Eggletho in South America

Farewell, Chile

2006-11-21T10:57:00.000-08:00

Chileans often joke that you can get away with anything in their country if you just preface an action with the word "permiso." Now, the word is directly translated, quite uninterestingly, as "permission," but the results of saying it are no less than that of a magic spell. It´s true--you can get away with nearly everything with this all-purpose word. If at the dinner table you want the salt all the way across the table, you just say permiso, and reach across 4 people. If you are having a conversation that you feel like exiting, but cannot think of a suave way of leaving, forget the ol´ bathroom excuse. Just say "con permiso" and take off. In Chile, that is more than enough. You can plow through crowds of people flailing your elbows if you accompany the movement with that word. I would not be surprised to see a kid walk into a store, pick up a piece of candy, mumble permiso and leave without paying a peso. Somehow, i feel as though the child could get away with that.

As i prepare to leave this country that i´ve called home for the last 2 years, i am beginning to realize the silly little things that i will miss here--permiso, for one. Something about Chile has evoked a nostalgia in me that follows me wherever i go, at all times. A Chilean friend of mine who now lives in Pennsylvania told me that i am feeling already a nostalgia that i should rather confront while at home in the U.S. He´s probably right. Still, what is it about Chile that creates such a desire for reminiscence?

I am currently reading a true story written by Gabriel García Márquez called Clandestine in Chile. It is about a Chilean film-maker, Miguel Littín, who was exiled during the Pinochet dictatorship. In the book, he returns to Chile in disguise, after 12 years away, to shoot a documentary about the state of Chile in regards to human rights violations, etc. Within the first hour of his arrival in Chile, Littín nearly breaks the curfew instated by the government because he is so overcome with a feeling of nostalgia that he jumps out of his cab to simply walk the streets of Santiago.

Chile´s own novelist Isabel Allende wrote an entire book about her feelings of nostalgia towards the Chile of her childhood--My Invented Country. In the introduction to the book, she states clearly that it is an entire book born out of a reminiscing for Chile. What is it about Chile that evokes these feelings in people?

I have lived in four different countries in my short lifetime, all for varying periods of time--the United States, Ireland (study abroad), Bolivia (language school), and Chile. The U.S. is my home; i am from there. I love both Ireland and Bolivia, and did so while there fully consciously. Chile, on the other hand i have had a love-hate relationship with. Yet, somehow as i prepare to leave, it is Chile that has evoked in me the strongest reaction. I feel as though it became part of me without permission--"sin permiso." One moment i was just doing my work here, the next suddenly Chile was part of me and i it. How was it that Chile entered me so deeply?

And that is true. Chile is part of me, and will be forever. I have worked here, and my sweat and blood have fallen onto the Chilean earth. In turn, i have eaten the fruits of Chile´s dirt--chirimoya, neospora, and the largest carrots i´ve ever seen in my life. I have shared experiences that matured into memories with Chileans and Chile; i carry them along, and leave them behind.

My wish and my hope is that i have left as positive an impact on Chile as it has on me. Or at least that i have followed the "leave no trace" policy, and that Chile is no worse for my wear.

That is the most difficult part about leaving this country, knowing how it has marked me so deeply, and wondering if i have made even a fraction of that kind of impact on the people here, on Chile itself. Still, i think i´ve done fairly well for my time here. I have many moments of contentment when i think about all i have done. It´s been a crazy adventure.

But, the time has come. And though it´s hard, Chile, i take my leave. I bid you farewell, Chile, con permiso.

Our Disposable World

2006-10-12T13:35:00.000-07:00

In Chile you don´t have to throw out your soda pop bottles. Now, i am from Michigan where we recycle every pop can because of a 10 cent deposit. But, environmentally speaking, Chile is beating us. The pop bottles are re-used here. So, each time you want to buy a 2 liter, you must take one of the re-usable bottles to the store and turn it in. That bottle will in turn be washed and refilled with soda. Thus, upon buying some soda, you walk away from the store with a different bottle, which in time will be given back to the store when you want to buy more pop. This habit is, however, stopping due to the convenience of buying disposable pop containers. People prefer to buy and dispose of, rather than storing the reusable containers in the house somewhere. Something entirely different: About a five minute walk from where i live in Peñalolén you find a grouping of houses famous in Chile. The homes were constructed by the government in a housing project for the poor, and were gifted to those living in temporary housing earlier this year. They are by U.S. standards tiny, and somewhat funny looking as they are painted every color known to mankind. You look out on the neighborhood, and it reminds you of having a handful of Skittles in your hand. Thus, Chileans in their never-ending cleverness for naming places, have dubbed the houses: Las casas chubi. The Chubi Houses, "Chubi" being an M&M-type candy here. The other thing that always marks my thoughts as i pass that neighborhood is the poor construction of the houses. It´s great that Chile makes such a huge effort to house the homeless, but the construction is of quite low quality. Where did these people, these families, live before their candy houses were built? Where will they live in a few short years when their poorly made houses fall apart? Now, this world to me was sharply contrasted in a recent trip that i took to Northern Chile. While Santiago is the capital of Chile, the financial capital may as well be the North. Chile´s government receives huge sums of money from the copper mines in the country´s desert region. The formerly privatized mines were seized by President Allende decades ago in his movement towards socialism, and since the mines have been an enormous source of income for Chile. The most important mine in Chile is named Chuquicamata, and affectionately shortened to Chuqui (say: CHOO-kee) by Chileans in the know. The mine lies near the city of Calama, which lies about 23 hours to the north of Santiago in bus. It yields huge amounts of copper each day through strip mining. To give an idea of the sheer enormity of this mine, it should be noted that it recently became the second man-made structure visible from space, together with the Great Wall of China--Chuqui and the Great Wall. There are giant hills, or possibly even small mountains, on every side of the mine which are composed purely of the dirt leftover from the stripping of the earth after the copper is removed from what is dug out of the earth. Chuqui essentially looks like a gigantic crater surrounded by fake hills. Near the mine Chuquicamata is the city which shares the same name. It is a city founded by the mine´s bosses, and completely populated by people who work in the mine and their families. It has a mall, a school, parks, etc. It used to have a hospital. All of this was built from scratch on a hill with the sole purpose of providing housing for said workers. The houses there are beautiful, large, suburban-looking...and about to be demolished. The city of Chuquicamata is about to be buried under the excess dirt that is mined, but does not provide money as copper does--the waste products of the mine. And this is not an accident, but rather a well-executed plan. You see, the mine is running out of places to put the dirt taken out of the ground with the copper. And somehow, through strange and twisted logic, it was realized that it would be cheaper in the long run to begin dumping that dirt in the city, all the while building new houses, parks, hospitals, etc. in a place about 30 minutes away. It is cheaper to literally dump dirt on top of a house demolishing it, and simply build a new house for its inhabitants, rather than truck the dirt somewhere a bit farther away. Financially speaking, it makes complete sense, i suppose. The hospital is already gone. It served its purpose and was disposed of under tons of earth. There is a beautiful new one built 30 minutes down the hill to replace that other perfectly good--but now underground--hospital. What does this mean for our world? Have we gotten to the point of not only throwing out pop cans and diapers, but entire cities? There seems to be a disconnect somewhere. How do we live in a world where there are so many people desperately in need of adequate housing, while beautiful houses not too far to the north are being buried? We live in a disposable world. It is more convenient here in Chile to buy the disposable pop bottles, and throw them away without giving them another thought. It is more convenient to throw away a pop bottle and to bury a city. But, where does the disposal of what-have-you end?

I don´t mean to be flippant, but my mind keeps returning to an image of a child who is craving chocolate. The child goes and buys some candy, a package of Chubi perhaps. His craving satisfied, he is left with the flimsy wrapper, which he and throws away as indifferently as we do a hospital.

September 11th, 33 Years After

2006-10-03T13:38:00.000-07:00

Today, September 11th 2006, i am overcome with nostalgia. I think about my homeland, and about this country that i have learned to call home, both linked together by that terrible date.

A little Chilean history: September 11th, 1973 the democratically elected President of Chile was violently overthrown in a military coup led by General Augusto Pinochet. Pinochet then governed Chile for 16 years, time marked by economic growth (as his supporters are quick to point out), but more notably repression, torture, and killing. Today´s date is a date which Chileans are still trying to grasp for meaning and come to terms with. Now, 33 years later, it is remains a day which brings about much pain and much reminiscence. Today, for years now really, Santiago has been marked by "protests" on Sep. 11. The city´s youth take to the streets in yet another manifestation of this day´s sadness. Here´s what it´s like in Peñalolén where i live on Sep 11:

I passed the day quietly in the city center, then i took the bus to my neighborhood. The parish where i work was to have a Mass in remembrance of those who died this day, and in the following years under the military dictator. Mass began at 7pm, and as evening began we in the church could hear the sounds of protests beginning not too far away. During the priest´s homily, the electricity in the entire neighborhood was cut. We continued on in candle light.

As we walked home, the neighborhood seemed very eerie. I could see tires being burned in the street not too far from where we were, and no one seemed to be out walking. All who were walking about had a very hurried, paranoid pace, myself included.

At home, my housemates and i prepared a dinner, and ate quietly. At 9pm, the news came on. We watched as it showed a street corner about 4 blocks from our house filled with burning tires in the street, and masked people in what seemed like a war against the police. I can´t express how strange it is to see such a familiar place on the news, but have that place not be safe enough to go visit in that moment.

The night progressed. I could hear explosions in the distance, and firecrackers very near the house. Everyone was on edge. Finally, at about midnight i went to bed. As i was laying there, i heard an explosion nearby, and then the electricity went out. So, i laid there in the dark. The smell of burning tires in the air, and if i breathed really deeply the distinct feel of tear gas in my throat. I could hear helicopters overhead and yells in the street. But, all was dark, and very cold.

There in my sleeping bag in the dark, that nostalgia returned. I wonder what Chile was like before Sep 11, 1973, and i recall the US five years ago. What will the US be like on this date in 28 years? Will we still be still be coming to terms with what occurred, and in what manner? I miss those countries of the past; I am nostalgic for an innocence wasted.

Miracle Diet

2006-09-05T12:35:00.000-07:00

Well, this entry may be a long time coming considering the events described happened the day i arrived back in Chile (2 or 3 weeks ago), but whatev....

When i arrived back in Chile from my 2 week stint in the States, it was re-confirmed to me the Chilean need to comment on a person´s physical appearance. I have no idea where or why there is this need, but it generally sneaks into the beginning of nearly every conversation, especially when i haven´t seen a person for a while. Now, two weeks out of the country officially constitutes "a while," so nearly everyone i saw was telling me how i looked different. Generally, to people i looked more tan. Which makes sense, spending 2 weeks in the Michigan sun will do that. Especially because in the Chilean winter i walk around so bundled that my skin had not seen the light of day in months. So, the consensus: I am more tan.

But, things get trickier. Some people completely overlooked my toasted skin, and jumped straight into the subject of my waistline. Now, this is a topic that is next to never breached in the USA, and is something that i have had to get used to here. People comment on other´s weight all the time--not a behind-the-back thing--to their faces. For instance, when i go shopping at the farmer´s market near our house the fruit vendors have a rather interesting way of getting my attention. They generally scream at me: "Oiga, flaco, compre sus limónes acá." Or: "Hey, skinny guy, buy your lemons from me." I´ve learned to not take offense to such things....and to buy my lemons from old ladies who don´t scream at me.

Things got interesting in terms of my weight when i arrived from my stay in the States, however. It seemed that there were a couple of people that didn´t know if i had gained or lost weight. But, pushed by their impulse to make a comment on how i looked, they seemed to flip a mental coin: heads/skinny, tails/fat.

My first day back in Chile, i ran into a lady i know fairly well. We hugged each other, and then she stepped back and looked at me carefully, and said: "hmmm....Looks like you got fatter in the States." I just laughed. Then, not more than 3 hours later, i ran into someone else i know fairly well. We were talking and catching up for a little while when he commented on how i looked thinner than when i left. This i found hilarious. I had everyone confused, and people were just flipping their mental coin and telling me how i looked. That is unless i actually DID get fatter in the U.S., and then manage to lose all that weight plus a little more in the mere 3 hours between when i saw my 2 friends.

My Most Dangerous Job

2006-07-13T09:31:00.000-07:00

I have been working as a secretary this year for the Congregation of Holy Cross´s foster care system. Generally, this consists of me answering phones, making the occasional photocopy, drinking coffee, and writing personal emails. Occasionally, my "bosses" will send me to the bank to cash checks, or to run some other errand. Not rocket science, generally. In fact, i can´t even say that it´s rock science (no offense to all you blog-reading-geologists out there). It´s certainly not my most exciting job here, but my co-workers are really funny, and i get a lot of free clothes that are donated but much too big for the little kids.

But, yesterday, i finished my day working as a secretary covered in filth from head to toe, soaking wet, and bleeding. I arrived that day after one of the biggest rains that i have experienced in Chile. Walking into the building, i realized that something was wrong--puddles everywhere, and my boss standing in the middle of them looking bewildered. "Te pido un favor? Can i ask a favor of you?"...I´ve gotten used to hearing that from her, and it is usually followed by a trip to the bank in which i cash a check. But, today, she was more concerned with the roof. She asked me to follow her outside.

Outside it became evident immediately that the gutters were completely clogged with leaves and mud, and water was spilling out over the top. We were on the case. First, we dragged a chair outside, but i couldn´t reach the gutters. Then, we dragged a table outside. Stacking the chair on top of the table to make a taller (albeit much more shaky) structure. There standing on top of the chair on top of the table on muddy grass, i scooped blob upon blob of muddy leaves. But there were more...

Then, i had the idea to climb up on the roof. Now, there was a little building right beside the main building with the clogged gutters. My idea, was to climb up on the little building, and from there climb up on the main building´s roof. So, i executed the first part of the plan. My plan, however proved to be not well thought out, as the overhang from the main building extended over the building i was attempting to scale. Still, i pulled myself up, only to realize that all i could do was wiggle around on my stomach. Keep in mind still, that this is a day after tons of rain had fallen. So, there is was wiggling around on top of a mini-building and under the overhand of another, in puddles and mud. I realized quickly that that had been a bad idea, and went to jump gracelessly to the ground, where i landed and rolled to break my fall, thus becoming well acquainted with yet more mud.

Still, the gutters needed cleaning. So, i got a ladder. Climbing up to the gutters proved much easier this way, and i could clean them much easier. But, there sharp edges on the gutter, and i cut my hands several times. ouch.

The final stage of the gutter cleaning came with me taking a hose, and jamming it down the little hole where the water is supposed to pass. Now, standing directly under that hose, i yelled for my boss to turn on the water. It seems logical now, but in the moment i was clueless...What happened is that the downward passage was clogged with leaves (obvious, right?). So, when the water was turned on, it had nowhere to go but up, and over the top of the gutter and fall directly downward....right on top of me. I was standing on the ladder, being drenched from above, as well as having mud and leaves fall on top of me. TURN OFF THE WATER!!!

With a little revision, the hose proved to help a lot, and now, the leaking has stopped inside. So, mission accomplished. That day ends with me bloody, muddy, and wet--battle wounds for the volunteer secretary.

Funraising

2006-06-30T14:30:00.000-07:00

Hello all,

I write today not to comment on life here in Chile, but to ask for help. Me and my fellow Holy Cross Associates here in Chile are planning a trip to Lima, Peru to visit the Congregation there. But, the thing is that it is an expensive trip--even though we are planning to go on bus (50+ hours!) and stay there in simple lodgings. We are estimating the trip to cost about $2000 total (this includes travel and lodging for 7 people.). Now, between personal donations, throwing in some of our house budgets, and doing some more fundraising here (translating documents for a local professor) we hope to reach our goal.

Here´s how you can help:

Visit the webpage of my fellow Holy Cross Associate Ryan. There he has set up a way for people to donate in small incriments ($5-20) online. It is secure for your credit cards. So, here´s the link, and thank you in advance:

http://www.ryangreenberg.com/blog/

(Look up near the top under the title The Road to Peru)

A Cat Named Tomás

2006-06-27T13:39:00.000-07:00

Every Tuesday of this year, i spend much of my day at the Formation House in Santiago. In that house is where the seminarians for the Congregation of Holy Cross as well as a number of priests live, and a cat up until recently.

Now, the cat that lived there at the House was a rather unwelcome guest. There was a former seminarian that found it in the street, and took it home with him. That seminarian has since left the Congregation, but the cat has remained to be tended to by a group of people that feel quite indifferent towards it. The cat´s name also happens to be Tomás, after Aquinas or the cartoon character of Tom and Jerry (there are 2 versions as to how it was named.). Little did they know when they named the cat a good 5 years ago the confusion it would cause me, as i go by the name Tomás in Chile.

At the beginning of this year, i would sit at lunch with all the people that live at the House. The people that make up that house are constantly joking and saying things with more than one meaning. So, at lunch without fail, someone would mention "gosh, it looks like Tomás is getting a lot fatter." All eyes on me, i would throw out a confused look. Then, the comment was always followed by "no, not you--the cat!" Ensued by much laughter. The comments ranged from Tomás being lazy to hairy to hungry.

Tomás the cat also had a habit of going inside the kitchen much to the dismay of the House cook. I was entering the kitchen at one point a couple of months ago, and i as soon as i got inside i heard her yelling: "out! Get out Tomás!" Not asking questions, i just turned around and left. Only realizing a matter of moments later that she was yelling at the cat that had snuck its way inside.

In March, Tomás the Cat was put under the control of Father Pedro, one of wackiest of the priests here, and a huge lover of making the Tomás-Tomás jokes. He would mention often that Tomás was the only seminarian he was in charge of. Then, after about a month of being under Pedro´s not-so-tender loving care, Tomás got sick. He was rushed to the animal emergency where he promptly died. sniff sniff. Needless to say that Father Pedro is getting lots of flack for this--the only "seminarian" he was in charge of dies, or, the poor cat had been living peacefully for years, and then under his care for a month and it dies, etc., etc.

