The End

Well, here you have it. Five months in Chile has gone by in a blur and it is now time for me to depart and head back to the mother land. Unfortunately, my plans for leaving have kind of been thrown into an uproar since my counsins were diagnosed with the H1N1 virus. Yay! My aunt, uncle, and cousins were supposed to be leaving today and then I was to meet them in Santiago tomorrow, but then the boys got sick. By law they had to be isolated for 7 days after the diagnosis and so that threw the Bolick's travel plans out the window. We, and a lot of people back home, have been praying that none of us get it and have to delay the trip even further, but so far we are all still perfectly healthy and so grateful for all the people who have been praying for us. The family is now leaving next Sunday, and I am still leaving for Santiago tomorrow and the U.S. on Tuesday provided that I don't come down with the flu between now and then. It figures that I have been looking forward to this day for a long time and now that it's finally here I wish it wasn't. I think having to say goodbye to people does that to you. I have fallen in love with the people down here and I am going to miss them a ton. Yesterday my aunt and I went to a big gathering of all the Girls' Clubs in the area. Once a year they all get together and have a big day retreat where they can all get together and get to know each other. We were only there for about an hour just to say goodbye to everyone and to the girls, but that hour just about killed me. As soon as we walked in we were put up in front of all the girls to say our hellos and goodbyes and then they kept us in front to give us both a going away present and then they all stood up and sang a sending off song. It was so sweet and the both of us were standing there trying our best not to lose it. After they sang it was pretty much a mob to the front where we had to say goodbye to all the girls and the leaders and kiss everyone. It was wonderful, but it just makes me sad to have to leave. The other night some of the Bolick's good friends were over just to hang out and one of them paid me one of the highest compliments ever. He said that is was a shame I had to leave so soon because it was obvious that I belonged in their circle of friends. Five months really was a bad length of time. I have found that it takes about 5 months to really start to feel comfortable in another country and culture and to start finding your niche, but now that I have just started to feel comfortable and truly connected, it's time for me to leave. It really is a shame. I know that I have not always had the best attitude about this trip and my experiences here, but I do know that it was all worth it. God blessed me with this opportunity and I will never forget it. I am sure that I have grown and changed since I have been here, though I'm not sure I will really realize the extent of that until I get home. Either way, I am heading off tomorrow and will be home very shortly. I'm very excited to get home and see everyone, but I will definitely miss Chile and all of the people here who will always have a place in my heart.

Well, I have kind of lost track of time here and didn't even realize how long it had been since I have blogged. Yikes! Well, let's see. Things are going pretty well here. I'm getting out of the house a little more which has been great. There is a group of 10 English kids here for a couple months on a missions trip and I've gotten to hang out with them a bit which has been a lot of fun. When I say kids though, I mean two of them are my age and the rest are 18/19. The national dance of Chile is the cuaca and so I have been going to a cuaca class with these English kids for the past 3 weeks. It's just slightly ridiculous. You see, the cuaca is a dance of conquering. The man, a.k.a. the rooster, is trying to conquer the woman, a.k.a. the hen. Our instructors keep stressing the importance of maintaining eye contact with your partner, smiling, and, of course, flirting. Now, you tell a bunch of 18 year old English kids to maintain eye contact and flirt and you have a room full of very uncomfortable and giggly teenagers. It's kind of hysterical. Also, I don't know what it is, but there seems to be some kind of underlying social obligation, that whenever there is an English person and an American person hanging out together, they have to, at some point, have the whole "who is better" arguement. Now, usually, the person with homefield advantage wins, but we're on completely neutral turf here in Chile, which could hypothetically make this the SuperBowl, but the point is, we all have an equal chance of winning. Despite my best arguements, some of them viable some of them not, I still manage to lose just on account that there are 10 of them and only 1 of me. Unfair! This week, I was getting ready to dance a round with one of the guys and he said, "This is all wrong! She's American, she should be conquering me!" I pretty much died, but at the same time fulfilled my social obligation by acting fake offended. I have to say that there is nothing that will draw attention faster on the streets of Temuco than a bunch of white, and mostly blond, kids running around.

A Chilean's plan for Dani's life

About a month ago the family was going to be out of town on a weekend where I needed to stay in town and so, I was handed over to our friend/housekeeper, Erika, and her husband, Lord, to be looked after/babysat for the weekend. I was rather apprehensive about this stay in an all Spanish speaking house, but it turned out to be pretty fun. Sunday morning as we were eating breakfast before church, Lord, who is an extremely charismatic individual, came up with an entire plan for my life before breakfast was over. The whole thing started when he asked me what I studied in university. I told them I studied Media Communications and Theater, and that is where the wheels started turning in Lord's brain. First, a little historical background.

Chile was ruled by a dictator, Pinochet, from 1973-1990 and during his rule he closed many schools, art schools and regular schools combined. This means that not only do a lot of the people I meet here who grew up during that time have very limited education due to the fact that Pinochet closed down their school, but also, young people in Chile have grown up in a country with no real history of the arts.

With this in mind, Lord formed his plan. What I am going to do, according to Lord, is become a missionary to Chile with my mission being to open up a Christian Arts school for kids to come and learn about the arts and get Christian mentoring. I told him I only really studied theater, but this was of no discouragement to Lord Merino. Oh no. He just looked at me and said, "Well, you had to have learned to paint sets and all that stuff right?". I explained I took one class in technical theater. "Wonderful," he said. "You can teach acting, painting, sculpting, and I know you can sing and play guitar so you can teach that too!" Wonderful! All I could really do was sit there and listen to him and this grand plan he had for my life.

