighborhood around the hogar we visited is particularly lovely, close to the mountains and full of talking babies. The fact that is was a perfect spring day only compounded my overwhelming feeling of joy and being around the kids.

After baby-time, we went to my institution. As it was after class time, and the atmosphere was a bit different. With no kids, and the sun going down, I felt like a kid in trouble sitting in the directora's office, and even though I explained that she will be getting 2 new full time and one part time volunteer, she didn't seem thrilled to see me. We needed a baby to come waddling in to lighten the mood; I maybe should have brought one with me from LaFlorida.

Leaving the school, still in LaFlorida, we walked towards Los Navíos, one of the toughest neighborhoods in Santiago. We should not have been walking, and with each passing block my happy world of La Florida, where I worked every day for months, became less familiar and more ominous. When I'm walking alone, I always assume I draw attention for being American and ignore it. With Liz by my side, I am reminded that my hair doubles and triples the stares and catcalls, as tells me that she can walk around alone without much hassle.

Thankfully, a taxi.

The lovely trees disappeared as we cruised down Bahia Catalina. The streets became more beaten down, with more potholes and roaming dogs. We arrived at the community center as it turned dark, the taxi driver concerned that he was leaving us in a place like this. "Are you sure you want to get out here?" he asks. "Yes," we reply, for what seems like the millionth time in the past year. "This is where we work."

"Poor Kids"

The latest issue of the newsletter went out today. It was the tenth issue, and it's been a year since I started it at all. It has come so far. The current editor put together a fantastic piece about inequality and how it relates to children's rights and our work. You can find the newsletter here, if you're interested. The fact that it exists at all is a major accomplishment, and I'm very proud.

Getting wrapped up in trying to learn a CMS or a CRM can sometimes prevent me from visiting my kids. My pride and joy of a reading program has faltered thanks to days and nights spend planning "the tour", helping out with decision-making within the org and just doing my job. I'm usually a very "behind the scenes" kind of person, but recently I've become much more active in the day-to-day, and less obsessed with the future and growth.

Which is why, when Liz told me we were taking kids to the movies, I jumped at the chance. The jardin is one of my favorite places. The kids are anything but standoffish, and desperately want to know you and play with you and talk to you the minute you walk in the door. Taking them to see Ratatouille, on the micro no less, sounded like the best thing one could do on a Wednesday morning.

I had no idea.

These kids are hilarious. We walked down the street, everyone holding hands and singing "Vamos al paseo beep beep beep, en un auto feo beep beep beep." There are more words than that, but since Tia Lauren couldn't remember them, we just sang those over and over again. I never realized just how high up those micro stairs are, but trying to get 12 four year olds into a bus with any speed is next to impossible, unless you have the help of every Chilean man on the bus, who can't resist the urge to help a gringa in distress.

I knew the movies would be a big deal. A multi-plex, bright, colorful and full of noises and sounds, is overwhelming for anyone. For a child going to the movies for the first time, it was...an assault on the senses. The lifesized cardboard cutouts served as hiding places and new friends. The blue and red carpet seemed like a perfect place to take a nap after a lively round of "arroz con leche".

But nothing could compare to Michael Jackson. As Liz negotiated the box office lines, where the only tickets left were for Shrek 3, the kids caught a glimpse of a TV monitor playing the Thriller video. They were equal parts enthralled and appalled by what they saw, and the volunteers were too busy grinning stupidly at how happy the kids were to notice that they thought it was the movie. After MJ's 10 minute masterpiece ended, the kids grabbed our hands and were ready to head home.

I've told this story many times, sometimes in an effort to explain what it is that I do, and why I do it. Other times just to make people smile. Most people get that, but occasionally I tell someone and they say to me "That must make you feel so good. To give something to the poor kids."

Like a punch to the gut.

Poverty is part of my daily life, but not in a way that makes me feel like my taking children to the movies is somehow going to save them. These kids may be from the campamento, but they're kids just like any other kids. I remember my first trip to the movies: excitement, fear, confusion, Snow White. Their fascination with zombie videos had little to do with money, and everything to do with youth. The most important thing that I can tell anyone is that children need attention and love, and that's what our volunteers provide. Not ipods or an expensive pair of shoes, but a first experience. Like meeting a famous futbolista. Or having a proud face in the crowd when they win an award at school. Rich kids need that as much as the poor. We all do.