Some of you may be wondering if the Tomás-Tomás jokes that plagued me died with the cat. Sadly, no. Just today after a week´s absence from the House, it was mentioned that they see the "other Tomás" more than me. Oh well...

Luck and Cat´s Lives

2006-06-13T08:34:00.000-07:00

Well, I missed my bus this morning by about 3 seconds. I was about to cross the street when i saw it passing in front of me, just out of reach of hailing it. So, i had to wait for half an hour for the next one. Then, I got to work, and the computer with which i was translating a document was down. Bad luck? Maybe, it is Tuesday the 13th after all.

In Chile, i´ve noticed with a couple of things that the country shares some of the same silly superstitions that we have in the States, but with interesting little twists. For instance, Tuesday the 13th takes Friday the 13th`s place as the day of bad luck. I´m not entirely sure, but i think even the Friday the 13 movies are translated to Tuesday the 13.

Though not necessarily falling along the lines of superstition, there is an interesting belief that the children here hold. When a baby tooth falls out, the Chilean child, puts the tooth under their pillow and goes to sleep that night. When the child wakes up in the morning, there is a little bit of money under their pillow and the tooth is gone. Sound familiar? But, the thing that is different is that the Chilean child´s tooth is not taken by a friendly Tooth Fairy. Rather, it in the night, the child is visited by the "ratóncito," a little mouse, who takes the tooth and leaves the money.

Another interesting little twist on lore, is that here in Chile is that cats only have seven lives rather than the customary nine that they receive in the States. Bummer for Chilean cats, i suppose.

Maybe Tuesday the 13th isn´t so unlucky though, i did just receive a free pair of jeans. And let´s hope the secret about the two gratuitous lives that are given to cats upon crossing the border to the United States. We don´t want a mass immigration of Chilean cats to the north.

Protests, Education, Etc.

2006-06-06T12:09:00.000-07:00

Last Wednesday, I showed up at the school where i teach English to second graders to find it covered in signs from the roof to the ground. There were several dozen high school students in their uniforms holding signs in form of protest just outside the building displaying such messages as: "Copper prices in the sky, but education in the dirt." Yesterday, i was riding on the city´s subway, when i began to feel my throat itching accompanied by the urgent need to sneeze. As I was wondering if i was getting sick, Elizabeth and Ryan (who i was traveling with) commented on the same feeling. Suddenly, people all around us were sneezing. The tear gas from the streets had made its way down into the subway. What is happening in this city?

Two weeks ago, high school students organized to protest the state of education in Chile. It started as a small movement of a handful of schools, but quickly grew and grew and exploded into a national movement involving massive protests, class striking, and the physical taking over of numerous schools. This is a movement that is led entirely by students--there are three or four who are seen as the leaders, and have become somewhat of national celebrities. They meet with government officials, and generally, get what they want.

What are the kids asking for? A few things. 1. Free transportation of students on the city´s public buses (there are no school buses in Chile). 2. Free administration of the college entrance exam for those who cannot afford to pay for it. 3. An overall evaluation of the educational system in Chile (looking at the advantages and disadvantages of full day schedules versus half day, etc.).

That is what the students are demanding, but the more interesting part is how they are getting their voices heard. Firstly, there are the protests that have been taking place every few days in the downtown Santiago (not to mention every other city in the country). Over 600,000 high school students took to the streets on a number of different occasions. All transportation through the city was forced to stop, and essentially all commerce was stopped as well. The protests are peaceful in idea--the main student movement´s leaders are advocating non-violence. But, as with all movements this large, violence certainly takes place, especially between some students and the police force. Giant water canons are parked without any intention of being moved anytime soon in the city center, as well as large amounts of police officers dressed in riot gear. Some protesters throw rocks and paint at the police force.

The other very interesting part of this movement is what is happening in the schools. The school that i teach at is in a condition called "paro." This essentially means that the high school students are on strike. Many go to school, but refuse to go to classes. This idea, rather unfortunately, has not caught on in the second grade, and i continue to teach them the names of foods in English. A large amount of schools are in "paro" as an act of solidarity with the schools in "toma." This means that the school has been essentially taken over by the students. The students physically occupy their schools and do not allow any normal school-day activity to take place. They sleep and eat in their schools, and conduct meetings on what their plan of action is. There are several schools in "toma" near my house, and it is a very intimidating sight to pass by. Desks and chairs have been moved outside and stacked along the school fences with their legs facing outward (http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/in_pictures/5032900.stm). Large signs cover the buildings. And in some schools, students can be seen keeping guard on the roofs (http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/in_pictures/5032900.stm).

Schools communicate with other schools; student leaders communicate amongst themselves. It is a very organized movement. For me, it is exciting to see people whose voices are often ignored making their voices heard. (Though, obviously the violence and missed school do put a damper on what is taking place.) And they are being heard loud and clear. The president is making speeches, and offering the students much of what they ask for in national televised addresses. This has been going on for two weeks now. The students have the support of nearly 90% of the public, including teachers, administrators, and parents. But, the president is quick to reply that to meet the demands of the students would be to spend millions of dollars that could be spent in helping alleviate the situations of extreme poverty in the country. To me it seems that both the government and the and the students are in a pickle that neither really knows how to get out of.

Changes: Part 2

2006-05-16T12:48:00.000-07:00

As mentioned in the prior entry on this blog, it has been surprising to me how little has changed in a year´s time. But, in this follow-up, i would like to focus on the how things have changed.It is interesting, not much as far as day to day activity in the comedor has changed. Still, my being there is different this year. The first day back made me realize that things will be different this year; i seemed to be more a part of the group now. The previous year, the old people loved it when i would come--i was somewhat of a novelty there. They came up with a large amount of nick names for me, almost all having to do with me being a good 50 years younger than the rest of them. This year, the nicknames have stuck, but what is different is the novelty has somewhat worn off, and in returning for a second year, the level of trust is much higher.
People have begun to share more of their stories than of their day to day experiences or what they read the other day. For example, Evangelical Maria, who i mentioned previously, told me not too long ago about the time in her life when her children left her to find work. She tells a riveting story of passing years of depression and of alcoholism, and how she lived through them.

Teresa, someone who calls me Lolo, and has never even attempted to learn my real name. Still, she is one of my favorites, and it breaks my heart to hear her tell stories of domestic abuse.

Blanquita, who loves bread, speaks of arthritis. And the stories go on...

Nearly all of the patrons speak of loneliness.

So, there I head each Wednesday. My job is simply to eat my soup (or hot dogs sitting on a bed of mashed potatoes as it was last week) and just listen. So, that is what i do, especially since i am not allowed to dry plates anymore.

Ch-ch-changes

2006-05-04T09:32:00.000-07:00

I can say now some five months into my second year in Chile that one of the most fascinating parts of this program is returning to work after the summer break in between my two years of service. It has been wonderful to be welcomed back by the people that i shared my last year with in the comedores (soup kitchen type entities) especially. Now, in a special two-part blog, i would like to expound a little on what it has been like to return to the comedor that serves the elderly.

One of the most interesting and funny parts about returning to work at the old people comedor is not seeing what has changed over the summer, but rather, what hasn´t. Not only have there been very few changes that took place over the summer, but i realized also that nearly nothing has changed there since i began working there over a year ago. Largely the same people are there eating everyday, and hilariously enough, the same exact things seem to happen everyday.

So, here is generally what happens everyday:

I walk up towards the comedor. There is a group waiting to enter. I chat with them, and shortly thereafter Margarita (the boss) calls everyone inside. We walk in slowly, and generally complaining about the cold. We take our places at our assigned seats. Margarita tells me where she wants me to sit every time, but oddly it is always in the same place. I guess she thinks that i haven´t caught on yet.

Then, Carmen begins to read the daily prayer, while Margarita 2 (one of the patrons) an Evangelical Christian, whispers "Sí Señor! Sí Señor! (Yes Lordy!)" under her breath. As soon as prayer finishes, i get called into the kitchen to lower the pot off the stove to a chair. From there i move to the dining room where i attempt to help in the serving of the food. But, one of the old ladies always protests my working, and does the job for me.

At that point i take a seat and look around the room. The food is being served, and upon receiving her portion, Evangelical Margarita says her own private prayer over her food. One of the Marias asks for no tomatoes, and the other Maria always asks for a half portion. Half Portion Maria always walks around with a piece of cotton in her left ear--i have no idea why; she may just not be aware it´s there.

All served, we begin eating. I am always sitting between two older ladies--Evangelical Margartia, who is delightful and hilarious, and Blanquita. Blanquita is always really nice and conversational. In conversations she swears a lot, but is one of those people that somehow makes that seem endearing. She is a huge lover of bread (not an uncommon characteristic in Chile), and most days she menions that fact. This sounds odd, but it´s true: she says "pan" (bread) in a way that no one else does; there´s a strange reverence in her voice.

About this time, Raul walks in, always about 15 minutes late. Two to three people then remark to me that he looks like Jolo, an infamous Chilean priest who is about to get married to someone half his age. When i say hi to Raul, he uses every greeting in the spanish language: "Hi Tomasito, good morning, good to see you, how are you, have a good meal." I ask him what he´s reading, and some days he answers that question for 40 minutes in a rambling answer that has nothing to do with anything, but is nonetheless fun to listen to.

About half way through the meal Maria with the cotton in her ear gets up, looking toward the kitchen to make sure no one is watching, and she makes her way to Raul the Reader to give him the remaining portion of her meal. This happens every single day. She will then make the same exact comment each day: "I like him because he never says no to my food." Raul just half laughs and looks sheepish.

During this time, Maria who doesn´t like tomatoes is flirting with Humberto. Humberto has no clue that this is taking place. Maria is the sassiest lady at the comedor, and Humberto no matter how hot it is wears multiple sweaters and a stocking hat. I wondered my first day a year and a half ago when Humberto would notice Maria´s flirting, but it has yet to happen.

Once people are finishing up their meals, i hear someone clanging a fork against a glass. Inevitably it is Papen, one of the Holy Cross priests. Now, the announcements he makes do vary, but usually have something to do with nothing, and they almost always end with him making a comment about how the juice in the comedor is whiskey. His speech ends with him drinking a glass of "whiskey."

As everyone is leaving, i pass into the kitchen to offer help. In this area, i have been demoted this year, but i am not bitter. Last year, i was the dish dryer. This year, however, there are more ladies that work in the kitchen. So, my job has become offering help, having my offer refused, and then having conversations with the cooks. At some point Margarita calls me aside to give me a glass of Coke on the sly from her private stash usually accompanied by an apple. Formerly, i would refuse the apple, but she broke me, and now i just accept it and take it home with me without complaining. With my apple, say goodbye to everyone, and make my way to the door.

That is what happens every time i am there. I work on Wednesdays from 12-1. So, it is possible for you to know exactly what is going on in my life in that time span if you wish.

The Mariscal

2006-04-28T13:21:00.000-07:00

It is a little belated, this entry, because it has to do with Holy Week. Well, specifically Good Friday. But, here it is nonetheless.

Plans for my Good Friday began on the Sunday beforehand. I was eating lunch with some friends, Shannon (a former Associate) and Nelson her boyfriend, and we were talking about plans for the upcoming Holy Week. As people who´s work is affiliated with the Church, the work week seems to expand in that time, and as it were, i had a very full week ahead of me. As i wrote about the year prior, Holy Week in Chile is filled with special Masses, and an acting out of the Stations of the Cross--there is something to be done everyday.

But, back to the lunch...

Nelson was saying how he wanted to do a typical Chilean "mariscal." Now, before i continue, i should define a couple terms.

Mariscal: (n) An activity typical to the country of Chile, especially common on Good Friday. It involves throwing large amounts of sea food into a giant pot, and cooking them together as a soup. It generally involves eating large amounts of said sea food, and is preferabley followed by a nap.
Chilean: (n) One who loves mariscal.

So, we planned it. We would do a mariscal, and i offered to help without knowing what that would really involve, something that has become quite typical in my life here. As i was leaving Shannon and Nelson´s apartment, i asked Nelson what he wanted me to do. His reply was that i should go with him to help in the buying of the sea food. Sounded easy enough.
"Okay," I said, "when should i pass by your house?"
His reply: "I´d like to head out of my house at 4:30 in the morning on Friday. So, it may be best if you spent the night here on Thursday."
I tried to control my facial exressions, and only narrowly avoided soiling myself from shock. ("4:30!?!? What is he thinking? Is he crazy? Or, is he just a guy who loves him some mariscal?)
"Is that too early?" He asked.
"No. Sounds good." I said.

So, there i was, going to sleep on the eve of Good Friday at an ungodly early hour. Mercifully, both Nelson and I slept through the 4s and the 5s, and i was awakened by him at 6:30am, and we were leaving the apartment by 6:35. We walked out to the street, which seemed quite deserted of cars and buses--no one working. We waited for our bus, and waited. Then, we got hungry, and went to buy hotdogs, only remembering at the last second that in ascribing to Catholic tradition, we weren´t supposed to eat meat that day. So, our breakfast consisted of a bag of cookies and coffee, which we were filling at a gas station when our bus went by outside. We paid quickly and ran outside with cups of coffee only half-filled, narrowly catching the bus.

We were off--it was a long bus ride--to the other side of Santiago. As soon as we got off the bus, i could smell that we were in the right spot. There was a large amount of shellfish somewhere nearby. Where we were, as a matter of fact, was arriving at a huge warehouse where seafood from across the country was arriving to be sold on this day when every person in Santiago is itching to eat mariscal. And though it was barely 8 o´clock in the morning, i estimate possibly half of Santiago was there buying seafood.

Nelson and i entered the warehouse. We decided to take a stroll around the place to get the scoop on the highest quality critters. We had to navigate ourselves through crowds of people carrying large bags, and vendors yelling about how their clams were the freshest. Other obstacles included large--no, HUGE-- piles of assorted shellfish: clams, mussles, crabs, what-have-you.

Having surveyed sufficiently we began our purchases, buying clams from one vendor, crabs from another. I realized i was just there as assistent as i had no idea what was to be bought nor in what quantity. Though by they end, i realized the answer to both those questions: ALL is to be bought, and in LARGE quantities. As we were leaving each of us was carrying two groceries bags full of sea food, most of it still alive and crawling around in the bags. Upon leaving the warehouse, it was like leaving a smoky bar--the smell of sea food stayed put on all of the clothing i was wearing.

We took our bus home, and began cooking shortly after arriving. I was surprised at how the idea of a mariscal scoffs at a recipe. It more accurately involved dumping the seafood into a large pot, along with some chopped some onions and garlic, some water, white wine, and stirring. It cooked for a long time, and to serve, we would search for a good assortment of sea food, and place them--shells and all--in a bowl of the broth.

I ate three giant bowls, and afterwards was so full, i was pratically sleepwalking through the Stations of the Cross.

Messy Jobs

2006-03-28T07:06:00.000-08:00

There have been 2 occasions in the past week in which i attempted to do jobs, and the effect was becoming covered in some sort of filth. Now, as most of the readers of this blog know, i have no problem with this. Grime and i are one; I am at home with dirt. So, while this article isn´t particularly "news-worthy," i hope it updates you nonetheless.

The first job came along early Saturday morning. Roy (my roommate) and I got up way too early for a weekend, and took a bus to one of the foster homes of the hogar that i work for. Upon arrival we were greeted by some seven kids, and played a little and watched a little Sponge Bob in dubbed spanish. Then, they were off, and Roy and i were left to...paint the house. There were three bedrooms to paint, and one hallway. We took a walk around the house with its kiddie graffiti all over the walls--penciled hearts in the girl´s room, in other rooms was a tribute to Harry Potter. We went outside to assess the paint situation. Immediately we noticed that there were rollers, but no tray to hold the paint. So, we improvised with a pan from the kitchen. No tape to protect trim with, oh well. No stirrer, a stick will do. No paint can opener, I´ll get a spoon. This was turning into a day of ad-libbing.

So, we opened the cans, each delivering a stronger assault to the eyes. Yellow, blue, BRIGHT green, and then, neon pink. Yep, children live here.

So, we grabbed the blue and headed inside. It is something strange being in a someone else´s house and working. Kinda fun. Even stranger, however, is splashing paint all over someone else´s wall without their presence. Also kinda fun though. We turned the radio on and progressed rather quickly through the house. The rollers spraying us with little dots of yellow, blue, green, and pink. We could not find any rags with which wipe up little mis-brushes, so we used our shirts. At one point there was an accident in which half the bucket of pink paint spilled on the floor (Thank God for water-soluble paint) leaving us with very pink hands after clean up.

Roy and I left the house that day very tired, and very very colorful. We went to go wait for the bus to take us home. We climbed the stairs to the bus, paid and made our way towards the seats, and sat exhausted. We realized only moments later that the bus we happened to be on, as luck sometimes dictates, had some black lights glowing directly above our seat. And there we sat, too tired to move, the black light making each and every spot of blue-yellow-green-pink glow in the darkness.

My other messy job took place Monday. Now, i really shouldn´t say that this was "work." Indeed, it was something i really wanted to do. I arose Monday morning and headed to the Holy Cross´s seminary to work with the cook with the idea of learning how to make one of my favorite Chilean dishes--pastel de choclo, which is a dish made out of liquefied corn, and a lot of other delicious things. Now, this dish is an all-day process. But, i wasn´t working alone. Ryan, one of my fellow Holy Cross Associates, was there to aid me in my blind attempts to navigate a Chilean recipe. Also, present was the seminary chef, Nela, who is one of the funniest people that i´ve met here, not to mention a darn good cook.

Ryan and i joined Nela in the kitchen, and were promptly put into full-body aprons. The process began with cutting the corn off the cob--12 of them. Then, the liquefying of the corn. While, at the same time cooking all sorts of other ingredients: onion, ground beef, eggs, basil, etc, etc. After liquefying the corn, i became in charge of cooking it, which basically entailed me stirring a huge pot as it heated up. But, not in the written job description of corn stirrer, is the sub-duty of being a large, human spattering of boiling corn.

Nela organized. Ryan peeled some huge quantity of pears for dessert (which Nela was quite worried that we were going to add to the corn mixture). And i stirred, and got messier and messier. One thing i learned about myself is that i am not what one may call a "careful stirrer." With that attribute, and on top of it the geyser-like qualities of boiling corn, i ended the afternoon with my apron covered in a speckling of dried formerly liquid corn.