After breakfast we went to church where I was doing an English class for the girl's club. I have a couple English songs I teach all the clubs so I played the guitar and we had a little sing-a-long time. After church the Merinos had some friends come back to the house for lunch and while we were waiting for lunch, the ladies said to the men, "Oh goodness, you didn't get to hear Dani sing in the girl's club this morning! Quick! Pull out the guitar and we'll have her sing to everyone!" So, there I was, serenading everyone before lunch quickly followed by Lord explaining to the company his plan for my life. Come evening, a different couple and their son came over for dinner and I was once again made to serenade the group, yikes, and Lord once again explained my life calling. I noticed throughout the day that his plan, and my experiences had quickly been growing and expanding. At breakfast, Lord had an idea for my life, by lunch it was a plan, and by dinner it was my calling. Also, at breakfast I had studied communications and theater, by lunch the communications part no longer mattered and I had only studied theater, and by dinner I was an actor. I was a little worried that I had somehow given them the wrong impression and led them to think I was actually a professional actor in the states, but my aunt assured me that this is just a cultural thing. In Chile, what you study is what you are. It doesn't matter if you have actually worked as that a day in your life, but if you study it and have a degree in it, then that is what you are. You study Political Science, like my aunt, and you're a political scientist; Journalism and you're a journalist; Biology and you're a biologist; Theater and you're an actor. Thankfully, I survived the weekend and the steam has kind of gone out of my "life calling", but I now know that if I am ever at a loss for what to do in my life, or just need someone to run promotions work for me, Lord and Erika Merino are the people to call.

Tomorrow is my cousin Jack's 10th birthday and so last night he had two friends over to spend the night and have their own little birthday party. Unfortunately, this party just happened to coincide with my uncle being out of town and my aunt having a meeting here at the house. The job, therefore, fell to me to take the boys to the mall and entertain them for a few hours. Thankfully, my aunt suggested I take along one of my own friends to help balance out the madness that is three 10 year old boys. The day started with the ever so popular game, "Dani chasing the boys around the house and trying to catch them accompanied by trumpets of laughter and screaming". Once everyone was officially worn out, me included, we headed to the mall. The mall here is less than 5 years old and is complete with a kids adventure center, movie theater, and mini bowling alley. Jack loves bowling so we took his friends for a rousing bowling game. As far as I know, this is the only bowling alley in town and the people of Temuco, and possibly Chile in general, have grown up with absolutely no working knowledge of bowling and how it is to be played. As much good as it does for my self-esteem to be automatically viewed as a tremendous bowler, it is a little sad to watch the young and old alike not having a clue how to hold, let alone throw, a bowling ball. Our first young man, Felipe, would stand back at the starting line, swing the ball behind his back, then hold it behind him in his outstretched arm till he got up to the throwing line. Then, he would violently swing it forward and let go at such a point as the ball would go straight up in the air and then proceed to come violently crashing down onto the floor and head for the gutter. My friend threw with her body completely sideways and Jack's other friend, well, it's hard to pin-point exactly what his problem was. After bowling, we walked around the arcade for a while before heading back home. When we got back to the house, it was almost 8:30 and time for pizza and a movie. Needless to say, I didn't get to bed till late, and the boys even later. The difference is that I didn't get up 10:30 while they got up at 7. This of course meant that we had 3 1/2, I'm including my 4 year old cousin William as the half, very tired boys who claimed they weren't tired still wanting another rousing game of "Dani chasing the boys around the house and trying to catch them accompanied by trumpets of laughter and screaming" and Dani and Aunt Barb counting down the minutes till the boys went home and we could crash. Basically, great birthday, but I'm exhausted and need to go to bed. Nighty night!

My "pop" across the border

When I entered the Chile I was given a 90 day tourist visa. Well, Saturday was day 90 for me so I needed to either pay $100 to renew it, or simply "pop" over the border to Argentina and get another 90 days upon my return. Sounds simple enough right? Wrong.

Thursday and Friday were a holiday in Chile and so we took advantage of this time to take a little family vacation into the mountains close to the Argentinian border so we could have a little fun and renew my visa in one trip. We got to the beautiful little mountain town of Malalcahuello on Wednesday and checked into a very quaint and beautiful Swiss hostel run by actual Swiss people. Really fun. The next morning my uncle and I got up early, had breakfast, and began what we though would be a 2, maybe 3, hour trip across the border. First of all, it took us an hour to get to the border in a huge rain storm, and when we finally got there it was unlike anything I could have expected. I'm used to crossing the international border between Canada and the U.S. where you just drive through a nice little check point and bang, you're done. Not so at this border crossing. First you have to stop at the Chilean custom office, pull over, and go in the building. Now, contrary to what I had thought, this wasn't actually the border. No no. This was just the check point to leave Chile. I had to wait in line and get a nice little stamp in my passport saying that I had left Chile. Then, we had to get back in the car and drive an additional 15 miles to the border, and an additional 3 to get to the Argentinian check point. My uncle couldn't go across the border for some reason so he pulled over and let me go in while he just sat in the car. When I got into the office there were about 25 people in front of me in line with one man getting them through. Not to mention the fact that the power was out so he was trying to do all this in the dark, with no computer, and just writing information down on pieces of paper. When I finally got to the front of the line I had to try and explain to this man in my rough Spanish why I wanted to go into Argentina, turn around, and leave. It did not go smoothly, but at least the power came back on while I was talking to him. He stamped my passport saying I had entered Argentina and then I had to go outside, turn around and come in the other side of the building. By this time I was getting very funny looks from the rest of the border crossing officials and had to go through the entire process again to leave Argentina. I was in there for an hour and a half with me just standing in line and my poor uncle waiting for me in the car. We then had to get back in the car and drive the 18 miles back to the Chilean office to re-enter Chile before the process was over. We were gone for 6 hours! Yikes!

Thankfully though the town of Malalcahuello is known for its hot springs. Oh yeah! After the stressful and disastrous trip across the border, we all went to the hot springs and had a wonderful time hanging out at the lovely Swiss hostel. Overall, great little holiday, but if anyone ever says to just "pop" over the border to renew your visa, do the opposite and just pay the fee.

How to shock a Chilean

There are many differences I have noticed between the U.S. and Chile. I have mentioned some of these, but what I often forget is that Chileans find our culture just as odd as I find there's. And so, in light of these revelations, I have compiled an ever growing list of things I do, and have done, that end up shocking a Chilean.