In the air tonight

The month of July has been sort of a bust as far as blogging goes, due mostly to traveling to Buenos Aires (more elaborate post to follow) and the states to see my family. The U.S. was an odd culture shock this time, mostly because I wasn't in New York, and Stuart, FL is unfamiliar territory. Everything was so expansive, tables set far apart from each other in restaurants; I got some of my personal space back.

Riding around with the top down, to and from the beach, I started to think that I could get used to this small town, warm climate living. I started to hate Santiago's smog and general sense of rushed unhappiness. I began to think about why it's ok for a man to spread his arms and give a giant push to a bunch of people standing in the door of the Metro, just so he can get on. Or why I'm not allowed to touch my shampoo before I buy it. Or why I need a hundred receipts. I was so happy to be in Florida..why did it make me so bitter?

This was fleeting, because I got to eat at some awesome restaurants (especially this one) and spend alot of quality time with Tom, Sue and Christine. I got some sun. It was very relaxing, even though I had to make some early morning runs to Starbucks to work on this and the people were unbelievably pleasant.


But I enjoyed flying back into Santiago, after all. It isn't my favorite city, it doesn't feel like home, but I love my job. Eleven months later, I still love my job. I'm hitting a groove with how to make money and do this at the same time, planning for the future, making connections. So many people have come here for the city, but I came for the organization. For all of these issues I've found with this city, it brought me to the exact place I need to be.

And the mountains are gorgeous.

2 dates, you're out...

I'm not doing so hot with my resolution of updating this daily, or even weekly. I'm going to have a paid blog soon, which will either drastically improve my ability to get a post out with some regularity, or....not. Vamos a ver.

I think that this week I have the best excuse, because I've been teaching myself how to use joomla (like a psycho) in anticipation of our website relaunch tomorrow (ok, tomorrow is the first day of Orientation, so maybe Tuesday). It's been...interesting. We had a webmaster, who did all of the CSS to create a custom template, which meant that when I tried to change anything I felt like a worthless joke of a person. He left, and plummeting (is this a word?) of my self- esteem ensued. But thanks to some nice people from the joomla forums, things got on track, but not without many a weeknight sitting in my bed reading techie websites and feeling like a crazy person. We're almost done, ¡gracias a dios!

I also went on a date this week with a random Chilean I met at Starbucks, a hotspot for Chileans and gringos alike and wherein I have been asked out multiple times (hilariously, as I'm generally here with my tall gringo friend, and am approached only when he gets up to go to the bathroom or get more coffee...in many ways I wish he has a weaker bladder).

He was nice, if not a little on the boring side (which I'm happy to chalk up to the language barrier, as I do everything else). That was, until he let the cat out of the bag that he was a RAGING RACIST!. In fairness, I find Chile to be one of the more homogeneous places I've visited, and the lack of diversity (which isn't a criticism as much as an observation, my Chilean reader who attacked me when I insulted Transantiago) allows for the rampant exchange of crazy stereotypes. But my date, who we're calling "Chad" because Liz told me she hates that name, wasn't just ignorant, he actually tried convince me that a certain racial group (does it matter which?) was, simply stated, a group of stupid criminals. He said this to me, as if I was the one who could then justify his belief having had actual interactions with the unnamed racial group. After he dropped the bomb, and I after I repeatedly said "Actually, no. ___ people are just like you and me...the usual response to a ridiculous blanket statement. At first I really wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt (or think that he was joking, at least) but then the conversation continued like this (i'm obviously paraphrasing, as the conversation took place in Spanish...the italics represent what i would have said, was I not a giant pansy when speaking in any language other than English):

Chad: "So, I'm right aren't I? All ___ people are criminals?"
Me: "What?"
Chad: "Oh, you must not understand me. You see, I hate all ___ people, because they are stupid criminals, and I'm glad there aren't many in this country. Actually ____ people too. They just want to blow everyone up. Especially people like you."
Me: "I wish I could blow you up. Or stab you with a fork. Why did the waiter take the fork? Probably to stop you from talking with your mouth full. Racist. Actually, I understand you perfectly. I already said that it wasn't true, and you aren't going to convince me otherwise. I don't think I want to talk about this."
Chad: "Why not? It's because it's true, isn't it. I've seen the movies. You can say, (looks around restaurant) there are no ______ people here. Just admit that it's true?"
Me: "That you should probably be taken into an alley and beaten? Yes, yes, I'll admit that. I'd like to get the check please. I'm very tired, and I think this conversation is inappropriate***." (***I said the word 'inappropriate' in English with really fun finger quotes to amuse myself.)
Chad: "I think I like you. Can I take you out salsa dancing tomorrow night?"
Me: "If by salsa dancing you mean a place where I slap you repeatedly and drink expensive wine, then yes. No."