But, if you must know, both the pastel de choclo and the paint job turned out great...

Learning to Sweat

2006-03-07T11:49:00.000-08:00

Here is an aritcle i recently wrote for the Holy Cross Associate newsletter...

Learning to Sweat

While many Associates are shoveling snow out of their driveways, we Chile Associates find ourselves in the midst of summer. When I see the pictures of the record snows taking place in the east coast, it jolts memories of Michigan winters which feel very distant, both time-wise, and geographically. And, upon the start of my second year in Chile, I realize that that feeling of distance is both warranted and real. So, as my family and fellow Holy Cross Associates shiver, I sweat away the Santiago summer.

The Chilean summer begins around Thanksgiving time. Picture the turkey in the oven, juices bubbling forth, dripping down the bird’s body. The heat of the oven mixes with the natural heat in the kitchen to the point where you are not sure where the heat is coming from. There is the oven, the kitchen, and our wood house—all ovens of sorts. And as the turkey bubbles out gravy, I walk around sweating.

“Oppressive” is a word used to describe a suffocating force, something difficult to bear. It’s a descriptor used when speaking of any number of things: poverty, a dictator, or even the weather. The heat (among other things) in Chile is oppressive.

The Chile Associate schedule takes a dip in the summer to practically zero on the Responsibility Scale. So, with nearly nothing on my agenda for the day, I go to the couch and sweat. And I drink cold water. I imagine some sort of hose going directly from mouth to my arm pits, as they seem to be leaking the water that I ingest only moments later, and with in an equal vigor.
Spanish doesn’t cut it sometimes. Transpiración (Say: trans-pee-ra-see-ohn.) sounds like a science experiment. It is not quite as descriptive as a multi-voweled, one-syllabeled “sweat!” And it is not nearly as fun as “pool pits.”

Don’t get me wrong, I love the summer—even a summer without beaches and water. I love summer here with its messy heat and lax schedule. Here I sweat, and it’s fun, something to do. Some afternoons I think to myself, “Hmm. Nothing to do. Maybe I’ll go to the porch and sweat for a while.” Even if it appears I am only sitting on a couch staring into space, I am being productive in a sense—I’m doing something. To me, sweating is a thing that needs to be checked off of my daily To-Do list, something to do on a Tuesday afternoon. I never feel lazy when I’m sweating!

Even though perspiration happens naturally, that does not mean that it cannot be a learned activity. We all sweat, but learning to do so well is the challenge. What I have learned here is not to fight it. To sweat well you just accept it and what comes with it. No shirt fluffing, no hand fanning. I prefer to sit and stare at the wall, as if watching my favorite movie. Occasionally, my mind focuses on the heat which alarms me, causing me to sweat more. So, I avoid that notion. Intermittently, I take a few sips of water in a vain attempt to quench my perma-thirst. Sit, sweat, sip, sweat, sweat, sweat, sip.

And as we move slowly into the fall, and the days get cooler and the nights get cold, I know that winter is coming with its full schedules and rain. So, for now I enjoy the sun and the heat elongating those moments on the couch as I sweat my way through the summer.

Givin´ Thanks in a Foreign Land

2005-11-26T16:23:00.000-08:00

Thanksgiving brought a number of guests to my house in Santiago, Chile. Totaling ten, we squeezed around our table and had a delicious meal, fun conversation, and a shared ex-pat holiday. But, really, the story doesn’t start there. This is a Thanksgiving tale that begins with a turkey disaster, but ends deliciously.

Wednesday, luckily, I found myself with a day off. I don’t know how people with jobs can put on a successful turkey dinner. A month before, noting the small size of our refrigerator and out freezer that is permanently out of commission, my community members and I decided that Thanksgiving turkey would have to be bought at precisely the time that it would need to begin defrosting. So, there Meg and I were heading to our local grocery store on Wednesday morning on a turkey hunt. Grocery store number one was a complete bust. So, we headed to the butcher, and en route added a quick prayer to St. Expedito—the en vogue saint for any small but urgent cause. Expedito is popular with those who want to win the lottery, pass an exam without studying, or even find a turkey in a country that’s never heard of a pilgrim. Unfortunately, even with the help of Expedito, there was no turkey to be found. Nor at a third grocery store.

At grocery store number four, there were assorted turkey parts for sale—legs in one package, breasts in another, wings in another. But, we decided not rashly purchase all of these and construct our own Turkenstein…we needed to sleep on that decision.

We also divided up cooking responsibilities that afternoon. Maureen’s (one of my community members) parents were there to help. So, by default, the only mom in the room was assigned turkey and stuffing. I volunteered for things that were easily figured out: salad, a dessert, and mashed potatoes. And after a quick phone call to my own mother to ask how to make mashed potatoes, I was all set. I decided to do as much of my cooking on Wednesday night so as to avoid the kitchen as much as possible on Thanksgiving Day. But, that plan was changed by a dinner invitation made by Maureen’s parents to Los Buenos Muchachos, a Chilean-style restaurant with a great show, and also great wine and pisco sours…yada yada yada I returned home at 1am, and with a misty, hazy mind looked confusedly at a pile of potatoes…and got peeling!

I lost track of time; I lost track of potatoes. I just sat on my couch peeling and cutting and singing Julieta Venegas songs. Then, at about 2:30am, I found myself staring at one of the largest bowls of mashed potatoes I have ever seen.

I slept in on Thursday, but awakened with turkey on my mind. It was decided to just buy a few turkey breasts. So, I biked off to the grocery store, and filled my backpack with turkey, and returned home.

The rest of the afternoon went on without any mishaps—just lots of cooking, and taking turns in the kitchen. I made apple crisp, and a nice big salad. Then, in the early evening we all sat down to a huge meal. There was something fun and special about being one of the few houses in a massive city celebrating a holiday. And, the food was really tastey

The Socities in Which I Work

2005-11-16T08:28:00.000-08:00

Working in the two soup kitchens has given me a unique look into two very different sub-societies.

First there is the interesting culture of the homeless here. Everyone knows everyone, it seems. And there is no private business. If someone does not show up at the comedor some day, generally the people in attendance know the reason. What has most impressed me with this group of people is how they look out for one another, and take care of each other. If someone is sick and not able to make it to the comedor, others offer to take food to them. (Which is not allowed, but it’s a nice thought anyway.)

It is interesting to me because the reality of the homeless is not only different, but nearly an entirely different city. They all hang out together, are friends. It is like an entire society difficult to realize if you are not immersed into it.

The other society I have immersed myself in, is that of the soup kitchen for the elderly. I love it there, because not only is it an entirely different society, but it is also a culture where the rules of logic don’t necessarily apply. But first a little about the people as a group…

The people at this comedor are great for talking, and generally it is about funny, silly things. Stories of childhood and seemingly impossible anecdotes abound. Then, there was one day where I was suddenly transported back to a high school mentality. All of us in attendance had ended up sitting in tables of all men, and ladies at a separate table. That normally is not the case, it just happened that one day. But, the result was incredible. Now, I can only report from what took place at the guy’s table, but it was hilarious. The old dudes were generally just talking about the other tables of people. And it was evident that they spend entirely too much time together because they would talk about the nit-pickiest little things that they found annoying. Here’s a sampling:
Don Carlos: Teresa is wearing her purse while she eats again.
Don Sergio (to me): She does that everyday, and it really annoys Carlos.
Don Marcos (jokingly): It must be filled with gold because she never puts it down.

And it continued like that.

Then, my favorite story about the old people comedor is proof positive that their world does not necessarily depend on reason. It happened that one of the normal patrons had not showed up for a week. Now, remember that this is a group of people with an average age of about 80. So, sadly, things happen, and when someone doesn’t show, people worry. And apparently, when someone doesn’t come for a week, rumors fly:

I was seated in my normal chair, eating my patruca soup, when all of a sudden I heard a collective gasp in the room. I turned around to see an elderly gentleman walk in the room. People put down their spoons, and ran (slowly ran, that is) up to this man and hugged and shook hands. I asked one of the people near me what had happened, and her reply was that everyone thought that he had died. Now, the story gets even a little crazier. Apparently, after this particular man had not shown up at the comedor, an obituary was ran in the local paper. Now, no one seems clear on these details; no one seems to know whether someone just assumed he died and called it in, or if someone of the exact same name died in the time he was absent from the comedor. The latter, however, is the generally accepted explanation at this point. The local priest even showed up that day to the comedor, and was shocked to see this man because he had heard from so many people that he had died.

So, it is always interesting for me to hear the news each week from my 2 little semi societies…

Un Santo para Chile, Chile´s Saint

2005-11-11T15:26:00.000-08:00

About two weeks ago Chile had its 2nd saint canonized. The entire country was in a frenzy over the new St. Alberto Hurtado. He was a Jesuit priest who worked extensively with the poor--starting many, many, many social services that are still running today. And is also well known for his writings. I had the opportunity to be a volunteer at his tomb on the day of the canonization, working for nearly 24 hours straight. It was incredible, but also ridiculous. I am not sure whether it was a dumb idea or a great one. But, the following is a play by play of the night:

Saturday, 1:30pm...Left house, dodging Saturday fruit vendors
1:35...miss my bus
1:45...get different bus
2:15...John (associate from the campo) and i locate pharmacy, and buy caffeine pills. The pharmacist with a smile informs us that they are to be taken with whiskey.
2:30...We locate the warehouse that will be our volunteer HQ
2:35...Alberto Hurtado mural located, one scene depicting him with giant teeth that look as they they would be capable of biting through cement.
2:45...We collect the provisions given to the volunteers: cheese sandwich, cookies, orange, and orange juice
3pm...We meet our boss, Javiera, who seems nice enough
3:15...A brief orientation over codes we may heard over the intercom. Code yellow=robbery, brown=heart attack or other medical emergency, green=earthquake. (Now, i am not sure why you would need to announce that an earthquake is taking place on an intercom, but whatever.) Also, we are each given "petos" which are basically vests, which all had Hurtado´s face on them, and made us look really official.
4:00...work begins. Me, John, José, and Chino guard a road making sure that no unofficial people pass down it. This basically just consisted of looking authoritative in my peto.
7:00...The four of us are replaced by 2 high school age girl scouts.
7:05...dinner. Another cheese sandwich, slightly slimier than the first.
8:oo...John eats a hotdog
8:15...we browse the street vendors who are selling Hurtado statues, ribbons, chocolate-Hurtado-faces, fake flowers, buttons, you-name-it.
8:20...John eats second hotdog
10:00...back to work. John and i are assigned to patrol the porta potty area. We are to walk a line of about 50 porta potties and answer questions, and make sure no crimes take place.
10:15...An obese mentally ill lady (OMIL) asks us for a cigarette. We don´t have any, but still become instant friends.
10:30...Our patrol is stopped by a drunk guy who claims it is his birthday, and verifies that with his ID.
10:35...OMIL scores a cigarette and some money from a passerby,
10:40...Drunk guy enters porta potty and apparently forgets to lock the door.
10:41...Red Cross worker attempts to enter same porta potty, embarrassed laughter ensues.
10:50...John and drunk guy strike up another conversation. Meanwhile, OMIL is elated when someone gifts her an Hurtado flag.
11pm...As a birthday present, John gifts his peto to drunk guy
11:01...Javiera sees this take place, and is mortified. We are reprimanded. hahaha
11:15...We run into Krissy and Meg eating burgers on the curb. (at this point there are about 15,000 people there gathered.)
11:45...coffee is purchased and consumed.
Sunday 12am...Beautiful candle ceremony accompanied by Hurtado´s A Fire That Starts Other Fires reading.
12:30...In the most surreal moment of the night, a music group fro´m Easter Island takes the stage, and begins to play some Hawiian-style music. OMIL calls to John and I through the crowd to the other side of the street, and begins to slowly hula in our direction.
1am...snack, cheese sandwich. We decide to not to use our last meal ticket.
1:15...John eats 3rd hotdog.
1:30...caffeine pill is ingested. Still tired, but aching in legs dissipates.
2:00...We are put on crowd patrol--just walking the crowd and answering questions.
4am...BREAK!
4:15...I go to confession i spanish, which is always bizarre.
4:30...Live feed from Rome begins. Me and 20,000 other people sit outside in a huge gathering area watching giant screens as Hurtado´s biography is read, and then amid huge applause declared a saint.
5:30...feed ends.
6am...I slip into a half sleep half wake delirium.
7:00...We are informed that we get to rest till 9. Two good resting places in the warehouse thwarted, i just walk into the middle of the room, and lay there.
9:00...a mass exodus of volunteers despite the managers begging them to stay over the microphone.
9:30...I am put to work on a street corner (please keep jokes to yourselves) and told to direct buses toward the morning ceremony.
10:00...After not a single bus passes, i give up and go to the "Chile awakens to Saint Alberto Mass". A beautiful ceremony
11:30...Mass ends and we are put to work on cleaning up.
1pm...22 and a half hours after starting, we´re done...I head home expecting to see the same fruit vendors, but remember that an entire day has actually passed.

My Gambling Habits

2005-10-20T11:13:00.000-07:00

I know this may be old news to some, but I want to tell the story of my gambling wins anyway.

My first gambling win took place at the comedor for old people that I work at. I was there one afternoon for an exercise class which one of the old ladies had invited me to. So, I showed up a little late, walking into a room full of gray heads seated in chairs with large bamboo sticks in their hands. They each had both hands above the head, gripping the stick, and moving their arms back and forth. It seemed to be some sort of stretching exercise, but they were very slooooooooow about it (as to be expected, I suppose.).

They directed me to a vacant chair, which unfortunately was in the middle of the room. I was handed a bamboo stick of my very own with which to perform the exercises. Then, I began to attempt the movements. Now, all of these elderly folk have been doing these same exercises probably since Chile was forming volcanically, and have them completely memorized. They begin the particular move before the instructor gives the cue. So, there I was, in the middle of all these old people trying to figure out what I am supposed to be doing—listening to the instructor, and at the same time watching where I swing my bamboo weapon so as not to break the hip of some unlucky aged exerciser. And this old lady next to me—Dona Maria—kept poking me in the leg trying to point out how I was doing this incorrectly.

Finally, came the time to eat our snack, which to my delight, was accompanied by some bingo! My first gambling in Chile: I listened very carefully to the numbers, still tricky in Spanish. I lost a few times, and as I looked around me, all of my table-mate’s were filling up. Suddenly, I got four in a row, and filled my card. I didn’t know what to say, so I yelled out “Bingo!” which was understood whether it was correct or not. I won two packages of asparagus soup, which I then gifted to the two old bachelors at my table that looked particularly jealous.

My next big gambling win happened at the parish I work at. I was there for a fundraising event—there was lots of food to buy, and lots of live Chilean folk music to listen to. I was having a blast, and loving the music, when my roommate Krissy walked over to where I was drinking some hot wine. She was trying to sell 100 tickets for a raffle that was to take place that night, and had three more to get rid of. So, I offered to buy one.
When the time came for the raffle, a delicious-looking chocolate cake was paraded into the room. I, at this point, had forgotten my number, probably due largely to the rather cheap vino nagivado. One number was drawn, and no one claimed the cake. Another, and the same thing happened. About the fourth number drawn, Krissy announced the number, and then my name. It looked like a huge Gringo-Chocolate-Cake-Conspiracy, but whatever, it still tasted darn good.

Legality

2005-10-14T12:04:00.000-07:00

Legality: Thoughts on the State or Quality of Being Legal

The saga is over, finally. Not too long ago, i received my Chilean ID card proclaiming me fully legal in this country. It´s been a long process:

It all started last February. I began to apply for temporary residency. I was totally confused, and overwhelmed by the idea. There were tons of papers to fill out, lots of words on the papers that i didn´t understand, and a time limit lurking in the future. Luckily, i had some good help by the name of Pedro (our local director) for this daunting task. At that time i was living in Chile under a tourist visa, so it was going to expire in a few months. So, Pedro and i went to the office foreign visas, and as it turned out, i could do step one via mail.

My forms in hand, Pedro and i left to fill them out in a park. That done, i mailed them later that week. The instruction was to wait until i received notice from the office. So, i waited...and waited. And waited too long. I called the office of foreign visas to tell them that i still had not received notice and got this news: we sent you a letter a month ago, and it must have been lost in the mail. The letter said that your visa was denied lacking a letter from the bishop. The whole process must be repeated.

AH! So, flustered and annoyed, i began to fill out the paperwork again. Then, as the first time, i had to get letters from the Congregation of Holy Cross, and have my picture taken at a special visa-picture-store. Also, this time i had to wait for a letter from the bishop. As i waited, my tourist visa expired...

So, I found myself here in this foreign country illegally. I eventually received the bishop´s letter, and sent my application in the visa office. But, my illegal status lasted about 2 months. During that time i was always a little paranoid. Would the police show up at my door? If they did would i be expelled from the country, or would they throw me in jail? Technically, any police officer can ask any person on the street to show their identification at any time, and i had none to show. If i got robbed, i would not be able to report it to the police for fear of them realizing my illegal status. Each time i saw a cop on the street, i would get a little tense.

I finally got notice from the visa office that my visa was ready, but that my tourist visa had expired, and i was thus "irregular" in the country. I needed to pay a fine. Thinking that the fine would be minimal, i showed up at the office to suck it up, and pay. But, as it turned out, i needed to pay a fine for each day that i was "irregular," and the amount came to nearly 60 dollars--a hefty sum on a volunteer´s paycheck. So, i got a little testy. Telling the person that i had waited 2 hours in line to see, that i knew it wasn´t her fault, but that i wanted to talk to someone in charge. I felt the fine unjust because it was, indeed, not my fault that this original, all-important letter had been lost in the mail.

I was then ushered into another office to wait for the person in charge. I waited more. Finally, he showed up, and i explained my case in broken, nervous spanish. He seemed skeptical. I explained again. He didn´t seem to understand. Suddenly, i realized that he thought i was trying to get out of showing the bishop´s letter. NO! I just don´t want to pay the unjust fine! He agreed.