#1: Smile and say good morning to a person you pass on the street.
This is never, ever, under any circumstances done. Chileans are taught, and brought up, to blend in. Unless they are just the worst kind of social rebels, their hair, clothes, and even the way they carry themselves is designed to blend in with the rest of the population. This is somewhat a reflection on the collective culture they have as opposed to our vastly individualistic culture. In the U.S., every individual is valued and wants to stand out. So, if you are walking on the street or in the mall in the U.S. and you happen to make eye contact with a stranger in passing, it is perfectly acceptable to smile and say hello or in someway acknowledge the other person's presence. This is not done in Chile. You ignore people and they ignore you. That's just the way it's done. I have forgotten this many a time and find myself making eye contact and smiling with strangers I pass on the street. They look at me like I've got a third eye or they're scared I'm going to mug them.

#2: Unexpectedly make a funny face.
I think this goes along with the whole "not wanting to stand out" thing, but also the fact that Chileans are very well put together people. We are extremely sloppy in comparison. This is probably more of a Western U.S. thing than an entire U.S. thing, but the women here will get all dressed up to go to the grocery store. Not trying to look your best is a wonder to them. You combine this with the fact that you are purposefully trying to make yourself look terrible, and you have one shocked Chilean. My mom's family has something they call the Stroup Sloop. (See picture below for reference.) Ridiculous, yes, but my cousins think it's hysterical and they now have me show all the adult Chileans who come over. You would think I had just thrown up on their shoes. They get this look that says, "Oh my gosh! Why would you do that? Oh, put that away! Put that away!" Funny faces. Good way to shock a Chilean.

#3: Tell them where I went to college.
As a part of the collective culture, family is extremely important to Latin Americans. I am beginning to appreciate and like this aspect of the culture, though it is extremely foreign to us North Americans. It is extremely common for unmarried men or women in their 30's to still be living at home. If they don't have a reason to go, why would they? This is the mindset, and parents will hold on to their kids like there is no tomorrow. In normal conversations with people, they'll ask me about college. What did I study, what was the name of the school, and then the, what they mean as a rhetorical question, "and you lived at home with your parents?" I then have to interrupt them and correct their assumption that I had lived at home while I went to college. They are surprised. "Really? Well you were in same state though right?" I then have to tell them that I went to college in Canada and 3000 km away from my house. Oh my word. As soon as they hear this they look equally fascinated and horrified that at the tender age of 18 I went 3000 km away from home to go to school, and that my parents had let me on top of that! Every time I mention this to our housekeeper she shakes her head, says "Not my son! He's my baby. He's staying at home with me forever.", and holds an imaginary 20 year old Gustavo to her chest. I always love when people ask me about my college experience because I know what is going to come next and enjoy it immensely.

There are many odd differences that I've noticed between Chile and the U.S. One that I find particularly interesting is that though I can sort of/kind of play the guitar, I wouldn't be able to play a song if a Chilean handed me a song with all the chords. This is because they actually have different names for music notes down here. I thought it was pretty much a standard thing, but evidently I was wrong. Instead of using the C-D-E-F, etc. system, they actually named their notes Do-Ra-Mi-Fa-So-La-Ti-Do. So crazy. One of the men here kept telling me to play the Fa chord and I had no idea what he was talking about. I had to count it out on my fingers to figure it out. "Oh, you want me to play an F"? Then he didn't know what I was talking about. As far as I knew the whole Do-Ra-Mi thing came from Sound of Music, but evidently I was wrong.

Another interesting thing is the way they view black people. It's quite shocking for someone like me who grew up learning about racial prejudice in a country with a vast history of racism. Chile on the other hand never had slavery. Correction, they did have slavery, but since the Spaniards enslaved the native people when they came they had no need to bring in slaves from Africa. For this reason, there are no black people in Chile. Well, there may be some, but they are either visiting from Brazil, who did enslave Africans, or their family has immigrated here. Either way, you will be hard pressed to find any black people in Chile. Because there is no negative history between Chileans and Africans, unlike the U.S., they have a very innocent and different way of viewing them. For instance, a common pet name for people with darker skin tones is Negrito/a. A local pastor calls his wife negrita because she has darker skin than he does. This isn't a derogatory term or a put down in any way, it's just a statement of fact that they have dark skin. We went to a lunch on Saturday where they served chocolate cake for dessert. The lady across from me held up her piece, told me it was African cake, and started laughing. I didn't get it, but I laughed as if I had. My aunt then leaned over to me and said it was because the cake was black. As much as I wanted to think this comment was in extremely bad taste, she reminded me that since they have no concept of being racist against blacks, that this was a perfectly acceptable comment to make.

My big boo-boo.

I know I'm doing one blog post right after another, but I feel like this story deserves it's own post. So, my 9 year old cousin Jack is on the track club at his school. They have a race coming up and he's concerned that he won't be in good enough shape to run the race. My aunt suggested that if I could take him running twice a week we could build up his confidence so he would feel good about the upcoming race. I thought this was a great idea and that it would help me stay in shape too. So, I went and picked him up from one of his clubs this afternoon and we went on a run. We picked a destination goal that was about 1.7 km away that we were going to try and reach. I figured we would shoot high since his race is only 800 meters. We set off and actually made it all the way to our goal! He's really in good shape, but he just needs to boost his confidence a bit. We went at a pretty good pace the whole way and only had three brief stops. First, we had to stop after about 2 blocks because he was having MP3 player issues. Then, naturally, we had to stop at crosswalks and the like, but the third time we had to stop was a slightly bigger deal. You see, while we were running, the headphone jack came out of my iPod. I didn't want to stop again to put it back in so I just stuck my hand in my pocket and tried to plug it back in without having to break stride. This was slightly distracting to my overall running coordination and so when I happened to step on the tiniest of cracks in the sidewalk I did one of the more impressive face plants of my life. OK, it actually wasn't that bad. It was more of an awkward/embarrassing stumble and fall with minor scrapes on my palms and knees. I quickly rolled over on my back to compose myself, catch my breath, and make sure everything was where it should be before getting up. While Jack was busy laughing at me and watching me lay there in the dirt, he suddenly looked up and said, "Um, there are two guys running over here to help you". Uh oh. I quickly sat up so as to make sure I was no longer giving the impression that I had fallen and couldn't get up, then turned around to face these two men who were coming to my aid and realized they weren't just men who had been out walking, seen me fall, and were coming to check on me. Oh no. These were two men who had been driving down the one lane one-way street, seen me fall and subsequently not get up, stop in the middle of the road, abandon their car, and run over to help the poor little gringa who had fallen over. Meanwhile, their car is still sitting in the middle of the street with the doors wide open and blocking traffic with about 5 cars stuck behind it. I don't think I have ever seen a more concerned look on anyone's face before in my life. They didn't even care about all the traffic they had just stopped, but were only concerned with making sure I was OK. As cute and chivalrous as this was, it was also extremely embarrassing as I desperately tried to convince them I was actually fine so they could get back in their car and get traffic moving again. As soon as they had driven off, Jack and I started laughing, and laughed for the next four blocks of our run.