And scene. It wouldn't have been so bad had this been our first date. But he waited until number two to bring this up. Actually, I don't know what the worst part of it is. Other than the fact that I'm afraid of men who go to Starbucks.

Canciones de Amor

There is a great song called Canciones de Amor by a Mexican singer/songwriter named Julieta Venegas. I've recently been listening to nothing but her music in my ipod, causing me to now associate her lyrics with various places in Santiago that I might pass ("No seré una mujer perfecta" means Parque Balmaceda, for example). I was listening to Canciones de Amor during my train ride to Rancaugua this weekend, and it made me wistful and giggly. It doesn't have particularly uplifting lyrics (Estoy tan cansada de las canciones de amor/siempre hablan de un final feliz/pero sabemos que la vida nunca funcion asi***) but the bouncy guitar and somewhat optimistic tone offset the pessimism (and I believe, truth) of the lyrics. I am obsessed with this song.

I am that girl that girl who believes that love stories and love songs don't really happen, and that people make them up. Every relationship I've ever been in, or known of even, has ended with the destruction of one or both parties - no happy endings there. I don't know if that's just my generation, and if we aren't programmed for the long-term anymore, or that romance is dead...I have no idea. It's kind of amazing how many girls came down here thinking that they would meet some wonderful, romantic man...the kind of man they believe they can't meet in New York or San Francisco or Madison, WI. I didn't even have the optimism to hope that would happen to me; Santiago men proved to me in my first few days that they are not so unlike New York men. I will give them credit for having some wonderfully forthcoming pick-up lines, though.

I'm wrong about all of it. Something pretty amazing happened to me in the hot springs of Termas de Cauquenes. It was novella-worthy (and more than likely I'll go ahead and write a short-story about it). I met someone, we connected, I left....we'll probably never see each other again. But the whole thing was so hopeful and bizarre. There's so obviously no long-term relationship there, no happy ending in the traditional sense. But maybe that's what Julieta really means, that happy endings just aren't what they used to be. Because I'm certainly happy just having had the experience of living outside of my life for two days with someone new, who for some reason understood me as much as I understood him (in Spanish, to boot!). I'm happy that romance is alive and well and living outside of Rancaugua.

That's my happy ending.

the English translation
***I'm so tired of love songs/always talking about a happy ending/but we know that life never turns out that way****

Vive LaKeaneo!

The Vive Latino music festival, held in Santiago's Club Hipico (its a racetrack) on Sunday was my first concert since I moved to Chile. I can't believe it, really, since I used to see live music once a week when I lived in New York, and it isn't like they don't have any here. Just poor prioritizing, I guess.

In our usual form, we only caught the last four hours of the 12 hour festival thanks to an unfortunate map-reading blunder and my tendency to ignore everything that anyone says to me in the street, even if it is directions to Club Hipico. Its a defense mechanism, really.

I was familiar with some of the bands in the 22-strong line-up, and was happy to be introduced to Los Jaivas and Vicentico (formerly of the Los Fabulosos Cadillacs...if you don't know the song "Vamos a Bailar Toda la Noche" you should). It was also just nice to be outside; as the weather gets colder this will happen less and less.

But of course, there was a lot of random weirdness. For example: The fest was sponsored by Cristal. I love me some Cristal, because there is a giant billboard (which lights up in happiness, and shows the time and temperature) on the roof of my buiding, and because they make beer in green, red and black flavors, which is awesome. The whole park was filled with giant inflatable Cristal cans, tempting and teasing me. But there was no Cristal to be had. Actually, after 8pm there was no anything to be consumed, and people lined up around random water spickets to hydrate.

The other thing was...Keane. They were the closing band, drawing the biggest crowd. I have nothing against Keane, and as it turns out they were successful in Chile before they even broke out in the States....but at a Vive Latino festival? Really? Que raro, po!