From there i received more paper work. And i had to do 4 other errands around the city with the police and other visa offices. Then, more waiting...

Then, finally, 8 months later. Recently, i finally received my ID. And i am just waiting for a cop to ask me to show my Chilean identification.

Without a Coat

2005-10-05T10:57:00.000-07:00

The number one comment that Chileans make to me is that i am "desabrigado," generally meaning that i am not wearing enough layers. I get this comment no matter what. I´ve been wearing long underwear, a t-shirt, a sweater, and then my coat over the top of it all, and people still tell me i walk around desabrigado. But, this past Sunday this tendency was taken to a new level.

I went to eat lunch with the family of one of my CSC (Congregation of Holy Cross) friends, Padre Pedro. It was a long trip there to the other side of Santiago in a poor area called La Pintana. As you enter the area, there is a billboard up greeting you with the depressing slogan, "La Pintana: Where one looks for some way of being happy."

Pedro´s family greeted me warmly, and we proceded to have a conversation i´ve had a million times. "What is the typical food dish in the USA?" "Umm...There really isn´t one. Maybe pizza or hamburgers. Or chicken-noodle soup." And we made such chit-chat until dinner came. Casuela (or cazuela??), the most typical of all Chilean platters. It´s a soup with a chickeny broth, and generally a leg of chicken floating around with an entire potato, and sometimes Chilean squash. I love it, so i ate up a bowl, actually 2. At the end of the meal, they suddenly noticed that i was wearing only three layers of clothing...

They asked "Are you cold? You´re walking about really desabrigado."
"No, i´m fine."
"Are you sure? We can get you more soup."
"No, i´m really fine."
"How about gloves."
"Really, i´m OK."
"A sweater?"
"I´m fine."

Then, as plates were being cleared from the table, the mother disappeared without me really taking notice until she re-appeared with a sweater for me to put on. What was my choice? They had broken me! hahaha I put the sweater on over the top of my other layers. And, i must admit, it actually did feel nice to have that extra layer on a cold day. But, it continued...

Pedro and i went to watch a tv show about bears. We were pretty engrossed in the eating patterns of pandas when suddenly the mom appeared again, this time with a glass in her hand. She handed me the glass, saying in was for the cold. What choice did i have? So, i drank the whole glass which was a mixture of wine with something else...who knows what.

Suddenly it was time to leave, and i was saying my goodbyes. Then, worried looks crept across the faces of the people present. How could i go outside so desabrigado? Then, from the back of the house someone carried a giant coat for me to wear. What choice did i have? So, i left the house with my regular clothes, and then on top a loaned sweater and a giant coat. It was probably as ridiculous looking as you are imagining. It looked like i robbed someone, and stole their clothes. And as i walked away, i was praying that all of my roommates would be home when i arrived home in a completely different outfit than i left in.

September 18, Fiestas Patrias

2005-09-19T09:47:00.000-07:00

September 18th is the Chilean national independence day...Here i am on a walk around my neighborhood on the 18:

I walk down our street, Ictinos, from the main intersection near our house. There are lots and lots of people out--just walking around it seems. There seems to be an abundance of wrappers and other assorted trash blowing around. More than usual, at least--probably remnants of some parties last night.

The day is warm, finally! It has been winter here so long. Having the sun feel warm on my shoulders, and walking around without my coat for the first time since May puts me in a goofy mood, and i am suddenly in love with everything. I love the sun! I love the random salsa music being played too loudly in the restaurant across the street from my house! I love Chile! I even love all the popcicle wrappers blowing around at my feet! Life is good...

Every house i pass has a grill set up outside, already cooking lunch. Gosh, no wonder i´m hungry--it´s nearly 1. The smell of the charcoal BBQ, cooking chicken and sausages, maybe even some steaks smells delicious. I get a little hungrier. Then, i sneak a peak through the gate of one of our neighbors and actually catch a glimpse of the cooking meat, and my stomach churns a little. Yep, still have a "meat hangover." I have been to three different cookouts or festivals in the past three days. At each, i stuffed myself with all sorts of meats. So now, just looking at meat reminds me that i am not quite ready to eat more just yet. (ed. note, 2 hours later i was eating a churipan sausage.)

As i walk down the street, i see the haze that seems to be hanging in the air. I´m not sure if it is smoke from the BBQs or smog. I see the smoke rising up from people´s yards, and then, somewhere in the air it muddles with Santiago´s nearly permanent haziness.

As i gaze into the air and ponder BBQ smoke and smog meeting, and hugging like old friends, i notice that the sky is also full of "volantines." These are square kites, made of a thin, light paper. Kids in my neighborhood began flying them about a month ago, but today, the air is filled with dozens. They seem a bit trickier than the kites i grew up with--they involve a lot of letting out string, and reeling it in quickly (the string is held on a large spool). Then, pulling back sahrply on the string while the proper corner of the kite is facing upward, so as to make the kite shoot a bit higher into the air. This is tricky business in my neighborhood--kids learn to maneuver their kite in between telephone wires, lines of buildings, and scattered tree.

Volantines are a typical toy for Chilean children for this time of year, and have an interesting history. They have been toys for years and years. In the past, the string used to fly the kite had ground glass stuck to it somehow. The idea was to have kite battles, and the glass made it easier to cut your opponent´s string. The glass string was outlawed not too long ago though after some poor motorcyclist was decapitated by a stray kite string. Still, from what the kids in the neighborhood tell me, you can buy the glass string on the black market from a green house somewhere on my street.

I am nearing my house now. Luis, my 12 year old neighbor is flying a kite outside our gate. So, i chat with him for a little while. He´s annoyed because there isn´t very much wind today. Thining about our tall palm tree in our yard, which as of late has become a kite graveyard, I ask Luis if he´s lost any kites to trees yet this year. He says that he hasn´t, but not 5 mintues later somethign went wrong, and his kite started spiraling all over the place, and then shoots down into the tree across the street. He tells me that luckily he has the nickname of "monkey something-or-other" (I didn´t understand the second half of what he said.) So, he is quickly in possesion of the lost kite.

That´s enough for me, i go inside and eat an apple.

Spirituality

2005-08-11T13:27:00.000-07:00

OK...It´s been a while, but here i am again. I am ready to finish up talking about the darn pillars. So, here it is: a short reflection on spirituality.

Spirituality is the hardest pillar to define: it is the most personal and vague, but at the same time, the most important. While, it is the hardest to live out deliberately, intentionally, it is the only pillar that makes the others make sense. In that, it is the most important. Without spirituality living in community, doing service, and living simply make no sense whatsoever. Spirituality is the keystone. Spirituality is what saves this life i´ve chose from some crazy form of masochism.

Now, how do I live out my spiritually intentionally? This is not something emotional: it is planned executed. If i did spiritual stuff only when i felt like it, or when i felt called, i would rarely do it. Now, what do i do? I visit a spiritual director, and go on retreats, and try to have a greater consciousness to God´s hand in this experience.

Most of what i do needs no explanation, and i feel as though if i did explain i would be preachy. And i want to avoid that. So, all i will write about is my spiritual director--just because he´s an amazing person. He is 85 years old and a Jesuit. During the Chilean dictatorship, he was one of the outspoken voices against the tortue and human rights violations taking place. I assume that he was detained by the dictatorship a few times, he kind of alludes to that, though i have never asked him outright. Now, he is old, and nearly blind. He has some illness that is rapidly taking his eyesight; he will be completely blind in a year.

The first time i went to meet with him, we were speaking in spanish. And i began to spill my guts about everything...I found it difficult to continue in spanish, and someone had told me that the spiritual director spoke english. So, i asked if i could begin speaking in english, and he nodded. So, i started...and i talked and talked. He just sat there silently. After a while, i began to wonder if he was understanding me. It´s a curious thing, to listen so silently that i thought he wasn´t understanding. But, finally, i finished and we sat silently for a moment. Then, he began speaking...in perfect (Brittish, haha) english. He spoke about every little thing i had said, gave advice. Then, after a while, i had run out of stuff to say, and he had finished speaking. And he simply said, "I think we´re finished here. I´ll see you in a month." There is was.

I hope all is well for all who read this...email me! Until later...

Simple Living

2005-07-15T14:19:00.000-07:00

The third pillar is one of the toughest for me to get my head around. It is a philosophy, and thus is easy to ignore, and even more easy not to challenge myself with.

The program gives me this pillar, and does not tell me how to interpret it. So, i have come to look at it in two different ways...The first way is the most obvious, monetary simplicity. This program does not have much money to spend on what may be deemed necessary. Therefore, i end up washing my clothes by hand, and cooking meals from scratch, and cutting the lawn with hedge clippers, and i make my way through the city in buses. On top of that the program only allows 50 dollars a month for spending money. So, there it is...Simplicity takes time and effort in many of these instances. But, there is a danger, in my opinion, in saying that because i get paid very little, that that is simple.

With all that said, it seems as though simplicity is inherantly built into the program. But, something that i read not too long ago gave me a different take on the simplicity pillar. This is from Thomas Merton´s "New Seeds of Contemplation": "Unnatural, frantic, anxious work..cannot properly speaking be dedicated to God, because God never wills such work directly." When i read that, i started the line of thinking of taking my time in everything i do. If i am supposed to be washing dishes, then i will not rush through it. If i need to cut the grass, then i will take my time. In this sense, simplicity was looking at all these menial tasks as work from God that are not supposed to be rushed through.

But, quickly i realized that this seemed to be a luxury that very few people have--the luxury of time to "waste." I began to realize that if i was going to stick to my resolution of not rushing, that i would have to change how i think about my schedule. I would need to schedule less, and when it came down to the bottom line, DO less. Is this something that i am willing to give up? I am trying it out. It is hard because it is a radically different way of looking at my days than what i am used to. I am used to filling up my days weeks in advance with plans, thinking the laundry will get done in between meetings. Or, if there are two meetings scheduled in one afternoon, i am used to rushing from one to the other. But, this would mean that i choose one meeting over the other in an effort to keep my schedule "simple."

I have only been doing this for a couple months now, and i am bad at living out philosophies. I don´t like to tell people no--i´d rather rush from meeting to cooking to meeting to laundry. The other reality is that i am bored sometimes. Not being rushed gives you lots of time to think...mostly about how much time you have to kill. (haha). But, even though i am far from perfecting this simplicity thing, i am already beginning to see some of the benefits in my own life.

Community

2005-06-22T10:51:00.000-07:00

Community is one of the 4 pillars of the program i am taking part in. Going into this year, i thought that that meant that there would be a few people that i would live with, who would be forced to be my friends. How wrong i was...Community is something that i had never experienced before...

On one level, communtiy is roommates who share a house. I live with 3 other people about my age. We take turns cooking, cleaning, paying bills, etc. We have a 3 legged dog named Jack. We are part of a community of Holy Cross priests and nuns and brothers, as well as quite closely linked with another Associate house just outside of Santiago. Community is made up of all these people, but it is more than that. Community is an experience...

My idea of community is constantly changing, so this may need to be updated as time passes. But, for now i can easily speak of my experience thus far. When i arrived, i quickly realized that the focus in community is not making friends, it is intentionality. This quite basically means that we do not, and won´t get along at all times. That is fine, because there is a committment to work out issues.

What we do...As a bare minimum, we spend one night of the week together. It is Thursdays for us. We begin with a meal, and then do a spiritual activity, and finish with something fun. But, above that, we work together in the house on project. We also work outside of the house together nearly everyday. You spend a LOT of time together, which means that you see each other at their best and worst. For instance, I the english class with one of my community members. Quickly she saw that i can relate to kids easily, but i am terrible at discipline. We talk pretty candidly about personal faults and strengths...For my first months, i felt like i was doing everything wrong. I felt like all of my faults were incredibly apparent to everyone else, like i had a sign above my head listing them. It has taken me months to realize that it is a blessing to be so aware of weaknesses because it makes them much easier to work on. Not only that, but i over time began to see other´s weaknesses, which made me feel like i wasn´t the weak link...we all share that responsability!

Things are intense in communities. Last Wednesday we had a hour long argument over a phone bill. Two weeks ago it was the dishes...I felt like throwing in the towel, and tuning out. But, something makes you stay...Which is the good part. Community may be difficult, but it is worth it when all is going well. It is neat having everyone know what i am bad at, and covering for me, filling in the places where i am not able. It´s hard to be called out on something i am doing poorly, but it is great to know that someone will do that.

It is a strange mix of fun and not-so-fun. I love living in community, but at the same time, this is an experience i am not going to seek out later in life. It is hard, but worth it.

Accompaniment

2005-06-15T12:12:00.000-07:00

Part of my experience here that i (in my head) categorize as Service is incredibly unofficial. After all i wrote in the preceding entries, all those different activities, my work schedule usually ranges between 15 and 30 hours a week. Sometimes my scheduled work is very little, sometimes more. It is never full time.

Part of what fits under the Service pillar, my "job," if you will, however, is very unofficial, unscheduled work. Part of what i am here to do is commonly in the overseas volunteer world called "accompaniment." The philosophy of this, is to plug yourself into a community as an outsider, and just being a member of that community. What does that mean, and more importantly, what does that entail? Those are questions i will probably ponder the extent of my time here. But, i have come up with some ideas on the topic.

One of the most important aspects of accompaniment, in my opinion, is an open schedule. With an open schedule, it allows me to be where i am needed, at any given time. Some examples:

One time there was a kid who was staying at the seminary for a number of weeks. It was his first time living away from his family, and he was feeling lonely and bored. So, i just hung out with him for an afternoon. We played ping pong, and went to check email together. The need arose, and i was at the right place at the right time to fill it.

Another experience that i had along the lines of accompaniment took place in a person´s house. I was sharing a dinner in the house of an elderly couple, and we were chatting over the meal. It turned out that they have a son who lives in Nebraska who recently got married. Now, the couple i was eating with were not able to attend the wedding due to high visa restrictions that the US has on Latin Americans right now, and on top of that the monetary burden. But, the son had sent them the movie of the ceremony through mail. The couple had yet to watch the movie, however, because it was in english. So, i offered to translate for them...That night, suddenly i found myself sharing the wedding of this couple in a direct and special way. We watched the movie together, all three of us for the first time. They cried during the vows (even though i slaughtered that translation!). It was a special time.

Much of this philosophy is just that--a philosophy. The practice is often just being in the right spot at the right time, which is difficult. It is hard not having a week planned ahead of time, and not knowing where i will be working and with whom. This idea manifests itself in lots of different forms: from dinners with families to visiting sick people at home or in the hospital.

Luckily, this aspect of my time, i love. And usually, it is not at all like working...I mean, going over to dinner at someone else´s house, playing ping pong for an afternoon...That´s not "work"! Though, it can be tiring. It requires always being attentive to other people, from roommates to students to passersby. Always waiting for an opportunity to accompany, and in the accompaniment listening actively and with compassion. With that, certainly i am not complaining. This job is easy not just because i like it, but also because it is not hard.

What i wrote was certainly mostly the philosophy behind the actions. These ideas many, many times do not come to fruition. Yesterday, for example, this philosophy manifested itself with me reading an afternoon away in my sleeping bag. Hit or miss...But, it is a neat way of living for the time being...

Hogar Santa Cruz

2005-06-09T14:44:00.000-07:00

OK...I´ve been on hiatus for a little while, but i´ve returned to the blog world with renewed vigor.

Here´s my vision: I am gonna write about my program--Holy Cross Associates--by means of the Four Pillars. The Pillars are a way in which we are guided as to how to experience this opportunity fully. They are: Service, community, spirituality, and simplicity. I´ll write about all of them in due time, and insert into the journal any amusing things that have taken place. But, i think for now i will continue what i was doing--writing about my various jobs. And in doing so also be writing about Pillar 1, service.

One of the things that i have gotten into the habbit of doing every week is visiting an hogar run by the congregation that i work for--Hogar Santa Cruz. It is a home for children who were removed from their homes for one reason or another. Most commonly, they were living in abusive situations. The house that i go to visit is all girls, and nearly all were sexually abused while at home. The extent of the abuse is apparent in the way that the kids carry themselves, greet adults, etc. They are kids who carry very sad stories with them wherever they are.

Many of the kids are by nature smart people. However, (what i have been told) the abuse in their past was so extreme that many are incapable of learning with any sort of ease. There are 14 and 15 year olds who are essentially illiterate. I work often with a 10 year old girl who cannot count past 5. She just gets confused, and throws out any number she can think of: 1-2-3-4-5-8-9-7-12-10-7.

My main idea in going to the home was to help with homework, which i do. The kids rarely have homework, however...or, at least that is what they say. But, i don´t press the issue. As soon as i get news that no one has homework, i always suggest tag or hide and go seek. Then, i will eat dinner with them. I go on Mondays, which is always lentils for dinner. Generally, after dinner, we go into the living room to watch their favorite soap opera for kids: "Es Cool"...which is horrible, but i what can you expect? haha

English Workshop

2005-05-05T13:15:00.000-07:00

Another of my jobs that i do regualarly is my english workshop. Every Tuesday and Wednesday, together with another Associate, Krissy, i put together a class for second graders. There are 10 kids in both classes, and the classes last about 2 hours. So, it is a LOT of time to fill...

The kids are absolutely crazy! It is partially a discipline issue, and by that i mean that i am very bad at discipline. But, also, the issue is that generally in Chilean schools, classroom management is much more lax. So, what i say to people that ask if we speak in english to the kids is: I speak in english, but i yell in spanish. hahaha

The kids in the class have never had any english background before. At the start of the class, most didn´t even know "hello." But, we are treating the class as an english immersion workshop--so, we speak in full sentences. It is truly amazing how quickly some of the kids pick up the language. Most are gleaning vocabulary very quickly, and there are a few that understand certain sentences when they are spoken to. Which is exactly what my hope has been from the start. By the end of the class, i want the kids to have a decent starting vocabulary, but especially that they have a good basis for pronunciation. At times with spanish what i have problems with is not finding words or conjugating verbs, but rather the pronunciation. How long do you roll the "r" for certain words, elongating certain vowel sounds. These are the things that biologically become more difficult with age. So, i work with the kids on how to NOT roll the their "Rs" and how to pronounce certain words. As i said before, with some of the kids, it is almost scary how quickly they pick it up.