So, after a hugely busy week last week where I had to attempt to do about 2 weeks worth of work in 6 days, I'm back on track, getting more sleep, and fully recovered. We do a lot of travelling over the weekends so there is no guarantee that you're ever going to get to rest you need on the weekends, but thankfully I was able to get some much needed sleep the past couple days. We were planning on travelling this weekend and being gone for almost three days, but unfortunately I am not going to be able to join them. With all of the girl's clubs that my aunt has going, she thought it would be a good idea if every week I went to a different club and did a little English workshop with the girls. I really liked the idea and so far it's been a blast. (The last one I went to all the girls mobbed me and started jumping up and down chanting "Tia Dani! Tia Dani!". It was really cute) I had another club this Saturday when we're supposed to be up in the mountains so the whole family is going up without me. I was actually kind of looking forward to this and hoping that this would mean I could have the house to myself for the weekend. I could go hang out with some friends and just get to be by myself for a change. No such luck. My aunt finally laid out the plan this afternoon and said that since they obviously couldn't leave me in the house alone, (I don't know where she got this ridiculous notion), that I would be staying with the housekeeper and her husband for the weekend. This could be fun, but I'm a little nervous about staying somewhere where the only known English phrase is "Please close the door". It should be fun and good experience, but I'm getting a little tired of being drug around. I'm feeling the need to be a little more independant than I feel like I have the freedom to be. Since my aunt and uncle have never really had any contact with me, especially as an adult, a lot of the time I feel like I'm 12. A bit frustrating, but other than that I'm really having a great time. I have a lot more stuff to do now and that feels good. I hate feeling useless.

My War on Pests

Today was a very, um, interesting day. First of all, I am happy to report that one of the little friends who has been crawling around in my walls is deceased. How do we know this you might ask? The easy answer would be that he followed in his crazy friend's footsteps and come out into the yard to die where we can see him and dispose of him accordingly. Unfortunately, this is not the case. How else can you determine that you have a dead rat? You use your other senses of course. In this case, our sense of smell. Our housekeeper opened the door to the laundry room and had her senses assailed by the intoxicating scent of decomposing rat. It leaves much to be desired I assure you. We promptly got on the horn to the exterminator people to have them come and remove our stinky friend from the attic of the laundry room. As soon as Mr. Helpful exterminator arrived he removed the panel which allows access to the attic and very quickly came to the conclusion that there was no way he could reach said rat. Thank you Mr. Helpful. A quick call later and we had the neighborhood caretaker, Juan, at the door with a ladder to assist Mr. Helpful in the taking off of the laundry room roof to continue the search from above.

In the meantime, the housekeeper, Erika, and I began a different attack in my room, which just happens to be adjacent to the laundry room. I'm sure the vast majority of North Americans have had a chigger bite at one point or another. They're those little red bites you get sometime in the night that itch for a couple days and go away. Obnoxious, but not earth shattering. (I have had a chigger infestation for the last 2 weeks and wake up every morning with at least 5 new bites.) However, I am sure the vast majority of North Americans have never had a flea bite. Flea bites are bright red, the size of a very large mosquito bite, hard, and itch. When I say they itch, I mean they ITCH. It's not an annoying itch, it's a burning, "oh my gosh I'm on fire!" kind of itch that makes you want to gnaw off whatever limb is unfortunate enough to have the bite. I also have fleas. Erika's and my war this afternoon was against these fleas and chiggers. All my clothes and sheets had to be washed, my blankets are being sent to the laundromat, Raid was sprayed in all the corners, and Eucalyptus oil was sprayed on every surface. The room was then locked up for the day to let the fumes do their work. We'll see how it works.

Back to the rat. Finally having got the roof off, Mr. Helpful dropped down into the attic to fetch the rat. He surfaced with no rat in hand, they re-boarded up the roof, and climbed down. This can't be good. Sure enough, there was no dead rat in the attic which means it has died somewhere under the building or in the walls. Our worst fears have been realized. Unless we want to completely rip apart the floor and the walls, there is nothing that can be done and we have 5 more fun filled days of decomposing rat to do laundry to. Lucky us. Thankfully, the smell hasn't reached my room yet and will hopefully stay away, otherwise I'll be moving into the main house for the next few days. Welcome to Chile!

My Wildlife

There is a great deal of spectacular wildlife in Chile. There is a bird that is all around, even in the city, that is just gorgeous. As is typical in every Latin American country there is also an abundance of stray dogs. I heard that it was due to the lack of rabies in dogs and therefore there is a lack of motivation on behalf of the government to control the population. In my own life and experience, I get to have a very close interaction and relationship with two of God’s creatures in particular: rats and fleas. Every night we all snuggle down together for a night of not so sound sleep. The rats have been living in my walls since I got here so we are well acquainted, but the fleas are the newcomers. They’ve only been around for a couple weeks. Allow me to elaborate. I’ll begin with the rats.