Aquí Estamos

I'm letting this speak for itself....

Young Combatants Day/Día del Joven Combatiente

I'll admit right now that I don't regularly read and Chilean newspapers. Occasionally when I'm on the metro in the morning I get my hands on the Publimetro, or I'll buy El Mercurio if it is a particularly interesting day (Pinochet's death, Bachelet's election, etc). Since my self-informing activities primarily take place after the fact, I was not prepared for today.

Alameda's storefronts (Santiago's Broadway) were closed. Buses were few. The metro closed early. Volunteers were tear gassed. We received this warning early this morning:

"There may be protests and such things. While there is no reason to be alarmed, I think it would be wise to be aware of your surroundings and not to go wandering too much in the city."

What? I don't know what this means. Seriously, since Transantiago came, there is a protest everyday.

But wait:

from the Santiago Times

"CHILE: STREET PROTESTS, TEARGAS COMMEMORATE 1985 DEATH OF YOUNG PINOCHET OPPONENTS"

"Flying rocks and teargas marked the 22nd annual Young Combatants’ Day, which commemorates the slaying of brothers Eduardo and Rafael Vergara Toledo by Augusto Pinochet’s military forces in 1985." rest of article...

en Español, de El Mercurio

"Alta seguridad para evitar los desmanes"

"Se acordó cierre de 5 universidades y protección a buses del Transantiago." leer más

They say its the worst its been in years. The city is empty but full of tension all at the same time, with an eerie, micro-free silence broken periodically by the sounds of yelling or chanting or bottles breaking.

The wounds of this country, the dictatorship and its results, are far from healed.

And life is sweet...

I've spent the past three days in front of my computer, doing loads of research about and amazing amount of craziness. I searched in vain for someone to give me a comprhensive explanation of the past subjunctive mood, I tried to find a foundation with guidelines lenient enough that they would provide funding to one of our institutions (a shanytown nursery school) and I discovered flash fiction. Living almost exclusively in cyberland has been an experience, and made me realize that its scarily easy to get everything you need from the Internet - advice, news, social interaction, porn - a fact most people discovered back in 1999. But more than that, its possible to never leave your house for any reason, even when the sun is shining and there's a protest in the square and you're supposed to be taking children to the interactive museum.

Luckily night time was the right time, and over the weekend I did in fact leave the comforts of my L-shaped couch and cushion (that I sleep on...kind of like a dog bed, really but I prefer to think of it as bohemian chic) to hang out with our new volunteers (who ROCK) and do a little dancing. But the whole time, instead of feeling the overwhelming guilt of staring at a computer screen for 12 hours a day instead of hanging out with the kids (in fairness, there were more volunteers than children during the trip...I can't say that I was missed) I felt accomplished. I managed to cram tons of information into my head that was actually...dare I say...helpful in some way. It seemed like such a first, since I used to spend so much time at my old job poking around on the Internet to distract myself from my job. Maybe this is just what happens when your life becomes your job.

Celebrating Death....

These past three weeks have been, in a word, a nightmare. I just learned this word in Spanish (there are lots of words I just don't learn because I can use something else to describe them...nightmare/bad dream, all the same when I'm crazy-talking in Spanish), so I think that its a fitting adjective. We had a new crop of volunteers come in (they're cool) and we had the big event (the PR Director in me is saying IT WAS GREAT; the crazy-sensitive-sleepdeprived-caterer in me is saying not so much). Needless to say, we are not a well oiled machine. But looky looky at my beautiful food:And my beautiful ladies in their beautiful dresses:

Does anything else really matter, if you're wearing a new black dress? I think not.

Once the event was over, and I stopped feeling like a lunatic, our next big stress was the move. The organization finally has an office in the center. For anyone who has been reading this from the beginning, our old office was a house in the Santiago equivalent of Flushing, Queens. Or "the chucha" if you want to be vulgrrr about it. I lived there, for a while on a mattress on the floor that made me what to cry. "We" decided that living with 8 people, and trying to work in an incoveniently located house was maybe not the best for business. So! "We" rented a three-bedroom apartment, which is our new home/office. "We" are the administration of a non-profit and "we" are getting more and more official every day!