Meet some of the kids:

Sebastian 1: No front teeth. A terror in the classroom. Last week, he got sent to the principal´s office for drawing a monster with a butt, and pointing to it while making farty noises.

Sebastian 2: One of those kids that picks up vocab so fast it freaks me out.

Sebastian 3: I don´t think he´s learned a thing...shucks.

Fabiola: Funny girl. When i say things that no one understands, she is always the person who just to be funny says: "yes mister"

Diego: Huge suck-up...which i LOVE! He´s learning really quickly. The other day he brought in a cassette tape labeled "Various English" which i thought was going to be little kids songs. So, i put it on while the kids were coloring..."We built this city! We built this city on rock and roll!"

Daniel: Our star pupil! He is learning super fast, and never has a discipline problem.

Francisca: Loves talking about her grandmother who apparently lives in the US, and is rich.

Samuel and Jorge: 2 kids who i swear must be twins, but actually are of no relation.

Maria Esperanza: A girl who is in her own world most of the classes. I thought she hadn´t learned a thing until last week when all of a sudden i heard her singing "head and shoulders knees and toes" to herself.

Marcelo: Great kid who likes to show off the his mini beard.

Catalina: Loves the game Mother May I more than life itself.

So, that is a sampling of the kids. Basically, what we do is try to teach using songs and games. The biggest hit so far has been the song head, shoulders, knees, and toes...and Duck Duck Goose. Although they all like the "ee yi ee yi oh" of Old McDonald Had a Farm a lot too.

It is a lot of fun to teach. Normally, i don´t like jobs that are that structured and intense. But, i am really enjoying getting to know the kids there.

The Comedors

2005-04-27T10:15:00.000-07:00

I figure that it is about time that i mention some of the work i am doing. First of all, i would like to write about the comedors i work at. "Comedor" essentially means soup kitchen, or something of the like--a place where people go to eat together. At this point i work at two of them, two days of the week--Monday thru Thursday.

Mondays and Thursdays i work at Comedor Hermano Andres which is connected to the Holy Cross house for priests near my house. My job is to get there early, and to set up. I put out the bowls, silverware, and glasses. Then, i make the juice and cut the bread, getting everything ready for the clientel. Then, at about 10 minutes before opening, i take brooms and plastic bags outside to give to the people who will be eating at the comedor that day...Generally people help clean up the outside as a way of giving back to the Holy Cross community in return for the meal. This comedor is for whomever shows up--some are homeless, some have homes but can´t afford food, some seem to just want to companionship.

When the people come in to eat, they sit themselves at one of our 3 tables with long benches. Generally about 20 people come, though it fluctuates day to day greatly. Usually, i work with someone else, whether it be another Associate (or 2 or 3) or a priest which is entirely necessary. Once everyone is seated, we ask for volunteers to say the prayer, and someone always wants to, or at least wants to volunteer someone else for the job, usually some unsuspecting new volunteer. Then, we serve up the food...

The most stressful part of the job is serving the food...many people want to be served first, or there is some reason that they want to put the food in a dish to carry away. Finally, people get calmed down and begin to eat...Some days we serve a soup called casuela--typical Chilean soup with big pieces of carrot, potato, and chicken. So, we make sure that each person gets some of each of the ingredients...I hate casuela day! hahaha

The best part of the day is after all are served, and are eating, and we get to sit down at a table and visit. Some of the regulars include: a family with a baby, Jesse who is great friends with the Trappist monks in the area. One man goes by the name Hippie, and considers sleeping on the street an art because you have to LEARN how to do it, and you don´t have to learn how to sleep in a bed. One man always rides his bike and has the most enormous, meaty hands i have ever shook in my life. One man is from Easter Island.

Then there is Juan who is married to Gladys with a glass eye. Gladys is extremely skinny--i think the comedor is probably the only time she eats in a day. And Juan is always the gentleman, washing the plate of his wife. Many times i have seen him give up half of his meal for Gladys.

One man, Don Manuel, is an elderly person of short stature. He always wears a baseball cap and has 2 obsessions: patience and earthquakes. He has a sign-off line, like a news anchor--"I hope you patience stays with you." To which i always reply, "gracias"...What else can you say to that? And as far as earthquakes go, he one time wanted me to move all of the dishes off of the shelves and place them on the table. Then, he put two benches on either side of the dishes, clamping them in place. When i asked why he did that his reply was that you never know when nature will send an earthquake...hmmm, i guess he´s right.

After eating, everyone takes their turn in washing the dishes, and then cleaning up the eating area...

The other comedor i work at is similar only in the sense that we serve food. It is on the other side of Santiago, which means riding a bus there. Basically, that means that i usually arrive a little late. This comedor also is called Comedor Hermano Andres, but rather than serving to the homeless, its focus is on the elderly of a low economic status. It is funded by the Holy Cross congregation, but is run by elderly community members. Thus, at any given time, i am the only person there under the age of 75. Most of time, i feel that i am sort of a novelty act--just sort of there to amuse people by the fact that i am young and from the U.S. I get asked tons of questions about my home, and get told lots of information about Chile.

This morning, when i arrived, i was sent by the boss, Margarita, to buy potatoes. The week´s supply is bought on Wednesday when the moving vegetable market is nearby. So, me and an elderly patron went together, and bought a huge quantity of potatoes which we carried back in a bag. As we were walking, he bagan to explain to me how things are in Chile. Things ranged from interesting--good restaurants in Santiago, how to get good deals at the vegetable market--to mundane: In Chile you wait for crosswalk signal to show the green man, which signals that it is safe to cross the street. Ahhh...thanks.

Generally, my job at the comedor is to help in the serving of the food--moving the large pot of soup from the stove to a lower chair more easily accesible for the old ladies. Then, as soup is put into the bowls, i serve the bowls to the patrons, and later clear the bowls, and serve seconds. As everyone is eating, i generally am served a bowl of soup and am able to visit with some of the people there. Here are some of the people that come:

Don Jorge, who loves to talk about former Associates who used to work there.
Don Raul, who eats whatever the others don´t want. Yesterday, he ate 3 desserts, and rumor has it that one day he ate 6!
Doña Maria, who always seems grumpy, but once you talk to her, she is actually really nice. She always sits next to Doña Teresa, who can hardly hear a thing. So, her lack of hearing coupled with my gringo accent makes it impossible for us to communicate. Luckily, Maria usually "translates" my spanish to Chilean spanish so that Teresa can understand...
Doña Blanca, who had three children who have died.
Don Marco, who i cannot understand a word he says, but he seems nice...

After the meal has been served, and seconds eaten, everyone gets out Tupperware to take some of the food home for their supper. And then we sweep, and wash dishes, and wipe tables. On Tuesdays, we set up for chair-aerobics (which i am dying to go to one of these days!).

The managers of this comedor are always a ton of fun. On Tuesdays, there is Doña Silvia, who seems grumpy until you get her talking about Temuco, a city in southern Chile. Also, is Doña Teresa, who is a wacko--she calls herself Saint Teresa of the lunatics, and puts hands like moose antlers on her head. On Wednesdays, is another group of elderly ladies. I don´t know their names yet...but, one has hair dyed so red it is almost the color of Ronald McDonald´s. So, i call her Doña Ronald in my head.

Doña Margarita is at the comedor each day--she arrives at 7:30am and stays until after lunch--all she does is on a strictly volunteer basis, though she essentially runs the comedor. She is pretty much exactly what you think of when you are asked to picture an elderly 80 year old Chilean woman. After the comedor, she has her routine: she goes to a park to read a little while, and then returns to her home for a cup of tea...

Both of the comedors are a ton of fun...challenging in very different ways. But, after them both, i feel satisfied with what i have done with my time.

Happy Easter

2005-04-07T13:50:00.000-07:00

Holy Week here in Chile was a lot of the same and some different twists on things. I was fortunate enough to have joined the Holy Week choir, so i was at all of the events of the week. Fun stuff.

Holy Thursday was much the same as we celebrate in the US. Feet washing, etc.

Good Friday, i woke up early in the morning to meet up with a Via Crucis (Way of the Cross) that was taking place across town. The procession would meet up, and then walk down one road to Villa Grimaldi. Some background: Villa Grimaldi is an infamous tortue and excecution center used during the dictatorship in Chile. Now, it has been transformed in the Park for Peace. The stations of the cross would take place in the park.

I met up with a huge group of people, and we all began to walk down the street. There was lots of singing, and prayers. Once we got to the park, we entered through black curtains into the former torture center. Once inside the stations began. We walked from place to place, first hearing about the type of torture that took place at that site, and then hearing a reading from the Bible describing the torture of Jesus, Himself. Powerful stuff. And then, at the excecution site, was the reading of the crucifixion.

Then, later that afternoon, was my parish´s stations of the cross which was through the streets of my neighborhood. There was a reinactment of the carrying of the cross, and of all of the events of the Passion. I know the dude who played Jesus, so that was pretty weird to watch. We would walk (hundreds of us) from place to place through the streets. And there were designated sites where each station would be read. There was an orange van that carried the amplification equipment...So, after the finish of each station, someone would run, and collect all of the microphones, then jump into the van, and try to get to the next site before the crowds. Then, as the crowds would approach, someone would jump out of the van (which had two big speakers tied to the roof) and block off traffic and set up the microphones. The whole thing ended in the church...like 3 hours later!

Then, Easter Vigil was nice too. Gobs of people came. The choir used lots of South American instruments, and put a Chilean spin on a lot of the songs.

It was weird not to be home for the Easter time. But, by the end of the week, i felt really lucky to have been in Chile for that time...

Lenten Thoughts

2005-04-07T12:30:00.000-07:00

I appologize for how long it has been since i last wrote. But, through much prodding of my mother, i return to write. But, where to begin? Where i left off...

It has been a a strange month, hard and yet filled with peace and excitement. So, first i wish to relate the events of my life, and then end this entry with some thoughts on Lent (now that it is far passed).

I began working in a number of capacities: Soup kitchen 2 days a week, another soup kitchen for the elderly 2 days a week, teaching 2 english classes to groups of 7 year olds, and helping with homework at a foster care facility. I am busy, but actually, not too busy. More on work in the coming months...As far as Associate life goes, it has been challenging and fulfilling. I find myself contemplating the Four Pillars (Community, Service, Spirituality, and Simple Lifestyle) in a new ways, still formulating opinions. It was a tough month as far as community goes. One of my companions (Meg´s) mother passed away from cancer. And another companion, Gabe, left the program. So, it was sad partings...

Now, for some Lenten thoughts. These are from a talk i did at our Associate retreat that was in March. Many of the ideas come from the book "Poetry as Prayer: Thomas Merton" by Robert G. Waldron.

Reflectons from the Desert

The time of Lent is a time in which we are called to the metaphorical desert. Just as Christ went into the desert to pray and fast, so we are called to such solitude. The time of Lent is an appropriate time to reflect on this, but also the desert can be used as a metaphor for my years in Chile.

First, i want to look at 2 poems written with the desert as their setting. First, the famous "Hollow Men" by TS Eliot. (I don´t feel like writing out quotes, but feel free to read this in your own time..hahaha) In this poem, Eliot uses the desert as a place of death, loneliness, and despair. In contrast, however, is Thomas Merton´s poem "Elias: Variations on a Theme." Here too, the poet uses the desert as a setting, but in a different manner. Here the desert becomes a place for the solitude and for a personal stripping of excesses. In Merton, we find the Christian view.

So, here i find myself in the desert. I am going through a lot of tough things. Why to i put myself through this? It is certainly more than some form of masochism. Indeed, i believe that there is inherant good in voluntary displacement. It makes us grow in ways we would not otherwise, even thought the "growing" stinks. Here´s what Merton would say is good about the desert:

Solitude: Here is a tough spot for me...Because in my mind, there is hardly much difference between solitude and loneliness. But, with solitude comes clarity of mind and focus. I definitely have not mastered this yet...Here´s to hoping.

Stripping: This is the part of the desert experience that is so important. It is painful and hard, but it is where the ultimate value lies. As of now, i can offer only a few thoughts on personal stripping. But, upon arrival in Latin America, i began to realize that i am not myself here. Many things that i considered to be inherantly mine, indeed, inherantly ME were taken away, stripped. To begin, my last name. The fact that it is pronounced differently here is superficial. But, the idea that it means nothing to anyone i meet bothers me occasionally. My last name might as well be Smith, or Gonzalez for that matter. No one here knows my family; no one understands what my name means to me. On top of that are things that go deeper into my personality. I consider myself funny (i know many people may disagree harhar). Here, i have yet to figure out how to be funny in spanish. That is not part of who i am here. Even things that are easy...I consider myself a good listener, but can i really call myself that here where i don´t entirely understand what people are saying? Good listener: chao.

So, here i am, with many parts of myself gone. What does that leave me? Who am i if i am not a member of a family, funny, and a good listener, etc., etc.? Merton says that this is the whole point of the desert. Everything is stripped away until we are empty, making it possible for God to fill us completely.

Habitat para la Humanidad

2005-02-23T11:51:00.000-08:00

The past week, myself and the rest of the Associates went south to Temuco, Chile to help a Habitat for Humanity project. The project was underway, but they needed some extra people for the grunt work. Not having other projects in the works, we all oblidged.

We were housed in a Baptist home for children. Had an entire wing to ourselves. Which was probably a good thing because we tend to get loud--laughing and joking around.

The first day of work was the hardest by far--digging. We had to dig by hand the foundations for the houses. This began with a pick axe to the hard earth, followed by shovels. This took all day. We were entirely, deliriously exhausted by the end of this day. But, the following days were not as tiring. We began mixing cement and hauling it in wheel barrows for the foundations, and others began pounding nails for the making of walls. This is pretty much what we did for the remainder of the week. Yeah, it was exhausting, but nice to see your work taking place in front of your eyes.

Mornings were cool and overcast. We would work hard as soon as we got there. Then, right about the time I was getting tired, there was a watermelon break. Then, some more work. And lunch time! At lunch it was always an interesting mix of spanish and english being spoken. But, everyone joking around. I was the most filthy everyday somehow. One day, at lunch, it looked as if my skin was coming off...in reality, it was just dirt. But, my nickname for the week quickly became "Ol Dirty Leper."

I gained a real appreciation for Habitat as a program. It was a wonderful experience working as a team with the other Associates, the Chilean overseers, and the families of the houses to-be. It was especially moving to be working side by side on a house with its future owner.

Now, all of our summer projects are over. I am looking for more permanent work placements. Wish me luck!

The Summer Thus Far

2005-02-12T12:53:00.000-08:00

The summer thus far has been a mix of lots of leisure time and lots of work. Here´s a mix of the stuff i´ve been up to:

Misiones St. George:

Traveled to Southern Chile (Near Osorno, for those of you holding maps) with a large group of Chilean high school students. Once there, we split into groups, and i found myself in an extremely remote corner of Chile with a director, Nate a fellow Associate, and 18 Chilean teenagers. The maddness ensued: Wake up at 7 am. Morning prayer and breakfast. Rest of morning was devoted to going out among the community, walking door to door to visit with the families. At times I found myself conversing while picking cherries, or helping a chatting with a lady as she milked a cow. The area was very remote--many houses had no roads to them. So, much of the time was devoted to finding paths through fields......Then, lunch. The kids would then plan the rest of the day, and i would sneak off for a nap. In the afternoons, we had a session for the little children of the area to come and have fun. Then, liturgy with the community. Snack. And a session with the areas youths in order to foster a community among them. Dinner, evening prayer, evaluation, sleep at about 1:30....REPEAT! This was an intense experience, but rewarding.

CEVA:

This was a week-long camp for children that live in Pocuro, in the rural area where the 2nd Associate house is. The idea behind it is that 1) the kids in rural Chile have something to look forward to during the summer months of no school, 2) the youth of the area have an opportunity to build leadership skills, and 3) the parents get a week off of parenting....So, we planned, while working with the area youths, 6 days of camp activites under the theme of caring for the environment. As it would turn out, i was put in charge of the 6 & 7 years olds. There were about seven of them, in general. And they loved to wander! So, much of my job was just making sure that they didn´t put themselves into a dangerous situation (roads, dogs, bees, horses, etc.). We did activities ranging from playing the quiet game to building a paper mache volcano. The hit activity of the week was definitely, however, Duck-duck-goose. I taught them that game on the first day, and we played it nearly every spare moment of the day. Crazy, but very fun experience.

Hogar Santa Cruz:

This past week i have helped a little bit at the orphanage/foster care facility near my house. It is summer, so most of the kids are living in houses, and not at the Hogar. But, most manage to make it back for pool time. So, i went there to swim with the kids, and keep them entertained and safe. One time, i was asked to watch all of them as the person in charge got a snack. I told him the i have no expereince in lifeguarding. But, that didn´t concern him much. So, suddenly, i found myself lifeguarding 20 kids in a pool! It was stressful, but no major accidents occured. Actually, no minor accidents either except that my eyes stung a little from the chlorine.

Tommy 1, Muggers 0

2005-02-08T13:30:00.000-08:00

The main street in Santiago is under construction. It is like a divided highway with one entire side blocked off. So, the traffic going in both directions is moved to only one side of the road. So, as it turns out, all the people walk on that side of the road, and the other side has no one.

And so i found myself one day walking up the sidewalk, and needing to go a distance quickly. I had a book bag on, which made weaving in and out of the people difficult. And i thought: "why don´t i just cross to the other side of the street? No one´s over there, and i could walk as fast as i want." I waited for one of the lights to change, and i crossed at the side walk in front of gigantic yellow busses.

Once on the other side i found myself in what seemed like a long hallway. On one side were buildings, on the other side a large green wall put up by the construction workers. So, i began to walk quickly. I thought i was some sort of genius--why in the world isn´t anyone else over here? I walked quickly and effeciently, making good time...until...