The city of Temuco, and probably the rest of Latin America, has a severe rat infestation. If anyone ever tells me that rats should be put on the endangered species list I will have to laugh and promptly smack them in the face. The rats live in the sewers and everyone is in a constant battle to keep them from coming up and infiltrating the rest of the world. For this reason, the wealthier neighborhoods have trash pick up every day. When there is no trash for them to smell or get at, they stay put; at least that’s the theory. As I mentioned, I have had rats living in my walls for who knows how long, but I have been living with them for the past 6 weeks. My Aunt put "call the exterminator" on her To Do list, but was prompted to move it up when a rat wandered out into the yard this past Friday. Now, the only reason a rat would wander into the middle of a yard in broad daylight would be to die. Evidently, when a rat has been poisoned they will come out of their hole and die outside. Well, this rat was evidently not doing well. He would sit still in the yard until we were convinced he was dead, then jump up and wander drunkenly around the yard till he found another good place to sit for a while. This routine lasted all day. None of us could figure out why, since he had obviously been poisoned, it wouldn’t just die. We watched all day until it finally made it’s way back around to it’s hole, which just happens to be under my room, and crawled in. The exterminator finally came and was as handy as eating ice cream with chopsticks. We finally called the neighborhood caretaker and he said that when the same type of poison is used year after year, the rats get accustomed to it and instead of dying they just go absolutely bonkers. He said the crazy one had wandered into his yard, where it was "taken care of", but he had some friends around. Now we have to change our poison, but in the meantime he gave me an ultrasonic speaker that is supposed to drive them out. Well, it’s been a few days and it still sounds like they’re doing a midnight square dance, but they’re not happy. Don’t ask me how I know, but I can tell they’re angry. Till we find something that works I just have to keep banging on the walls to get them to shut up and let me go to sleep.

This brings me to the fleas. Now, I do not have fleas. I am quite hygienic thank you very much, but hygiene in the country and with the people we visit in the country leaves something to be desired. Sometime during our last visit to the country I brought some fleas back with me, which quickly settled into my bed, and I now have at least twenty lovely little flea bites. We just sprayed my bed this afternoon so we’ll see how that goes.

My Cultural Deep End

On Wednesday my aunt and I traveled to the remote Mapuche community of Trilawapi, (don’t hold me to that spelling), to help women from the last of the three weaving groups in the area. This community is located in one of the most beautiful places I have ever been. They are in the heart of the Andes mountains at the foot of a volcano. My aunt warned me that these people were extremely poor, but very hospitable. Anytime you visit a Mapuche home they are insistent on feeding you. Depending on their situation, this could range from a little meat to a huge plate of rice with a hot dog or egg on top. If we do get meat in a Mapuche home then we more than likely got their meat for the month. Regardless of what they put in front of you though, you have to eat it. There was a fair chance we would get meat on this visit though because a pack of pumas had come down from the higher mountains and killed, not eaten, but killed a herd of sheep in the community. They owners didn’t have a choice but to divide the sheep between the rest of the families.

The roads in this area are nearly impassible by car and so we had to park at the top of a very large hill and hike down to the house. When I say hike, I mean that for the first half we were practically sliding down on our behinds it was so steep. Our guide took us over several rustic wooden fences and through several small fields. We got to the house, which by North American standards would be a run down shed, sat down at the table, and our guide, Tomas, offered us some chicha, (apple cider). Now, there are two kinds of chicha. There is chicha dulce, (sweet apple cider), and chicha fuerte, (hard apple cider). He didn’t mention what kind it was, nor did we think to ask, but he poured us two large glasses. I was a little wary to drink mine, but my aunt all but chugged hers. When I saw she was fine, I took a gulp and did my very best not to make a lemony pucker face. Not only was it rather tart, but it was also well on its way to fuerte. I managed to get my first glass down and, for reasons still unknown to me, accepted when Tomas offered to refill our glasses. We took our time with this glass, and when we finished we notice something. You see, it was about 3:00 in the afternoon and neither of us had eaten since breakfast at 9 that morning. We drank two glasses of chicha fuerte on completely empty stomachs. My head was just slightly spinning.

When lunch came, sure enough, we all had a piece of lamb, a leg of a chicken, and 3 small roasted potatoes. Not to mention tomato salad and a basket of home made bread which had been made just for us. It was a ton of food! Halfway through they brought out the traditional bread of the Mapuche, also made specifically for us, and is evidently very labor intensive. Of course, we had to eat a piece. After lunch, Tomas, one of my uncle’s bee keepers, brought some of the honey he had just harvested. We split another large piece of bread to try the honey. By this time, I was about to pop I was so full. This, plus my lightheadedness from the chicha, led me to start considering what the culturally polite way would be to excuse myself and go throw up. Once we had forced down the bread and honey, wouldn’t you know it but they brought out some corn dumplings! After half an hour, and numerous refusals to drink more chicha, my aunt made a highly sarcastic comment about how they never feed her. Haha! Unfortunately, she had forgotten that sarcasm has not reached Chile, nor the people living in the mountains. Sure enough, 10 minutes later we both had a fried egg sitting in front of us. We were about to be sick already, but somehow managed to swallow that thing.

It was beginning to get dark and we needed to head out because we still had to walk back up the hill to the car. Despite our best efforts to excuse ourselves however, we couldn’t get out of there. They wanted us to stay the night and knew if they just gave us more chicha we wouldn’t be able to get up the hill. At one point, Tomas didn’t even ask, he got out two glasses and asked how much we wanted. My aunt said half a glass, and Tomas complied by filling them to the brim. We were finally able to get out of there just as the sun had gone behind the mountains. Getting up that hill, we were practically running to get up before dark. As soon as we got in the car, we looked at each other and cracked up. Even Barb said that was the worst food experience she had ever had and we were both sick for the rest of the night.

