Community

They said time would go fast. For some reason I didn't believe it. Instead I had an image of these four months as the longest of my life...an invented image of a place void of solid people or places but full of time that would constantly surround me and remind me I was far away. Now I am in a real Chile with vivid colors and tastes, with a real bed I lie in every night and real food and beer that are putting real weight on my body. I am becoming friends with real people whose personalities are engraining themselves into my new image of this place. And time is not surrounding me, intimidating me. It has started to evade me, its absence has started to intimidate me. It is flying. Soaring. Getting lost in the crevices around the city. Maybe time is somewhere in the abyss with my lost credit card (my second lost credit card).

Tonight (or more like in early morning) the moon moves from Capricorn to Aquarius. 

The Moon in Capricorn inspires our ambitions. Time to build, dig, organize, and make practical progress on a dream.

The Moon in Aquarius connects us to our community, reminds us that we are in this together. 

I need to soak up the Capricorn and embrace the Aquarius. Right now the group is working on our proposals for our independent projects. I gotta dig in and organize so I can realize my dream for my project (more on that later)! I also need to take a minute to remember the awesome connections that I have, back home and here, and appreciate the people that make up my community. Love you all!

Speaking of community, this past weekend the crew went on two different excursions to two distinct communities. On Friday instead of class, we headed to a población, or the projects. What I thought was going to be an awkward outing of "look gringos, poor people!" was actually really great (and not awkward). This particular población was a project in social living, where there was a big communal  three-story apartment building. Ironically in Valpo, the poorer people, living farther up on the hills, have the best views in the city, and this particular group of people has the best one that I've seen. 

On Sunday, we were warmly welcomed into an urban community of Mapuches (an indigenous group of Chile). The point was to volunteer with them for a day, but we did minimal work while they fed us, played music for us, taught us their field-hockey-esque game, and did I mention fed us? A lot. Sopapillas (with a higher fried dough density than the Mexican version). Pebre (an awesome pico de gallo sauce). Soup. Bread (unfried). Empenadas (traditional Chilean food -- made by hand with help from some of us).  And more sopapillas; they were overflowing from baskets on the table. Throughout the day we played various sports: a game of fútbol with some kids, some basketball, and later we learned pelin, a traditional Mapuche game that is completely hazardous to your shins....but fun. At the end of the day we danced a little queca, the traditional Chilean partner dance. Although they didn't have much actual work for us to do, I think it was very valuable to them to be able to share their culture, which they are intent on preserving. And of course, it was a valuable community-based experience for us as well. Here's a little preview of me making a fool of myself with the queca. Besos!

A Day in the Life of Liza (or Laysa, Lie-sa, Lisa, Licey)...

...I'll answer to anything. Or nothing, depending on how congested my brain is when you're addressing me.

So, I'm starting my fourth week here and starting to have a bit of a regular schedule; nothing too set in stone, but there have been some consistencies.

After snoozing through my alarm that goes off at 7, I roll out of bed at 8. Yes family, I know this might come as a shock to you, but I am waking up this early. My neighbor Rachel and her padre pick me up for school. He drives us to La Plaza Victoria down the hill, where we catch a collectivo to Casa SIT --- our house-turned-school and program headquarters. Our Spanish classes are in full swing now, four hours every morning. For these, my group is divided into four smaller classes, each led by two professors. The seminars have also started and are held in the afternoon at the Universidad de Santa Maria. We hike up miles of stairs to reach our classroom but are rewarded with a school that looks like a castle and an awesome panoramic view of the bay. And I couldn't really tell ya (due to a slight language barrier) but I believe we're also rewarded with a lecture about different aspects of Chilean culture inside the castle-school. Ok, ok, actually the topics are pretty great --- so far, Economy, Education, Indigenous People, and Environment ---but my comprehension is not.