Of course, as things go, our big move came on an even bigger day for Chile, and for Latin America. Pinochet, former dictador, died on December 10th. We were standing in the house, taking furniture out onto the lawn to wait for the Flete when we got the call. "Pinochet is dead. Be prepared for some celebrations in Plaza Italia." Which is, of course, exactly where our new office is.

We moved our furniture in, with the help of some insanely nice building men, as the noise from the plaza swelled and swelled. At first, random shouts and chants. Over two hours there was a unified presence of Communists, Socialists and random young people celebrating the end of an era.

I walked out to the Plaza, at first just to see what was going on. We walked down the street to have a drink, and sat in a little schoperia watching the people stream down Alameda throwing confetti and drinking Escudo. Later, we joined the crowd (awesome fotos to come) for a while, just as they starting singing "Cumpleaños Feliz". And I got really uncomfortable.

Agosto Pinochet was a dictator, who tortured and killed thousands of people. Under his regime, Socialists and Communists were taken from their homes and families, never to be seen again. Last week I visited Villa Grimaldi, the most famous torture site in Santiago. Its an eerie place, recently turned into a park (Parque de la Paz) and open to the public. You can take a walking tour guided by an actual survivor, who describes in detail what went on there. If you want to find out more about Villa Grimaldi, or Pinochet, click here: http://www.villagrimaldicorp.cl/ (they have a site in English).

I've never been happy that someone died before. I've never felt compelled to take to the streets and mock a dead person's family, and mark the day as one of celebration. Its difficult to explain the effect that Pinochet had on this country, or the fact that half of its citizens are currently mourning him while others are declaring victory over evil. Most dictators are revered and loathed simlutaneously, or else they wouldn't be in power to begin with. But even after hearing the horror of what happened under his rule, and talking to people who lived through, I still can't help but feel pangs of guilt for cheering and dancing and singing because and old man died.

So I went home.

Vacation, all I ever wanted

Thinking about the next two weeks is giving me little twitches, so I decided that I needed a little vacation.

The wonderful thing about Chile is that you are always close to the beach. When your country is shape like a snake, and lines the coast, the ocean is always just a two hour drive. Or bus ride. I'd like to take this opportunity to tell you about Chile's (or Santiago's, I should say) fantastic bus system:

1) You can take a trip on a fancy, semi-cama (half-bed) bus for less than $10. Buses always leave on time. They will leave without you. However, they will also stop if run after them screaming and holding an ice cream pop. Of course, ice cream pop is optional.

2) You can drink on the bus. In fact, you could have a romantic dinner for two in your semi-cama seats. I suggest: Roast chicken, steamed carrots, chocolate chip cookies and a nice carmenere in a nalgene bottle. I am all class.

3) The bus station is the absolute greatest place in the world to get to know the locals. You can get to know some very colorful phrases about the female anatomy. This trip is just such a learning experience.

A few more travel tips:

4) When approached by an old paco(carabiniero)/young paco team for a traffic violation, chances are you are not going to talk your way out of it. Especially if you speak perfect Chilean spanish. And are 6 feet tall and look like a Mormon. And don't have breasts. If you are going to break any traffic laws in Chile, its best to be a girl and not speak Spanish. Trust.

5) When in a Chilean bar (and this is very important) always assume that one golpeado of tequilla is worth two American shots. This is infinitely important when trying to adhere to the "three tequillas, too many tequillas" rule. Also, just because Luke's mom says its ok, you still shouldn't drink tequilla out of a tumbler.

6) Dancing is always ok.

7) Always Always Always ask a neighbor for keys, if you find that yours are not working. This is infinitely important, and doing so can avoid situations like this:

Careful viewing above the above photo will alert you to the fact that the fence next to me is padlocked, as was every other door to our little house in Algorrobo (a ocean-side resort town, slightly more down to earth than Vina del Mar, where we spent the day). You'd think that three good friends could figure out some way to open the gate (or turn on the gas, but that's another thing altogether). We couldn't. You know who could? Juan, our neighbor. Of course, he didn't tell us this until this morning, as we were making our last climb OUT of the house. We also never asked.

8) Whether or not you are a beach person (which I'm not. I find the woods to be much more serene) there are certain things that will always make you happy. One of them is the sunset by the pier, with a good friend, and a cold Escudo.

Thanks Chile!