My broken heart

When I went out this last week to another community to dye wool, I was expecting somewhat of the same experience that I had with the first group of women in Lanco. I was anticipating a bit of a difference because Lanco is a small Chilean town, while the community we went to on Wednesday was a Mapuche community on one of their reservations. Needless to say, I was not prepared for what I saw there. This was not a jolly group of women all coming together for the communal experience of dyeing wool. This was a group of women who were coming together for the sake of their livelihood. In Lanco, the selling of wool, clothing, and weavings is more of a supplemental income they can bring home. Those women are married to working husbands and their involvement in the weaving project is a good way for them to ensure that their head stay above water. For the women in the Mapuche community of Repocura, this is their only source of income. Many of them are married, but their husbands aren’t working. These men can only get jobs as day laborers for construction companies, but with the global economic crisis, nothing is being built and there is no work for these men to do. It is now up to the women and their wool to bring money home. Unfortunately, with the state of the economy, their merchandise isn’t selling. These women live in conditions I have only read about. Most of them speak mainly Mapudungun and little to no Spanish. They live with the rats and the fleas, no electricity, and no access to clean water. Everyday they have to walk to a well to get water. In the summer time however, the well dries up and they have to get their water from the river. All of their washing and bathing is also done in the river.

This specific community has been the subject of numerous sociological case studies due to their inability to work together as a group. The women in this community fight, bicker, and back-stab each other constantly. Large missions organizations, like World Vision, have tried to help these people, only to ditch them when their efforts failed due to the women’s inability to get along with each other. My aunt and her mission came in as sort of a last hope for these women. She introduced them to the weaving project and before long they were fighting amongst themselves and trying to get each other kicked out of the weaving groups. One woman even bought another woman’s weaving, turned it in to my aunt as her own, and had it sold it in the states for twice what she bought it for. When all this started, my aunt had them all over to her house for dinner, sat them all down at the table, and had a little come to Jesus meeting. She explained to them that their bickering had driven off major organizations and she was the last chance they had to receive help from anyone. Basically, they had to learn to resolve their issues and keep their personal lives outside the weaving group or they would have no chance to succeed. Giving them the option to change for themselves and empowering them to solve their own issues without trying to solve the problems for them, enabled these women to rise up and form one of the most successful weaving groups.

Barb considers one of these women, Elcira, as one of the greatest successes from the weaving project. Elcira was orphaned at the age of 2 when her mother died. She was "raised", and I use the word loosely, by her older sister. By the time she was 14, she was already pregnant and living on her own. Barb suspects that this pregnancy did not come about from any relationship with a boyfriend. She lived with her son in a tin room in the country. At times, she was forced to go out in a field, pick grass, boil it, and feed the water to her son just to avoid starvation. She did survive, her son grew up, got married, and now she lives on the same property as her son, his wife, and their young daughter. She got involved in the weaving project and turned out to be, what Barb determines, an expert weaver. Of the 30 plus women involved in the project, there are only about 4 who would be deemed expert weavers. These women truly are artists while the rest of the work would be considered to be more artisan weavings. Elcira, is an artist. Her weavings sell immediately in the states for $100-$150. From the sales, she has been able to build herself a house, which is actually just a bigger room made of wood instead of tin, and use her old room as a workshop. She now has electricity and is awaiting the sale of more weavings in order to finally get water and glass windows put in. At the moment, the windows are just covered in plastic and she still has to walk to a well for water and bathe in the river.

These women are depending on this project for their livelihood and it broke my heart to see them so disheartened because they aren’t making any sales. People in the states are disappointed that they can’t afford as extravagant of a vacation this year because of the economy, when these women are wondering how they will feed themselves and their children if no one is buying their merchandise.

Busy, busy, busy

After a couple weeks of wandering around the house doing random little projects, feeding the boys, and being kind of an assistant to the housekeeper, my schedule has all of a sudden grown wings and flown off with me desperately trying to hang on. I now have on my schedule: teaching my cousin's English class twice a week, English tutoring with two girls once a week, traveling out to various locations to dye wool, preparing for various meetings, and traveling out to a different girl's club each week to do an English lesson. Great milk of magnesia! Thankfully I'm not teaching all of my cousin's English class as I previously thought. Since he already speaks English my aunt and uncle have gotten permission from the school to come in while the rest of his class is in English and do private spelling, reading, and pronunciation lessons with him. He's completely fluent, but since he has grown up speaking Spanish as well as English and the only English he has been exposed to in his life is spoken with a Texan accent, he has some trouble with his "r"s, but we're working on it.

Though I am enjoying my time here, I have been a little bored. The only social network I really have is my aunt, a 4 year old boy, and a group of women who get together once a week for tea. Even my aunt and uncle are saying that I need to get out and get a life. Don't get me wrong, I want to get a life, but it's just a little difficult and intimidating when I don't speak the language. I find it to be slightly helpful when you can actually talk to the people you're trying to befriend. Novel idea isn't it? Thankfully, the director of the boy's school has a couple daughters who have spent some time in the states and they have a group of young adults that get together. I'm going to visit their church on Sunday and hopefully get hooked up with a big of a social group while I'm here. For some reason the whole hanging out witha 4 year old all day just isn't giving me the social interaction I'm craving. Who'd of thunk it?

My Chile legs

Today was a wonderful day. One of the things that my Aunt does is she has a group of weavers who dye and process their own wool into naturally dyed and hand spun yarn. This yarn is then sent to the states where it is sold. This becomes a nice suplimental income for these women who live in rather poor communities. Today my Aunt and I went down to the town of Lanco, about an hour south of Temuco, to work with a bunch of women while they dyed wool. It was such an interesting thing to see. You actually take the wool, wash it, grind the dying agent, put the wool in the water with the agent, let it boil, then take it out to dry. They taught me how to grind one of the dyes, mix it, and then to seperate it and actually group/comb the wool. I felt like such a hippie! It was awesome. All of their dying agents are completely natural. The Mapuche originally had a lot of red in their weavings, but for a long time the red has completely disappeared from their dying scheme. My Aunt was curious as to where the red went and so she did some research. Turns out that one of the only sources of true natural red in the world is called cochineal. It is a beetle that when dried and ground creates a natural red that is used for dying wool. This beetle has long disappeared from Southern Chile, but they are able to buy it and once again use it to dye their wool. One of my jobs today was to grind it into a powder. Really interesting to actually be grinding dried beetles into a powder.