Suddenly, i felt my bag lift up a little. I turned around, and there was a rather large man who had appeared from no where. I hadn´t seen him as i passed, and hadn´t heard him come up behind me. But, there he was lifting my bag up gingerly. I turned around a little shocked, and looked at him. He was not huge, but a bit larger than i. Dressed in street clothes--definitely not poor nor rich. He went back to my bag, lifting it again...I grabbed the shoulder straps. Then, he began to speak in a crazy-spanish. I couldn´t understand a word he was saying--other than backpack.

He had been lifting the bag so gently, i wondered if perhaps he was offering to carry my bag for me. I thought--well, nice of you to offer, but i´m fine, thanks...

Then, he put his hand on the back of my neck, and pushed my head downward, forcing me to arch my back. He started to pull harder on my bag. Then, all i could think about was my passport--Oh no! It´s in the bag. I turned my body a little, about willing to give up my bag. I was just going to ask if i could keep my passport. But, when i turned, and looked at him, something snapped in me. I just looked at him, and gave the loudest growl/scream of my life. ROAR GRRRR!!!!

He was shocked. He jumped back, and i prepared myself to take off running. But, i didn´t have to run, because he took off running full speed in the opposite direction.

Afterwards, i was in shock, i was shaking from the scare. I crossed back over the other side of the street, and kept asking people for directions just to talk to nice people. Scared but, not upset in the least because i had won!

Country Mouse...

2005-01-24T13:29:00.000-08:00

Meg and I decided to visit some of our friends from the language school in Bolivia that are also working in Santiago. We got from our roommate Krissy the numbers of busses that would take us where we want to go, as well as the numbers that would take us home. Then, she walked us to the bus stop, we got on a bus, and for the frist time, we were on our own in the gigantic city.

We met up with our friends without a problem. Walked around in the downtown area, looking at the different businesses--tons of shoe stores, scandalous coffee shops, and ice cream which we ate...twice.

Then, as we were saying goodbye to our friends, we reviewed the list of busses that would take us home. In the midst of hugging goodbye, bus 212 passed by. And, that being on the list, we started running down the sidewalk to catch up. Luckily, there was a mini-traffic jam. So, we could walk out through the 3 lanes of stopped traffic, and got on the bus. It was jam packed--no room to sit. So, we stood holding onto the metal bar thing. Then, as time went on the bus emptied out little by little, and we ended up with seats apart. Then, the bus emptied out a little more, and we got seats near each other so we could talk.

We sat there for a while watching the city pass by--huge buildings, loads of people walking in every direction. It felt nice to be in a city surrounded by life. We sat, and sat...and sat. Then, after an hour (the normal commute time home) we began to wonder if this was the correct bus. Yep, 212 is on the list. So, we sat a little longer. Then, to our horror, we looked to the left out the window and saw the out of town bus terminal passing by. I remembered that place from when we originally came into Santiago as being on the edge of town. Oh yes, we had gotten on the correct bus, going in the wrong direction.

But, still we sat, thinking that good ol´ 212 is a city bus. How far can it go without truning around, and making the loop back in the correct direction? So, we sat a little longer. People were entertaining to watch, still getting on and off the bus. It was a pleasant day--why NOT be on a bus?

Eventually, we found ourselves in a suburb of Santiago. Everytime we passed a road, we took turns trying to remember it in our heads so we could look on a map to see how far out of the city we´d gone.

Another hour passed...

Now, we were far out of the city. The bus was only getting emptier. No more people getting on and then off. Only off. Then, finally, it was just Meg and I, the bus driver, and one other passenger that had a striking resemblance to James Gandolfini. At this point there was no getting off the bus; we were in for the long haul. Suddenly, we found ourselves driving through a forrest. It´s a weird feeling being on a city bus driving at warp speed through the woods. Meg and i were getting anxious. We kept saying--"the only thing that makes me feel like this bus may turn around is James Gandolfini over there!"

Then, the bus made a turn into a parking lot--the bus terminal. Parked there was a huge amount of city busses. This was the end of the line. No turn around; do not pass Go. Then, the bus parked, and Meg and i sat expecting that the bus would eventually head back to the city on another round. Nope. As Gandolfini was exiting, he told us we had to as well. It turned out that he was the night security guard at the bus terminal (It was around 9pm, at this point.).

We didn´t know what to do. There we were. Middle of no where, clueless, and hours from home. So, as one fo the 212 buses was leaving the parking lot. We flagged down the driver, and took the 212 line back to Santiago.

Buses are weird places at night. And this driver was nuts. Singing to the radio, top speeds, weaving in traffic. Nuts. At one point, the people were bargaining entrance--2 for the price of one--OK. Then, we saw an elderly couple making out. Then, came the weirdest moment of the night: We saw a clown standing on the corner. Then, the clown waves the bus down. Oh no! The clown is getting on the bus!

The clown turned out to be some sort of bus-entertainment act. He was trying to get the people on the bus to sing, and the driver to turn off the lights (which he willingly oblidged). Then came the end of his act, and he started talking about how everyone should pay him. I was like--I don´t like clowns, i was creeped out by the act. I am not paying! So, Meg and i being in the front row were the first approached. We both said we weren´t donating anything. So, the clown pulled a cardboard sword out of his belt that had fake blood painted on it. Suddenly, i found myself in the front row of 212 with a carboard knife at my throat which was being held by a clown! We refused to pay again, and he moved on to annoy the next row of seats...

Finally, after a 4 hour bus trip. We made it home, tired and ready for sleep. What should have been an hour, turned out to be 5 on bus 212.

The Merry Christmas Edition

2004-12-22T10:06:00.000-08:00

I recently had the opportunity to go to a Christmas party at an orphanage run by the Holy Cross order in Santiago. The whole thing started off with all of the kids coming outside and sitting under a large tent, decorated nicely with reds and greens. All 30 of the kids were really excited and would wiggle around in their chairs.

Then, the ridiculousness started. But, first a brief sidenote: I was worried in coming to Chile that it would not be as crazy as Bolivia. Chile is a very modern and effecient country. So, it I thought that it may be possible that the weirdness of Bolivia wouldn´t be here. This experience, however, put those thoughts at ease.

The show began by one of the ladies that works at the orphanage calming the children down. And then, she announced over a microphone that some bear was on his way to make a visit. About 5 seconds later, a huge bear costume came strutting into the tent. It was the single MOST ridiculous costume i have ever seen. Probably about 8 feet tall, and all white. But, the weird part is that it had a plastic face with a big, red nose. The strangest part being, however, that it had a long neck, probably about 3 feet in length. So, it ended up looking what i would imagine the spawn of a dog-giraffe-polar bear to look like. The important thing, as always, is that the kids went nuts for it--cheering and jumping out of their seats! The bear made his way through the crowd and up to the area with the microphone...He grabbed the microphone, and began to walk up on stage. Then--all of a sudden--he hit a barrier. As it was walking up the stairs to get onto the stage, its sheer height and giraffe neck got in the way. Yes, suddenly, the person who was manning the costume was ramming the head of the bear into the ceiling, and didn´t realize it...So, he just kept climbing the stairs until the neck was bent to a 90 degree angle, and the head pointing horizontally. Once, he realized what was happening, he came back off the stage, and fixed the costume...and it was on with the show!

The bear grabbed the microphone and the person inside the bear began to speak to the kids--relaying jokes and the like. But, the funny thing is that the breathing hole for the person inside was at the bottom of the neck of the bear (this was a TALL costume!) So, to use the speak, it looked like the bear was holding the microphone up to his neck. From then on, to us he became known as Tracheotomy Bear, who smoked a pack too many.

The next parts are all sort of a blur to me...here is what i remember: Another mascot being called out...A dog. The dog and the bear doing weird tag team acts. Then, some of the kids danced the cueca....then, the 8 foot bear with the tracheotomy and a little, old woman danced the cueca. Hilarious!......Then, there was a puppet show...there was a cat puppet that "peed" on the entire crowd...the children got sick of the puppet show and started misbehaving...the giant dog-giraffe-polar bear tackled some kid...the dog costume was attacked by group of children...child running around wearing the dog head, and person in half a dog suit chasing behind......And then we all went to Mass.

After Mass, the show was not quite as funny, but became quite touching. Santa Claus (Viejito Pascual) made an appearance to pass out all of the donated gifts. He would call each child up to receive their gift box. The first girl to be called was about age 5. She began to walk up on stage, and then saw the gift and could hardly contain herself. She put her hands over her mouth and began to jump up and down. Then, ran to Viejito Pascual and gave him a huge hug. All of the rest of the kids followed with similar reactions.

Then, all of the kids began to open their gifts. They all received a bathing suit...It was so weird to be seeing kids getting bathing suits for Christmas! Each child also got a bookbag and a new shirt. One little boy was so excited when he saw his new, yellow t-shirt that he whipped off the one he was wearing, and put on the new one. Then, they all got some other gift or two just for fun...soccer balls, dolls, jump ropes, plastic toys, etc.

A great way to kick off Christmas time in Santiago...Merry Christmas, everyone!

On Leaving Bolivia

2004-12-21T13:58:00.000-08:00

Greetings All,

I´m just about to take off for Chile, so i thought that this would bean appropriate time for an update. And i think that the mostinteresting way to do this in in list form...so here they are:

The food...here are the Top 8 Grossest things i ate in Bolivia:
8. chicha (the smell at this point makes me nautious)
7. potatoes (OK, i like potatoes as much as the next guy. But, here there are special potatoes from La Paz that are compressed while growing by people´s feet...and, so they pretty much taste like feet, but in a good way.)
6. Cow´s heart (tastes not too bad...just gross idea)
5. Cow´s tongue (see online journal for my opinion on this!)
4. Chicken foot soup (broth was pretty tasty, but your appetite goes away when there´s a foot floating around in your bowl.)
3. Chicken head soup (gross all around).
2. Fried guinea pig (yep. This was awful! Really tough meat, and AWFUL to look at. They just fried the entire animal...claws, head,everything.)
1. Cheese. Bolivian cheese is one of the grossest things in theworld. nuf said.

Another list...Things I´ve learned that´ll be of use when the Millenium Bug finally hits:
1. Wash clothes by hand...
2. Shave with freezing cold water
3. How to cure anything from a stomach ache to diareah with tea
4. How to lower a fever with potatoes and vinager
5. How to cope with stress: bathe in coffee.

Here are some of the reasons i think me and my Bolivian family are getting too comfortable with each other:
1. Ely steals my slippers from my closet to wash them.
2. I´m in poor Danny and Veronica´s wedding video more than they are.
3. Rolo impersonates me on the phone when he doesn´t want to talk to his mother in law.
4. They have taken to teasing me about having relations with a vacuum cleaner.

Some least favorite memories:
1. Fending off 3 presumably rabid dogs
2. walking the same walk to school generally 4 times a day
3. answering the phone in spanish
4. the sheer frustration of learning a language
5. Everything fried....and getting fatter.
6. The constant puns that can be made with my name in Spanish

Some favorite memories:
1. Swimming in the pool in Chapare
2. Holy Cross Associates community nights in Cochabamba
3. Dancing the Cueca for the enjoyment of many a Bolivian
4. The insane fortune teller
5. Hiking The Island of the Sun in Lake Titicaca
6. Spanish literature class with Señora Robinson
7. Danny and Vero´s wedding
8. Anything with the Arcos family

Well, that about does it. It was long, but i hope you found itentertaining. I am really sad to be leaving Bolivia as i loved my time here. But, i am looking forward to seeing my new home for the next two years.

CHAUUUU

In the "Thin Country"

2004-12-21T13:16:00.000-08:00

Well, here i am in Chile, or the "thin country" as Pablo Neruda calls it in one of his poems. It feels somewhat surreal. Here is a brief summary of stuff that has happened just to catch people up...

Almost did not arrive in Chile. I think that the Cochabamba airport official wanted a bribe. So, he kept on finding (making up, in my opinion) problems with out tickets.

First impressions: Chile is modern. It feels more like the US than it feels like Bolivia. Big freeways, and modern cars. Supermarkets...everything.

The Chileans barely speak spanish, in my opinion. I was speaking spanish pretty well upon leaving Boliva, but here i do not know what is coming out of these peoples mouths. But, it does not sound like spanish to me. They speak extremely fast, and abbreviate random words. Also, there is a huge usage of words that are only found in the Chilean vocabulary. We have a book (yes, BOOK) of Chilean words in our house.

Speaking of Chilean words...Generally, when South Americans ask me where i am from, i say that i am from Michigan. But, at times, people do not know the names of all of our states. So, in Bolivia, i would say. "I live sort of near Detroit"...but in spanish. One of the first things i was advised against here was saying that. And for a very interesting reason...In Chile, the name "Detroit" is slang because it sounds like the spanish word "detras". Or, more importantly, Detroit is used as slang for the phrase "por detras"...which...lets just say is sexual humor...I will let those of you who are still curious either email me, or look it up. But, lets just say, that since coming to Chile, i suddenly live much closer to Chicago when i am talking about where i am from to avoid a Chilean giggling to himself.

In other news. I am in my new home, Santiago. It is a huge city--6 million, i believe. So, it is taking a little getting used to. Also, i am living with other Associates now. A welcome change... Of course...more later.

That Thing They Call Español

2004-11-22T16:00:00.000-08:00

Barbara Kingsolver in her genius book The Poisonwood Bible talks about learning a new language, and says something to the effect of "when i speak, it feels like i have thistles on my tongue." While i don´t necessarily feel like that. I have made some pretty funny mistakes:

1. One day coming in the house from school, my family ramarked that i looked really hot and tired. Then, Ely said something that i just didn´t catch other than some assorted words..."You´re sweating...washtub...backpack." I didn´t really know what to do, so i made a guess. I walked over to the wash tub and put my backpack in it. And when i walked back into the room, my entire family was cracking up...I have no idea what she said to this day, but i´m positive it wasn´t: "You´re sweating, go put your backpack in the washtub." (I have NO IDEA why i ever thought that in the first place! Duh...

2. The word "salvaje"
Definition: Wild
Connotation: Native American (Not the modern type...like the living in a teepee and wearing feathers in hair type.)

I had heard the word "salvaje" a bunch of times, so i looked it up in my dictionary. Great--now i know how to say wild. Then, one day i was looking at pictures of my family with Rolo and Ely. And there was some photo where we were doing something ridiculous. I said something to the effect of: "Mira! Mi familia es tan salvaje como Uds." I wanted to say--Look my family is wild just like you guys! But, what i actually said: "Look! My family is a bunch of Native Americans that live in a teepee and wear feathers in their hair....just like you." Laughter erupts.

And i´d like to think that i am getting better. But, the next two mistakes happened just this past weekend.

3. "Dado" Definition: dice
"Dedo" Definition: finger

The scene: I was playing a dice game that requires you to throw 5 dice out of a cup. For some reason, when it got to be my turn, one was missing. So, i said calmly: "Me falta un dedo." Translation--"Dear God! I´m missing a finger!"

4. "batan" Definition: Large rock used to mash tomatoes and peppers into a salsa.
"batón" Definition: Bra

My family and i were preparing to eat our breakfast. Cooking the food. Earlier in the year, i learned how to make the hot salsa they put on everything. So--eager to help--I said with a smile on my face, "Yo sé como usar el batón!" Translation: "I know how to use a bra!" Once again, roar of laughter from my family...

The Drug War

2004-11-20T13:09:00.000-08:00

Living in Bolivia gives one a different perspective on the War on Drugs that my homeland is waging. Here, i am seeing the problem of cocain from the start.

Recently, i visited Chaparé, a city near Cochabamba, placed in the middle of the jungle. The trip there and back, and the area itself is full of devastating beauty. Palm trees with monkies laying in them; every so often a flock of parrots flying overhead. The area also boasts a large number of endemic (only found in that area) animals and plants, including several species of orchids. Me, and some others, went on walks through the thick jungle, and i was struck by how gorgous it was several times. But, growing in that jungle (naturally) is the coca plant, the plant used to derive cocain from.

A brief history of the coca leaf: The coca plant has been used to centuries in Bolivia for its medicinal purposes. The dried leaves may be used to make a tea that helps with altitude sickness, among many other ailments. The fresh leaves are chewed by locals to give energy or relieve a headache--the results are similar to drinking a cup of coffee. But, recently (relatively speaking), people discovered how to chemically change the coca leaf into the drug cocain. And then came heaps of promlems, handled poorly by both Bolivia and the US government.

Firstly, what should be understood is Bolivia´s total dependance on the drug market. This is a country constantly on the verge of economic collapse, and there is poverty everywhere. The drug market has provided this country with a great deal of income, and helps the ecomony here an enormous amount. Is this a good thing? Nah. I´d never say that. A country depending on the cocain trade is scary. But, i mention this to bring me to the US involvement in Bolivia...

The United States spends huge amounts of money in Bolivia to fight the drug trade. I have been told that officials have gone so far as to burn large areas of the jungle, like the one in Chaparé, in an effort to erradicate the plant from the area. The US has also given a large amount of money to the Bolivian government to help stop the production of the crop...Now, here´s what US officials just don´t get:

1. Bolivia will collapse without this crop that it depends on.
2. Giving money to the Bolivian government is like throwing it down the toilet. The people (the coca farmers themselves, for instance) will not see a centavo.

Now, for the Rule of Subsidiarity. This is one of the benchmarks of Catholic Social Teaching. This rule states that decision making should be made as close to a problem as possible. (If there is a problem in some neighborhood, the people of that neighborhood should be coming up with ideas on how to solve it. Not being told how...) Now, i believe that if my government was following this rule-of-thumb, some progress would be seen. I asked one of my professors the other day why not just pay the coca farmers to grow another crop. The money given would subsidize the large profits that they´d be losing by switcing to a less lucrative crop. How about taking all that money that is given to the government, and giving it to the people? My teacher´s reply: "People have been suggesting that for years."

How Embarrassing

2004-11-16T09:09:00.000-08:00

Check it out....

http://holycrossassociates.nd.edu/Pages/HouseChile.htm

And the kicker:

http://holycrossassociates.nd.edu/Pages/Chile/ChileNew.htm

Note to self: Don´t be a moron when it comes to things that can be seen and read worldwide.