My Spanish, or at least my own perception of my use of the language, fluctuates. I'm in a "I suck at this" phase currently, but the only way to move out of this is to keep talking. And I've already had some, "Oh, I can talk, kinda!" days too. With every new word, new phrase, new world view, new song, new neighborhood and cafe comes a realization that there is just that much more still out there. At times this is daunting and others inspiring.

This morning I jumped in a collectivo with a feeling of ease. Once settled in and paid-up, I casually asked how the driver was and started a conversation, "For my class I need to bring a new chilenismo every day. Do you have any ideas?"
"Si...?" Silence. Silence.
"For example, a word that chilenos use?" I offered.
"Eh?"
"A word from Chile." 
"Eh?"
Again. Man, is my Spanish that bad this morning?
"Oh, yeah," he said, "There's a lot of them."
Silence.
Silence.
Silence.
And then he dropped me off at the completely wrong street, apparently not having understood even that.

On the other hand, a couple days ago a woman asked me -- gringa me -- for directions on my hill. And I understood her. And I knew how to answer her.

Happy people surround me daily. The Casa SIT is filled with them, both the students and the teachers. During breaks, lunch, and any in-between time the school hums while we plow through the tea and coffee selection in our little kitchen and eagerly converse, telling the latest stories from our homestays and making plans for after class. My family is awesome too. I couldn't be more content with my living situation here. My brothers are so sweet -- so 14 and 15 -- but so sweet. They're here when I get back from school and like to stay in their room on their computers but will also humor me and enthusiastically answer my dorky older sister questions. My mamá chilena is sweet too. Lately, she hasn't been letting me get away with just nodding and smiling when she says something and will demand, "Ok, what did I say?" with a smile and little head tilt until I summarize or admit I have no idea. And ever since the first day when I explained that my family calls me Lizee*, she's called me Licey in a great accent.

I'm definitely missing my real family, missing the original "Lizee-lou" from Mom and Dad (but it's actually them you gotta worry about, about to be empty nesters...again), and wishing I could be roadtripping with Katie to Pennsylvania in a couple days....but I haven't been hit with culture shock, and I've been feeling real good. Few!

Abrazos



*Right before I left for Chile my family was debating how to spell this. Mom, you like this version?

Valparaiso

I think I finally know how to pronounce Valparaíso. I don't know if any of you noticed, maybe were just to kind to point out, that before I left I didn't even know how to say the name of the place that I was going to be living in for at least 2 1/2 months. I tried many combinations of consonants and vowels, sometimes adding some (Valaparaiso), sometimes omitting some (Valpariso). And since I've been here, I've been glad for the nickname "Valpo." However, last night, a fellow gringa broke it down for me. Val-para-iso. And then you throw it all together and try to roll your "r" a bit. Valparaíso.
Valparaíso --- with its port and poetry, with its discotecas and hippie bars, with its filth and its art, everywhere art, trash, graffiti, art--- has the charm of a musician, the slightly mysterious beauty of a gypsy, the grunge of a sailor, and the smooth voice like a sweet-talker. And I am falling for its flirtations. I can see why so many are in love.

I am not in love with the steep walk up Cerro Florida that brings me to my house. But I do love the views on the way up and the way all the colorful houses seem to cascade down the hills into the sea. And I'm amused at the streets that put manuel drivers in San Francisco to shame. I'm annoyed by the catcalls on the street and even the innocent need people have to point out (literally) that there are gringos walking by -- Chileans are not known for their
political correctness. But they are known to be friendly, and I love the way strangers will go out of their way to guide you somewhere instead of giving you hasty directions, how our Chilean brothers will accompany us to our destinations at night so we get there safely, how older women, regardless if you know them, will refer to you as mi hija, and how people gently correct your Spanish whether you're at home or downtown.

 

Faces in an alley, done by more
well-known graffiti artists

And I love, love, love all the art. Murals crawl down alleys and dance on store-fronts. Spray-painted faces ride the micros and tower above pedestrians at the port. "Official" and "unofficial" paintings share walls and mix in the street. Here are some of my favorite from an excursion my class took to the port.                