In the middle of the day we broke for lunch, and then again for a light snack in the evening. This brings me to my second subject. Why a person who does not eat gluten or dairy cannot survive in Chile. Bread is a staple down here. During our break I sat down and one of the women handed me a bun and some sliced cheese to put on it. I graciously accepted, not wanting to be rude, and ate the bread and cheese. No sooner did I finish than another woman brought out a loaf of bread that she had made, sliced off a large slice of bread and offered it to me. I said no thank you and explained that I had just eaten some bread. She gave me one of the most intimidating looks I think I have ever seen and basically said, though in not so many words, that I was going to eat the bread. What was I to do? I had no choice in the matter! My Aunt said that basically, if I wanted her to still be my friend, I was going to eat the bread, which I did. Sheesh! So there you have it. To anyone who does not eat gluten or cheese and yet wants to come to South America, you can try to stick to your diet as long as you can, but you will eventually be force fed white bread and cheese by a group of Chilean women.

Why I am so glad I didn't go to college in Chile

In the U.S. we are familiar with the idea of freshman initiation. This usually involves some sort of a feel good "Welcome to college!" type thing. In Chile, their freshman initiation is called hazing. That's right. All the universities participate in collectively hazing all of their freshman, without exception. Hazing at the local university looks something like this. It all starts first thing in the morning when the boys are stripped of their shirts and painted on with various words, pictures, shapes, and all that is ridiculous. All the freshmen must then smash numerous rotten eggs on their heads before being taken out into the street. Once the freshmen are all spread out on the various streets surrounding the university, the all must give up one of their shoes. All the shoes are then taken to a central location and the freshmen must stand out on the street all day with one shoe, painted bodies, rotten egg drying and simmering nicely on their noggins, and beg for money until they have earned enough to take them to the aforementioned central location to retrieve their shoe. Sounds like fun huh?

Last night my Aunt and I went over to one of her friends house for once (Spanish for 11, but also the name of the evening meal). This family lives in a surprisingly clean home that is about the size of my family's living room and kitchen combined. They are such wonderful and fun people, but they have had so many difficulties in their lives. The husband, Enrique, is an amazing graphic designer. He is entirely self taught, but because he doesn't have a college degree in graphic design he can never earn more than minimum wage. They have a 1 year old daughter named Anita who nearly died over Christmas. Though she is fully recovered, the whole family has to head to the capital of Santiago tonight on the all-night bus to do further testing. You can tell they are tired, but even so, they are just a joy to be with. My Aunt was able to help them get a plan together for their trip to Santiago. She's one of those people who speak truth into your life. A lot of the time this means you want to smack her because she's telling you something you don't want to hear, but at the same time you know she's right and you benefit from it. That is what she does for a lot of these people. She gives it to them straight and in return helps them to develop as people. As the newest gringa in town, I am usually the butt of all the jokes. This doesn't bother me and I'm able to laugh along with them and deliver a good performance, but it's a bother not being able to defend myself. Oh I can understand pretty much all of the conversation and the jabs in my direction, but all I can do is sit there and make faces. Even my Aunt takes these opportunities to tease me relentlessly. She admitted that she had to get her jabs in while she could before my language skills developed and I'm actually able to defend myself. Just you wait Aunt Barb. Just you wait. That's motiviation enough for me to learn the language.

Well, I have succeeded in becoming "not pissed off". As much as I hate to admit it, I think this was a necessary step for me to take to really feel like I can connect with the people. My piercings were something that set me apart from the rest of the women here, which I liked. It was my way of saying that I was not going to give up who I was just because I was living in their country. I liked who I was and didn't feel the need to change, but having given that part of me up and left myself open to change has allowed me to let myself connect with these women in a way that I don't know would have been possible otherwise. God really can bring something good out of a situation which seems to just be entirely crappy.

This weekend, my aunt and I went on a retreat with the women who lead the various girls clubs. There are a few different clubs in various local towns which minister to girls aged 6-12. This is really the most ignored age group that you can find in Chile, and probably in the U.S. When they are little girls they are cute and we love them, but then girls go through an obnoxious/awkward stage where they are kind of not seen as needing much love. Then as soon as they hit puberty and start to um...develop, then they begin to receive all sorts of attention, especially from boys, that they didn't have before. As a result, they are all getting pregnant at 14 or 15. These clubs are designed to mentor and love these girls in ways that they aren't getting at home in the hopes that when they get older that they will realize their own worth and not go looking for love in the wrong places. All of the women at the retreat this weekend are really funny and so passionate about the girls in their groups.

As a rule, Chileans are not quick to warm up to people, but once they do, they stay very warm and friendly. All the women pretty much ignored me for the first night, but the next day they were laughing and making fun of my terrible Spanish. They just love to torment the little gringas. F.Y.I. I have had to un-senitize myself to the word gringo becuase here it is a very endearing term which basically just means you're not from Chile and probably white. All the women are so motivated to help these girls and even want to start doing etiquette and modest fashion classes for these girls so they will realize they are worth something. It's a wonderful ministry, and even though I'm kind of the gopher for them all right now, I'm very excited to see what these women will come up with and where this whole thing will go.

My own individualistic nature.