Festival in the Campo

2004-11-11T13:58:00.000-08:00

On Sunday, Meg and I went with my Rolo to the Campo for the festival of All Saints Day. The day used to be the start of the Incan New Year--time to ready the fields for planting crops and the coming rainy season. The festival was "baptized" by the Spaniards, and now it is a beautiful mixture of Incan and Christian culture.

As we walked around, we listened to live traditional Bolivian bands. And every so often, dared to eat some of the food. The main events of the festival took place around a huge swing. The females of the campo took turns sitting on the swing, and getting as high as they could, symbolizing the souls of people leaving earth for the heavens, and then returning back again for the Day of the Dead. If the lady got high enough on the swing, she could attempt to grab a basket hung from a tree with her feet as a prize.

As we were walking around, we met up with Danny and Vero, and unwittingly joined them in a chicha circle. Now, once you are in a chicha circle, as far as i can tell there is only one way out--like the mob. You drink chicha out of a wooden bowl. One person has it, and before that person is allowed to drink, you "salud" to someone else by name. That person then knows that they are up next for the bowl. After finishing your bowl of chicha, you fill it up and pass it off to the person that you saluded. Culturally, it is pretty rude to turn down what you are offered. So, if you are offered chicha, you have to accept, and before drinking you have to prepare someone else for the bowl--and they can´t refuse. So, there is no way that this circle can ever end! It´s horrible. And being foreigners is worse because everyone wants YOU to have a turn.

The taste of chicha is not bad. It´s definitely not my drink of choice (far from it), but it´s not horrible. But, i think that i had probably about 20 bowls of it. Then, people started playing rauella. I joined in, thinking that it´s a great excuse to leave the circle. But, awfully enough, i got a "hueca" which forces me to drink a bowl of chicha...That was it, Meg and i left for a walk.

When we returned to the circle, everyone was a bit drunker. We discussed slang terms for drunkeness with Danny, who kept saying "I am trashed, and my dad is wasted." It was nuts. Then, all of a sudden there was a wandering minstrel with an accordion. Rolo asked him to play a Quaka for Meg and i to dance to. Meg and i looked at each other horrified. Then, all of a sudden, it was happening. The Quaka is a dance where both people in the pair use handkerchiefs, and wave them around in the air. Meg retrieved an old napkin from her pocket. And i, ridiculously enough, was just acting like i had one in my hand. About halfway through the dance, suddenly someone threw a handkerchief at me to use. When i grabbed it, i looked around and realized that there were more people than just my family watching...In fact, without us realizing it, we were suddenly in the middle of a circle of appoximately 50 Bolivians watching our every move. Meg was mortified...I thought it was kinda cool. So, we just kept up the dance. There were parts that we did horribly, and other parts well done. But, when we finished, there was a large amount of applause. Then, the person selling the chicha walked into the middle of the circle with a bowl for each of us. They made us pose drinking the chicha with interlocking arms.

Afterwards, we were like celebrities. Everyone wanted to buy us more chicha (no! thanks!) and wanted to know where we were from, and to take pictures of us. It was hilarious.

A First Communion

2004-11-11T13:38:00.000-08:00

Last Sunday was the First Communion of 2 of the kids at the orphanage i volunteer at. So, my fellow volunteers and i--Meg and Maureen--went in support of the kids. The church was beautiful, and packed with people. It was nicely decorated with white ribbons, and banners. "Cristo, sin ti, nacemos para morir. Contigo, moriramos para nacer en la vida eterna." There were no statues in the church, but the walls had huge paintings of South American saints.

The three of us were sitting among the other kids, spacing ourselves out to watch over them. At one point during the Mass, Maureen leaned over to me and said, "Look at that painting. Do you see anything weird about it?" I looked, and looked, and could not figure out what she was talking about. It was a painting of St. Rose of Lima. She was sitting among a group of kids, one was on her lap. And she was handing out roses to the kids. "Nope...i don´t see anything weird about it." Then, Meg leaned over and said, " The boy on her lap is seriously lacking pants!" I squinted, and looked. Yep, sure enough the boy on Rose´s lap had a shirt, but nothing on below the waist. Like Donald Duck, but with genitalia. With one deft stroke of the paintbrush the artist had added a little something to be perplexed over. Why? Why a shirt but no pants? "I think the lady should have been passing out pants and not roses!" --Meg

Now, there was an old lady with a little hump on her back sitting in front of me during the Mass. As the Mass continued, i noticed at one point that the hump start to move around a little. I sorta looked at it perplexed. Luckily, there was a little window at the top of her blouse made of decorative mesh. And i looked, and noticed that there were 2 little mice running around in the old lady´s shirt. She was hunched over so that they wouldn´t fall out.

With the old mouse lady doubled with the penis painting, we were all sitting there cracking up. Dying of laughter as the little kids just sat there perfectly. That is until i pointed out the hump made of mice to them...

diaspora

2004-11-06T09:35:00.000-08:00

"Thus says the Lord...a whole people will be carried into exile." Amos 1:6

The economy of Bolivia is stagnate, relatively non-existant. It is the poorest country in the western hemisphere with the exception of only Haiti. This is, however, a country that used to have one of the richest supplies of mineral wealth ever. How did this happen? Some history...

Bolivia was part of the Spanish Empire at its height. Now, i am not going to get into the effects of colonialization right now. But, one effect was that this country, which was wealthier beyond anyone´s dreams ended up supporting financially the entire Spanish Empire for a period of over 3 years. There is a mountain near Potosi, Bolivia, that is said to have been almost entirely made of silver and tin which is now entirely stripped. All of that wealth, however, did not stay here, but rather went to Europe with the owners of the mines. Now, there were thousands of miners who worked there, in Potosi for the Spaniards and after. But, in the 1960´s, the mine ran out--no more metals. Suddenly, thousands of miners were without jobs, and the source of nearly all of the national revenue was gone. Fast forward about 40 years, and there are still no jobs because there are no other natural resources to fall back on, and no way to jump start the economy.

When i first got here, i thought that Bolivia was a country of travelers. Everyone seemed to have a relative--uncles, aunts, cousins, brothers, sisters--in Spain or Italy. The family that i am staying with at this moment has a daughter there--Patty. As my family talked about Patty more and more, i began to realize that she wasn´t in Italy for a vacation. She had graduated from college and entered into a non-existent work force. She had no choice but to leave her homeland for another to find work. I always feel like i have a lot in common with Patty. We are both learning a new language at the same time, and adjusting to new cultures; we are both very far from home. But, i have to remind myself of one key difference: I am here by choice, and when i go home, i will be able to work in the area of my university degree.

The mother of the family, also, has worked abroad at two different times--in both Italy and Spain. And, she will be joining her daughter in February.

Why work in Spain and Italy? And more importantly, why NOT the United States? Italy and Spain are in interesting situations right now. They have a negative population growth. (Yeah, very interesting for the 2 most Catholic countries in Europe.) The population of the elderly in these countries is much greater than the children, and even more challenging, much greater than the workforce is able to care for. So, these two countries have offered Bolivia a deal. They can come, and live and work without papers (which often leads to working without benefits). Bolivians can enter these countries, no questions asked. Often they work in the care of the elderly. Patty is a nanny for triplets.

So, why not the come to the U.S.? I asked that question of my family. It certainly would make more sense. It´s closer to home, and the American dollar is widely accepted as a currency in Bolivia. Simple fact. For years Bolivians did come, and would work in the States. But, recently (during the mid-nineties) the United States government became concerned that Bolivians (among others) were going to begin staying in our country. With this in mind, the door to most Bolivian immigrants as well as ALL temporary workers was closed. You could have a return ticket back to Bolivia in hand, and you are still not allowed entrance into the United States.

Be that as it may, many, MANY Bolivians are still leaving the country for Europe. Just in Cochabamba, a medium sized city, 80 people leave each day. On my walk to school each day, i pass a huge line of people--different people every day, waiting for their passports. 80 people per day leaving family and friends. Suddenly, my own leaving of my family and friends seems a bit trite. I am not an exception here; i am the rule--leave home after college.

Chaparé

2004-11-06T09:06:00.000-08:00

Last weekend i went on a trip to the jungle, staying in the city of Chaparé.

I went with some friends from the Institute, and we ended up staying in a nice hotel. Actually, it wasn´t that nice of a hotel, except that it had a gigantic pool...ahhhh! The first night there, we ended up swimming for hours late into the night. There were tons of huge bats (I´m saying huge) flying all over the place, and they would dip down from the sky to get drinks of water from the pool. Sometimes only missing our heads by a few feet. Pretty creepy.

The next day, we took off for a hike through the jungle. It started by a cable car across a turbulent river. Then, off through the thick vegetation. We had a guide with us, who was capable of pointing out things that i never would have spotted otherwise--orchids, bizarro insects, and a bunch of parrots in flight. We had been walking for about an hour, just looking at the wildlife, when all of a sudden this lady, barefoot, and with a baby on her back passed us on the trail. We said hello, and she replied in another language, presuambly Quechua. We asked our guide what she was doing, and he replied that she is part of a group of people that still live out in the jungle. Fascinating...

A bit farther, we came upon a cave, and our guide pulled out a flashlight. Oh boy...Now, the safety procautions here are not like in the States, in that they are non-existant. So, there we were ducking through this cave next to a giant crevace. Then, we got into a room in the cave, and the guide started flashing the light on the ceiling which had a good deal of bats sleeping on it. Very creepy. Then, we got to get a close view of bats sleeping...we´d walk over and stand under them, and flash the light at them. Quite a few would wake up, and then drop straight down, only beginning to fly a few feet over our heads. Yeah, i definitely freaked out the first couple times that happened.

Later that day we went to a monkey preserve. The monkies at the preserve are wild, they simply are a bit tamed by the amount of visitors. Now, luckily i was warned by my family that the monkies are thieves beforehand. So, i put all my money and my in a tiny pocket with a zipper on my pants. And i put my camera in my underwear. Now, what happened next was sorta a blur. We entered the park, and then there were tons of mokies all over the place. Then, one ran up to me, and started climbing all over me. It was more gross than anything else. Then, he started sticking his hands in my pockets, even undid my pockets that have velcro, and reached in. In one pocket, i had a map and my ticket for entering the park. The monkey grabbed the papers, looked at them, and then threw them all over the place. I was getting annoyed, feeling like i just had to sit there and let this monkey crawl all over me. And i just had to sit there and take it while it was going through my pockets. Then, it was hanging on my left leg, and it discovered my pocket with all my money, and that bugger was smart...zip! I didn´t know what to do, so i wiggled my leg and gave it a big jostle. Apparently a bigger jostle than i realized because the monkey went flying through the air. It was fine...and in another minute, the same monkey had stolen a lighter from some other ill prepared tourist. He took the lighter a little ways away, and grabbed a rock. Then, he started pounding the lighter with the rock (Oh God! They´ve discovered tools!). Yep, after a couple good whacks with the rock, the lighter exploded (Oh God! They´ve discovered explosives!).

After the discovery of explosives by monkies: "I for one would like to welcome our new mokey overlords." Meg Green, trying to butter up the monkies.

Last Weekend Top 10

2004-10-29T09:26:00.000-07:00

Last weekend was a crazy weekend, so here´s a top ten list of the occurances. And here´s to hoping this weekend´s just as crazy:

10. Watching Best in Show (the movie) in Spanish.
9. Llama fetuses galore in the cancha.
8. Teaching my professors--Kitty and Teresita--how to dance to rap music.
7. Dancing in my house to really loud music by Bon Jovi with my family.
6. Pizza for dinner on Fri and Sat night. yuuuuuuuummmmm
5. Making tacos with the family at 11:30 pm for Sunday night dinner.
4. Going to the radio station where Danny works, and getting stage fright of speaking spanish on the radio...yeah, not gonna happen.
3. Going to see one of the most popular bands in Bolivia for free.
2. Scoring a "hueca" in rauella (pretty much the best thing you can do in the game) and Rolo fraking out in amazement....total luck, but still hilarious.
1. Danny shocks me by speaking English while he was heavily boozed. Before this weekend, i had no idea he knew ANY English, much less speaks pretty well.

La Cancha

2004-10-27T09:23:00.000-07:00

There is one of the largest open air markets in the world in Cochabamba, and lately i have had the opportunity to get to know the area a little better. I´ve gone twice in the past week, and both times proved to be very interesting.

Last Saturday Meg, Andrew (a Scottish friend), Ely, and I all went together. With Ely as our guide we wandered for like an hour through the never ending aisles. Everthing is arranged very randomly. You find yourself in an area with lots of food--huge pieces of raw meat sitting out. Pig´s heads, chicken feet and heads, and enormous cuts of beef. Then, you walk to the next section, and it´s all shoes....then the following is more food, the one after that is bridal apparel. It´s so interesting. Finally, we made it to our destination--the section of robbed goods, the most dangerous section of The Cancha. So, all of us were freaking out. When people steal goods of value, this is the area to go to sell the goods. So, all of the people selling the things in that area, are all crooks. Hence the danger. You weave in and out of hundreds of people selling jewelry, TVs, and for some reason huge amounts of bikes. We were all looking for Meg´s camera which was recently stolen. So, not only were we looking at the different cameras, but also scanning the crowd for the three people that stole the camera in the first place. Had we found them, i have no idea what we would have done...We all made it out just fine, with nothing stolen off our bodies. Unfortunately, we didn´t find the camera though.

This morning for my Conversational Spanish class, I went with my professor Liliana and my conversation partner, again Meg, to The Cancha. We had a very specific purpose this time as well--La Brujeria. The witchcraft section. There is a long aisle in The Cancha full of items used in Bolivian witchcraft, but now mostly just used for tradition. The aisle is full of bright spices with interesting smells. Lots of animal´s bones, and baskets of feathers. The most surprising thing, was that each stand had hanging from the ceiling things that looked like alien bodies. We asked our professor what they were, and had her answer had been "alien bodies" i may have been less surprised. Yes, from the ceiling were hanging tons of dead and dried llama fetuses. Apparently, the tradition is that if you bury one or burn it in your yard, it brings luck to your household. Wow....

As we made our way through the witchcraft section, we finally made it to our destination--the fortune tellers. Bolivian fortune tellers are supposedly some of the best in the world; it was part of the Incan culture, and is not part of the Quechua and Aymaran cultures. (Disclaimer: Now, i don´t really believe in fortune telling, but i went for the fun of it.) So, we asked a few of them, if they would do our fortunes, and many did not speak Spanish (only Quechua). Finally, we found a lady who would do our fortunes. We sat down on little stools inside her tent. She grabbed a large handful of coca leaves, and asked me to blow on them three times. I obliged. Then, she tossed the leaves onto the blanket she was sitting on. At this point it became apparent that she didn´t speak spanish all that well in reality because she told me i was a "soltera". Translation: Unmarried person, and female....At that point, i was just confused, and just went: Soy hombre--I´m a dude. My professor started dying of laughter. But, the fortune teller pushed on with the most sketchy readings i´ve ever heard of. I´ll write it in dialogue form...

Fortune Teller: You are a single female.
Me (TE): I a dude.
FT: You get a lot of headaches.
TE: (confused) No, actually nope.
FT: Then you are tired.
TE: Yes. (ok, i´ll give her that one...hahaha)
FT: You are studying Spanish.
TE: Yep. (That one´s high on the obvious scale too)
FT: Your children are going to do well.
TE: My children?
FT: Yes, yours and her (she points to Meg) children.
TE: We don´t have children.
FT: But, you will after you two get married (dah dah DAH!)
TE: Oh my. (To Meg) I guess we´re getting married....(To the fortune teller) So, we are going to get married?
FT: Surely.
Meg: When?
FT: (to Meg) You are getting married very soon. And he (me) is going to get married a bit later.
Meg: So, when i am going to marry Tomás?
FT: After his studies are over....(Note to reader...that´d be December!)
Meg: Oh...But, i get married once before that?
FT: Yes, but you don´t have children until with Tomás.
(At this point Meg and i start holding hands to make her feel like she´s doing a good job, and my professor is about ready to die of laughter.)
Then, my professor asked if she´s pregnant. And the Fortune Teller answered: Siempre....Essentially, saying, Yep, you´re always pregnant.

So, i guess you can consider this an invitation to my and Meg´s wedding in December. HAHAHA!

Going Native

2004-10-20T09:50:00.000-07:00

In my orientation at Notre Dame, we always talked about the term "Going Native" as a joke. It essentially means when a person rejects their own culture for the one that they are living in. Now, have no fear, i am not gonna write that i´ve gone native. But, it has become a huge joke for me. And there have been a number of instances lately, that i´ve had the opportunity to make a joke about this.

Social Hour: Every friday at the Institute all the students get together for a lecture, and then afterward we have "hora social." Now, when i went to the first hora social, the food I ate was the potato chips and the carrot sticks with guacamole dip...yummm. And there were these odd tiny, red sausages. I tried one, just to taste, and then decided not to eat more. But, this past week...something snapped, and when i saw the sausages, i could hardly control myself. I pigged out! Gone native for mini-sausages, and nasty mustard.

Bolivian Time: I am finally getting used to the infamous Hora Boliviana. Which translated to english means, be about an hour late to everything. It´s hilarious. I havn´t quite mastered this one because i still need to ask people what time they REALLY mean. But, i am at least getting better at figuring it out. Tough at first, and now i am almost (almost) starting to like it.

Cacho: A game of dice played in Cochabamba that i am totally addicted to. I play it with my famly at least once a week. And the funny thing, is that i play it with my American friends for hours on the weekends.

HCA article

2004-10-08T13:35:00.000-07:00

Hey y'all...here is an article that i just wrote for the Holy Cross Associates newsletter...