Acensor Artilleria painted during
the night

"I confess that I've drank"
painted on a church

                                        

Week One: Check ✓

It's 19:28. Still really early by Chileno standard. Dinner's at least an hour away. I'm sitting on my bed with my window open, a breeze from the ocean traveling through my room on it's way up the hill.

I left off having not met my Chilean family yet. I lied when I said we were meeting them on Sunday. On Saturday morning we woke up at the hotel, signed our lives away on pieces of paper that said we understood all the information orientation had offered us, and packed up our rooms. From our hotel windows, we could see the group of host families growing, mingling, buzzing

My host mom, Pamela, and one of my host brothers, Sabastian (15), met me with the standard Chilean greeting -- a kiss on the right cheek -- but this particular greeting was charged with a lot more enthusiasm....and smiles. They whisked me away from the rest of the group, which I had become quite attached to by this point (not to worry, we still see each other every day), and we drove to our house in Valparaiso on Cerro Florida. Valparaiso is organized by a series of cerros (hills), and I live on one that is pretty central and hosts both the historical Casa de Pablo Neruda and an open air art museum.

Mi Casa

Across from my house

Around the corner from my house

I briefly met my other brother, Fabian (14) before he ran out the door to help a relative in the garden...
We had a big lunch including a glass of pisco sour and wine...
We met my abuela, who lives upstairs from us in our casa azul with Pamela's three brothers...
We bought cell phones with my fellow SITer and neighbor around the corner, Rachel, and her mama, Paula....
We jumped into a colectivo to practice getting to school....

And afterwards I passed out in my new bedroom while Pamela and Paula made tacos around the corner. I am still thankful for that pre-dinner nap. I wouldn't have been able to last through our dinner party -- or should I say our dinner-party-turned-dance-party that lasted until 4:30 in the morning -- without it. Oh man, our moms kept us up dancing all night!

Didn't get a very good pic; too busy dancing; Rachel's dad, Rachel, y yo

I just took a break from writing to eat dinner with my mama chilena in her room. Yes, it's taken me about  two hours to write this sucker (minus a short break to take pictures of my street). And yes, we all eat dinner together on my mama's bed...a cute little ritual that started because she doesn't like eating by herself in the dining room after her sons run off to their rooms when they're done eating.

On Sunday (after my whole family slept in until about 1:30, thank God) Rachel's mama and papa, Maurizio, took us to Reñaca, a beach town on Viña del Mar's north side. Maurizio's sister, who happens to be a yoga teacher, lives up the hill a bit in the neighborhood of my dreams. All dirt roads. Handmade houses made of completely recycled material and adobe. A dreaded man scooping horse poop with his son the yard of a dwelling that looks something that looks like tree house. Little kids running from house to house, knowing they're welcome in each one. We didn't end up running into the yogi tia, but did drink mate inside the house on the right with her fiance.

In Valparaiso, I feel like I am adjusting well. I'm accepting the fact that I sound like an idiot when I talk. And I look like an idiot when I'm standing on a busy street, awkwardly trying to wave down a colectivo while they drive towards me at 80 mph --- for example. And I'm getting very used to the head tilt and furrowed eyebrow with sympathetic eyes that say, Ay, Gringa. But it's ok. The other morning I was overcome with satisfaction when I walked down my hill to catch a ride to school. The sky was grey and the hill was empty except for equally grey pigeons flapping around and a couple of stray dogs surveying the street. I passed an abandoned lot overgrown with flowers. Whereas every other surface in the city is painted with graffiti, these eroding walls were left mostly unmarked, as if tagging an abandoned building is too obvious. Or as if the cascading purple flowers had already marked the territory. The morning seemed a little eery, but like I said, I only felt completely satisfied. Maybe it was the abundant colors of every building that counteract the grey. Or maybe I subconsciously knew that in a couple hours the clouds would burn off and I'd be lying on the beach in Viña. Oh, mi vida.

*Colectiva: a taxi, but cheaper because multiple people can jump in and it has a fairly fixed route.