I never necessarily thought of myself as an extremely "over-Americanized" person. When I think of the stereotypical American that the world thinks of, I think of a narrow-minded person who has no concern for anything outside the borders of the U.S. This is not the kind of American I am and I am very proud of that, but I have found that this does not exclude me from having been raised in an individualistic culture filled with individuals who don't care what other people think. Some people may know that I got my ear pierced a few days before I left for Chile, a little over 2 weeks ago. Why we get piercings I don't honestly know. I just like them. I think they're cute and honestly, it may be that I like to feel that I'm a little bit edgy. Piercings in Chile, even on the ears, have a very different meaning and my earrings have been the subject of great debate for the past couple days. Young people in Chile are forming what they call tribes. It's basically groups of kids who dress the same way, are extremely promiscuous, and are basically social rebels of the worst kind. It is typical of these tribes to have piercings similar to the ones I have. My aunt and I have had numerous conversations regarding this issue, and by conversations I mean her lecturing and me trying my best to not burst out into tears. I have not always been successful and have been crying on and off all day. It comes down to this. If I do not take out my brand new piercing I will not be allowed to be involved in the girl's clubs, I will be left out of the leaders retreat this weekend, and I will not be allowed to teach my English class in the private Baptist school. This is basically everything that I came here to do. I may as well just go home if I refuse to take out my earring. My own individualistic nature caught me by surprise when my aunt was explaining to me what my earring communicated here. Basically it tells people that I'm rich, promiscuous, and don't care about anyone. Ironically, I didn't, and still don't, care. I don't care if people get the wrong impression of me, especially when I can't even talk to them. I know that I'm not trying to communicate those things and I felt that other people would just have to deal. I know this makes me sound very shallow and self-absorbed, but I have nurtured this thing for 2 weeks. I have cleaned it, dealt with the pain, and even changed my sleeping positions for the sake of this stupid thing, and now all of that is going to be in vain. I will have nothing to show for it. It came down to me having three options. One, I could refuse to take it out and, for all intensive purposes, go home, I could take it out on my own, or I could have my aunt take it out for me. Well, trying to remove those things is like trying to impeach a president. It does not happen easily, and with all the pulling, my newly pierced ear swelled up and refused to let go of it at all. That is how I ended up being forced to choose option number three. My earring was removed, against my desire, by my aunt and two pairs of needle-nose pliers with our maid supervising and holding my hand. Now, where does this leave me? Basically, pissed off. Trying to get over it, but pissed off all the same.

Well I am feeling a lot better now that I've been in one place for more than a day. I started actually doing some work this morning and I'm feeling more at home here. Yesterday I went on my first solo adventure. I walked a few blocks to the store, bought hair spray, and came back. Very exciting. This has it's pros and cons. Pro: I now have a greater sense of independence. Con: now that my aunt and uncle know I know my way around they keep sending me on errands. I don't really mind because it gives me a chance to get out of the house, which I don't do very often. I actually started working this morning doing tasks for the various girls club. They're trying to get a little library set up for the girls, but right now it consists of a bunch of books in a box. My job has been to catalogue the books and come up with some kind of a system of organization. This weekend, my aunt and I are going on a retreat with some of the other club leaders, so that should give me an opportunity to expand my social horizons. Though life here, in the middle class part of town, isn't much different from my life in the states, there have been some things that are taking getting used to. For instance, you throw away your toilet paper instead of flushing it. There is no central heat, all the homes are heated in the winter with wood burning stoves. There is also no hot water. Well, there is hot water, but you have to actually light a little thing, called a califone (sp?) that draws the water in and heats the water, then when you're done you have to turn it off. Very interesting. Overall though, I'm really beginning to get the feel of what I'm doing here, and that will only increase and the English classes I'm teaching begin in a couple weeks.

I am finally back in Temuco after a very long week of traveling. This week, though I guess you could say we were all on vacation, was very tiresome for me. The day after I arrived here I was whisked away on the rest of the family vacation. As of now, the majority of my time has been spent in a hotel on the coast. Now, don't get me wrong, I loved being on the coast. It's absolutely gorgeous, but I have been feeling like a person without a home for the last week. I hadn't had a chance to settle in anywhere, I didn't know what I was doing, where I was going, or what to expect when I got there. Now that we're back and I actually have a chance to get my suitcases unpacked, I'm feeling a little more settled, but I'm finding the thought of spending the next five months here just a little intimidating. My brain has gone on Spanish overload and I'm half convinced I'm never going to be able to talk to anyone. People who know me, not necessarily even know me well, but just know me, know that I love to talk, and being somewhere where I spend a great deal of my social time sitting quietly and watching other people talk has been a bit depressing. I know I'll adjust, but it's a little overwhelming at the moment. This whole feeling is not helped by the fact that the majority of the conversation I have during the day is with a four year old. As cute as he is, he's not very good for intelligent conversation. I am missing my family and friends and having a social life. There are some people here my Aunt wants to introduce me to and hopefully that will provide me with some sort of outside activity, but I'm just a little lonely at the moment.

Well, I have only been in Chile for 2 days and already I have noticed 2 things. One, my Spanish is in worse shape than I thought, and two, I am going to be forced to come out of this experience speaking Spanish. Two hours after getting off the plane in Temuco, my Aunt left me alone with the maid, yes we have a maid, and told us to have a conversation. It was a very short conversation. I have been told that I have wonderful pronunciation with the words I do know, but that is a rather short list. On man told me that all I have to do is tell people that I don´t talk much, but I understand everything, and with my good accent they´ll actually believe me. This will keep people from saying mean things in front of me. I think it´s a great idea. My family is doing a wonderful job making sure that I am getting adjusted to life here a little before I really start working. Right now we´re taking a couple days to vacation in Valdivia before my cousins, Jack (9), and Will (3), start school on Monday. It´s wonderful to be in late summer again, but I keep reminding myself that it will be winter again soon enough. My first opinion of life in Chile, or at least my Aunt and Uncle´s life in Chile, is that it´s a lot like college. The culture is more of a collectivist culture, which is very different from what we´re used to in the states. My Aunt´s best friends is also their maid, and she and her husband are usually around all day. They have a small group of friends who hang out with each other all the time, often into the wee hours of the morning. It definitely reminds me of my friends and I in college. It´s pretty much awesome. I haven´t met all the members of this ¨family¨ yet, but I´m already hearing stories. If you think my family is red-neck, we´re nothing compared to some of their friends. Though I´m still in the tourist stage of my trip, I´m awaiting the time when, as my Aunt says, you start to wonder why nothing in this crazy country works. All, in all, it´s been a fun two days, though I do miss my friends, family, and of course, LOST.