At times it seems that this work of a missionary is simply allowing
your heart to be broken repeatedly. At the end of many of my days, i
find myself exhausted physically and emotionally, and i sit and think
about my day--my heart broken repeatedly thoughout my waking hours.
While studying in Cochabamba, i see it as my work to study Spanish.
Which i do quite a lot. But, the times that i feel like i am most
fulfilling my duty as misioner are when i am simply listening to the
people that have come into my aquiantance here. I try to hear
everyone큦 stories, and with Bolivia being in the state that it is,
the majority of the stories i hear are sad.
I recall my professor of spanish at the the Maryknoll Institute of
Languages. She is nearly 65 years old, and at this point is working
because she loves her job. She laughs often, and her loud outburts
make me laugh as well. One day, i asked a silly question, trying to
practice speaking in past tenses, "profesora, what types of books did
you read as a child?" This simple question led her to speak of her
childhood with no further prodding. At the age of 12, the mother of
my professor abandoned her and her 4 siblings. Being the oldest, she
had to cook and clean, and care for her younger brothers and sisters.
"Frankly," she finished, "I didn큧 have time to read." I was left
dumbfounded, and heartbroken hearing this story.
I like to go to an orphanage near my house. There, i find a place
filled with sad stories from the floor to the ceiling. Some of the
children never knew their parents; others?parents simply cannot
afford to care for them. I go there and play the most dangerous games
of dodge ball of my life, and talk about Harry Potter for hours. But,
each time i have left, i큩e left heartbroken. The children there
carry a saddness that i cannot, and probably never will, fully
understand.
Some stories hit closer to home. The family that i am living with is
a happy one. But, the parents will be separating this January. They
are not divorcing, nor separating of angst. This Januaray, shortly
after i leave this family, the mother will be moving to Italy to work.
The family simply cannot afford, money-wise, to stay near each other.
The mother will work in Italy for months, maybe years, and send money
home to her family. Then, return when her children are much older,
and her husband a little grayer. Knowing this breaks my heart.
And yet i am happy here. Here, i know a peace and a joy in my broken
heart. I feel a hope for these people, and hope and trust in myself.
This is my job as a misionary. I must be present enough to these
people that surround me to share in a fraction of their pain. And
though it seems odd, that pain is my happy ending. From the pain i
see and share, i receive joy and hope at the thought of relieving
others for moments. And now, sharing their stories with others gives
me a sense of purpose. This is hard work, but i am ready to have my
simple heart broken a million times over, and love every second of it.

Danny

2004-10-06T09:47:00.000-07:00

Full Name: Daniel Guerra Arcos

Age: 29 (almost 30)

Occupation: Currently works as a DJ for a radio station 106.7 Cochabamba. (Yes, the Bolivian Peak). But, he does that job essentially for free, only getting paid informally--in movie tickets, chicken dinners, and milk products. He also works full time for a cement/construction company. Just got a huge promotion.

Interesting Facts: When he was 6 he almost drowned in a pool (which the family brings up at least once per week).

Hobbies: Music--he owns a mountain of CDs, and he listens to them constantly. That is what he and i talk about mostly. Loves both U2 and Britany Spears (only in Bolivia is this possible). Never seems to sleep, although i just found out yesterday that while at work he puts newspaper on the bathroom floor and takes naps. Hates to dance--although with the insistance of his fiancé last weekend, i witnessed him dance on a pool table at a disco club.

SCANDAL ALERT: Is getting married in about a month to a girl he only met in August. On top of that, she´s only 21 years old. The family is really upset about this.

Wendy

2004-10-06T09:37:00.000-07:00

Full Name: Lizbeth Wendy Guerra Arcos

Age: 24 (25 in December...i´m gonna leave 3 days before the big birthday party. bugger)

Schooling: In September graduated from college with a degree in tourism. But, for now is working in a gynecologist´s office. Which to my embarrassment i visited one day, not realizing what type of doctor she worked for. And then i saw the pictures of ovaries and fallopian tubes on the wall, and was like, Díos mío.

Dated Henry (don´t know his last name) for 7 years, and they recently got married (in August). The other day i climbed up the famous statue in Cochabamba--Cristo de la Concordancia, and saw their names....Wendy + Henry.....in grafitti from like 5 years ago. Henry speaks english really well, so i always love it when he visits.

SCANDAL ALERT: No one wanted Henry and Wendy to get married because the family does not like him. At one point, he broke up with her, and they have yet to forgive him.

Hobbies: Playing with her dog, and talking about being married. She´s also a huge fan of Beaneu Beeves (grr), loves Garfield, and watches Tom and Jerry every night. She also dances the Cumbia and the Quaka better than anyone else i´ve seen here.

Ely

2004-10-06T09:26:00.000-07:00

Full Name: Maria Elizabeth Lopez Guerra Arcos Will (not a joke).

Occupation: Former factory worker. Former house empoyee in both Spain and Italy. Currently makes leather goods in home.

Hobbies: Crocheting, picking up all the leaves in the yard 3 times per day, gardening, cacho, speaking Italian, listnening to The Beatles, and pampering me.

Highlights from the past: Born in La Paz, biked to work in a factory every day of her first pregnancy until 8 months, lived in Northern Italy for 6 months and Madrid, Spain for 3 months.

Misc: Cries at the drop of a hat, watched Jurassic Park in the theater and was so scared that she fell out of her seat and watched the remainder of the movie on the floor.

Rolo

2004-10-06T09:12:00.000-07:00

I thought that it´s about time i wrote a little about the family that i am living with...I´ll start with the father--Rolo.

Full Name: Rolando Arcos Will.

Age: 53

Occupation: Former instructor of French. Former employee of the a govermental organization for the promotion of the arts. Currently makes leather goods in a workshop in our backyard.
All around good person.

Hobbies: This guy is about as bien Cochabambino as you can get. He loves the games rayuella and cacho (also new addictions of my own!). And he loves to drink sangani.

Highlights from his past: Born an Adventist. Hence, he did not have a sip of alcohol, and had never danced until his wedding day when he converted to Catholocism. I think he makes up for lost time in both areas at this point though...Served as a secretary to a Bolivian general in the military...To win over the heart of his wife, he hired a band and got 15 of his friends to help serenade...

Misc: He is know as the Mejor Padre del Instituto (Best Host Father of the Institute). Born in Santa Cruz. Speaks in different voices. Acts like a kid much of the time.

Eating in the Campo

2004-09-21T18:21:00.000-07:00

Last Sunday i got up early and went with Rolo, Wendy and her husband Henry to visit his relatives in the countryside. It proved to be pretty much the most culturally jerking experience yet.

We took taxis, and much of the way the roads were dirt and we were passing donkies and chickens all over the place.

When we got to the relative´s house, it was made of some sort of adobe, and there were chickens and cats everywhere (oddly enough living in harmony). I was given a quick tour, and was nearly attacked by a pigeon while inside, much to the delight of Henry´s grandfather who found me screaming our loud hilarious. The people there all wore sandals and their feet are caked with with mud. Running water just reached the house last year, but it has yet to get plumbing to handle a toilet.

Now, here i am even more out of my element than ever. And to make matters worse, people aren´t even speaking spanish, but rather Quechua. So, i don´t have a prayer!

After a brief tour of the house, and after meeting the family donkey, all of a sudden i have a glass in my hand a quarter of the way filled with Sangani, the local choice in liquor. Then, before i know what´s going on, i´m holding my cup directly under the udder of a cow, while good ol´ gramps is filling my glass the rest of the way with milk. I was the first to get served, so everyone was watching to see if i liked it...¨dear Lord, let the liquor in this kill whatever hazards are in this glass.¨ And drink...actually, it´s not too bad. If you get a chance i recommend Sangani and way-too-fresh milk mixed together.

Next, I was taken on a tour of the town, which actually only consisted of a Chicharia. Cochabamba is famous for 2 things: nice weather, and chicha. Chicha is an alcoholic drink, and i have no idea how it is made. What i do know, is that it is stored in gigantic earthen pots in very dark sketchy rooms. And, when you order chicha (as Rolo did), someone who is working with raw meat gets up, forgetting i´m sure to wash their hands, and grabs a bucket. A bucket like the ones we use for beach toys, a really big red bucket, which is then dunked (salmonilla hand and all)into the earthen pot. Then, you watch as the first person grabs a wooden bowl, dunks it in the beach bucket. Then, it´s important to splash a little chicha onto the ground to honor ancestors or the gods or God or something (never quite clear to me). Then, you down the whole bowl, and pass it onto the next person. It´s actually not too bad. Again, i was like, Lord please let the alcohol in this kill whatever i should not be ingesting. The taste is very different, and actually pretty pleasant.

The rest of the day was pretty uneventful (but nice and fun and interesting). But, even more importantly, the night was just as uneventful--no sickness as of yet!

On Eating Tongue

2004-09-19T16:41:00.000-07:00

Warning--This is a bit crass at times...not for the faint of heart or easlily grossed out!

I went with Rolando, my Papi here, to hang out with his friends. Which is funny in itself, because in the group of 6 of us, i was the only one under the age of 50. We, played Bolivian games for a while, and all was fun. Then, i started hearing them talk about ordering ¨lengua¨ for dinner. Now, my spanish is limited. I know the word lengua to mean language, translated as like ¨mother tongue¨. I was confused at first--what are they talking about, eating a language? Then it hit me--oh God! Lengua probably means tongue as in part of the animal. Oh God!

Now, i know that people in the US eat tongue. I, however, have not ever even SEEN a cow´s tongue, much less eaten one.

Then, the food got there. And it was exactly like i thought it would look like. Pink, big, crease down the center, little taste buds. And then, there it was on my plate. I just kept staring at it. So, i ate my rice, then the beans, then the salad. And then, it was just an empty plate with a big cow´s tongue sitting in the center. So.....i went back for more rice thinking that if i ate both the rice and the tongue at the same time, all i´ll taste is the rice.

Finally, i couldn´t procrastinate any longer. I cut off a piece of tongue, and shoved it in my mouth. Now, it doesn´t taste bad...like any other meat. Just a little bit more tough, different texture. But, i couldn´t keep my mind from wandering. ¨Ugh. I now have in my mouth, what was in a cow´s mouth not too long ago. When the cow ate, the cud sat on what is now in MY mouth...i wonder if there is some way to sneak this to the dog...is it too gross to put this in my pocket? Yep, i can´t deal with the thought of having an entire tongue in my pocket...so, i am pretty much making out with a cow right now...that is a nasty thought.¨ Etc.

It´s really my own brain and my mind wandering that made it worse than it had to be. So, i ended up forcing myself to stop thinking, cut it into really small pieces it didn´t have to chew much, and was done with it! Rolo asked if i wanted more, and i said No gracias...which in that situation is roughly translated: Hells no!

The Dogs

2004-09-10T09:57:00.001-07:00

I think that my family is trying to give their poor dogs identity issues.

There are 3 dogs, all totally nuts.

The oldest is named Beba, a tiny brown dog. Then, come the 2 with impending identity issues because of their names. There is a big, white one named Mustang. And then there is a tan medium sized dog named.....Kitty!

The thing is that my family does not speak any english at all. And Mustang is named after the type of cars, and Kitty is named after Hello Kitty. And i don´t think that my family realizes that a mustang and a kitty are actually names of other animals in english.

Maryknoll Instituto de Idiomas

2004-09-10T09:57:00.000-07:00

One of the nicest surprises that i´ve gotten since coming here is the Maryknoll Language School. I go there for 4 hours a day and am taught conversational spanish. I have 4 professors, each for 45 minutes, and all four are incredibly good teachers.

One of the greatest things about the school is the other students. There are people here of all ages...We of Holy Cross Associates are some of the youngest, but there are probably 10 other people our age. Most of the other people are older and are priests and nuns. But, we are all preparing for missionary work in other countries, so it is a fascinating mix of people. Most of the students are of the Maryknoll religious order, and thus are basically missionaries by profession, and have really fascinating stories.

The other great thing is that the students here are from all around the world, and are all english speaking. So, for instance, last friday night i went out with people from the U.S., Bangladesh, Poland, Germany, Tanzania, and Scotland. It was hilarious--i felt like i was at some UN conference. But, the funny thing, is that we all speak different dialects of english, so at times it was more like the Tower of Babel than anything else.

The Day I Learned What "Boda" Means

2004-09-10T09:42:00.000-07:00

Every now and then, it becomes very apparent that i am not catching on to what is going on around me. Partly because the Bolivian culture is so different than mine, but most obviously because i don´t speak spanish well enough yet.

This problem has manifested itself in a number of ways. Once, me and my family dropped someone off at the airport. Then, we got back in the car, and i assumed we were driving home. But, we stopped at a garage in the middle of nowhere, Danny got out, and the rest of the family just sat in the car calmly. I looked at everyone else, and was like--Am i the only one confused as to why we´re here, when we´re going home, and WHY we´re here? And i realized, that yes, i was the only confused one. Other times i´ve gone on errands with my family, and realized half way to a place that i don´t know where we´re going.

But, the best example of me not knowing spanish happened the first weekend in Cochabamba. Early in the morning Rolo woke me up to ask if i wanted to go to a "boda" that night. I had no idea what that was, but my night was free, so i agreed. Later, it was getting to be time to leave, and Rolo told me to change my clothes, and to put on something "mas formal". Here, i started to get worried....Where the heck am i going?! I ended up having to borrow a tie and a coat from Rolo (which was huge, and didn´t match). And somewhere along the line of when i was dressing, i heard people talking about the couple, and i realized--Holy crap, i´m going to a wedding!

The wedding itself was nice--very similar to the States. But, the reception was very different. Once you walk in, you sit at your assigned table, and have your cookie and champage (this was a really fancy-schmancy wedding). Then, the music starts, and pretty much everyone dances...so, yep, i cut a Bolivian rug. The interesting thing is that all traditional Bolivian dances are done in 2 long lines--one person facing their partner in the other line. And now, even when people are dancing to rap, their still are the 2 lines on the dance floor.

Anyways, the night progressed with eating, then dancing, then eating, then dancing. I thought the meal was over at least 3 times. And the bride and groom come and get pictures with everyone there. So, this poor couple has a picture taken with this random dude from Michigan that they have no idea who he is. hilarious.

No Sleep

2004-09-10T09:06:00.000-07:00

The family i am living with is crazy, and never seems to sleep. And what makes things worse is that they never want me to sleep.

Day one...I had just finished a more than 25 hour trip, hardly any sleep for 2 days, and on the cab ride to my house, all i was looking forward to was my bed. But, once i got there, i had to eat breakfast, and meet the whole family. Father--Rolando (Rolo), mother--Elizabeth (Ely), Son--Daniel and his fiancee--Veronica, daughter--Wendy and her husband Henry. Plus all the dogs.

Durning the entire breakfast, all i was thinking about was sleep. So, afterward, i went to my room and laid down. Not more than 10 minutes passed, and Ely came to chat...then Rolo. Then, i tried to sleep for 20 minutes, and all of a sudden it was lunch time. Then, after lunch i was gonna sleep again, but Rolo wanted to give me a tour of the house......which turned into a tour of the entire city of Cochabamba.

We walked MILES. We went to the Maryknoll Language School and met all the people there, then walked downtown. The entire walk is blurry to me because i was so exhausted, but i vaguely remember at least 4 different parks, tennis courts, at least 5 different churches, and 3 art galleries.

Now, Cochabamba, is not a huge city, but it is fairly large. And, somehow, Rolo seems to know almost every single person in it. So, i got introduced to tons of people that day. And when you meet people, it´s very confusing. I have yet to figure out what you are supposed to do. First, you shake hands, then, it´s a hand pat on the opposite arm, then, a mini hug, then, another hand shake...and some people like to mix that formula up to make things even more complex. Anyway, the point is i was tired and confused....and we walked like that for nearly 7 hours.

Then, dinner time!

And various nights, we listen to Daniel (who is a DJ) at night on the radio, or a visitor comes. Or, one of my most insane memories is when the parents and i started a board game at 9pm. A winner was declared at 10:30, and i was so happy because i wanted sleep. BUT, no! Here they play for second and third place. At midnight the game finally ended.....and they wanted to play another round. Heck no!

The beginning

2004-09-08T09:20:00.000-07:00

I decided to start writing about my experience from the beginning. Just because a lot has happened in the last 2 weeks, and i am only now starting to write this.

So, i´ll start at the very beginning (a very good place to start):

La Paz airport, Bolivia. OK, it was summer when i left Chicago. But, not only is it winter down here, but the city of La Paz is insanely high in altitude. So, when we exited the stairs of the plane onto snow and ice, we (Meg, Maureen, Me) were none too pleased...Then, after 24 hours of airports and airplanes, the altitude headaches set in. So, the 3 of us beelined it towards a restaurant, and had the local specialty--coca tea (sorry mom).

My mom didn´t want me to drink this because the tea is made from the leaves of the coca plant, pretty much the same stuff they get cocaine from. Now, the tea is very weak, so all it does to the body is help with altitude sickness...which it did quite nicely.

After that, the 3 of us started looking around, and began to realize what a different place Bolivia is. If you look on the internet for pictures of people in Bolivia, you´ll see people dressed in big poofy skirts, and strange mini hats, and carrying their babies around in colorful afghans, and you think--yeah right, i bet people wear jeans and t shirts now....But, to my surprise, that´s totally not true here. Not only do people still wear the traditional garb, it´s very common.

Once we started seeing this, Meg went through the "culture shock timeline" in a span of one hour. She got really excited about all the differences, and we joked that she was in the "elation" stage. Then, hilariously enough, after 5 hours (our plane was delayed due to ice) in the airport, sleeping on the floors, and in sandals in 20 degree weather, she decided that she hated La Paz, thus entering the "rejection" stage. Then, later as we were getting on our last plane and somehow getting out of both obtaining visas (now a problem) and not paying the airport tax, she decided maybe it´s not all that bad--thus entering the "acceptance" stage. It was really funny.

Once our plane landed in Cochabamba, our families had signs with our names on them, and they grabbed us and our luggage so quickly we didn´t say goodbye to each other, and all of a sudden i was in a world where no one spoke english, going to a house with people who i had no idea who they were. It felt totally crazy. Then, once the car stopped, i looked out the window and there was just a big wall. Then i looked at the top of the wall, and there was the famous Latin American broken glass. And i thought, wow--i never thought i would actually LIVE in a house with the broken glass walls.

Then, for some reason i didn´t realize that we were in a taxi, and i went to meet the driver thinking he was going to be my brother down here, and everyone just sorta thought i was nuts.

Then, into the house. My family was really nice to me...but, all i wanted was sleep.