Insects again

Last year in the summer, I posted about crazy insects.  I'm adding two more.  Wow, Korea has some insane looking insects!

creepy looking spider

 

Oriental long-headed locuts, are in the grasshopper family. 

Ancedotes of preschool 3

We've been teaching illnesses recently in my afternoon class.  They learned stomach ache, fever, cough, cold, and rash. The picture for the rash, however, was a bit deceiving, and confusing. The picture shows a child with red dots covering her face. I think they were demonstrating chickenpox but what it actually resembles is acne.  We were talking about each of the illness, and as we came upon, "rash" one of the kids observantly said,
"Teacher you have a rash"
Shaking my head, slightly embarrassed, I explained that the red dots on my face were pimples, which are different from a rash.   "Rashes itch, pimples are just red dots that you get when your older."  I didn't even have that many, maybe two or three, but oh, are kids observant.  Almost every time I have a new pimple, one of the children asks me about it.  "Teacher, what's that?" they ask innocently, not knowing that they are rubbing salt into my wounded self-image.


It's summertime.  In Korea, the tale tell signs of summer is the heat, which isn't anywhere near the heat index in Texas, the humidity, which is high, maybe even sometimes higher than San Antonio, and the insects. (I wrote two posts last year about those nefarious bugs, here and here)  These insects, seeking refuge from the great outdoors, or maybe the many cruel Korean middle school children who try take them apart limp by limb, for some reason or another, choose to make their home in our bathroom.  At first, we didn't understand why the kids would wiggling and shaking, doing the pee pee dance, were refusing to go to the bathroom.  Sometimes, they would even have their pants down, as they came back into the classroom, whining. Once, a student in our afternoon class, who is normally quite garrulous, refused to not only answer a question but repeat anything I said.  He then refused to answer, "what's wrong Edward?" We finally got out of him that his stomach hurt.  Later, we found out, that his stomach hurt because he refused to go to the bathroom to poo, as he was afraid of the bugs.

Cindy, my co-teacher, is afraid of all bugs, even moths and butterflies, albeit massive bird sized moths and butterflies, but harmless critters never-the-less.  So that makes me the designated bug catcher. I don't like to kill animals, unless it's likely to harm me.  However, I've had difficulty catching spiders without killing them, as I'm always afraid they might escape and start crawling on me. 
The kids have, out of necessity, have learned the word "bug," a word they use nearly everyday now, when its time to use the restroom.  What I've found, even more cute however is when they tell me,
"Teacher, spiderman, bathroom!"

"Spiderman is in the bathroom?" I ask jokingly. They know who Spiderman is, but haven't learned the word spider on its own.  I'm loving summer, but I'll be glad when I no longer have to fend off the insect invaders so that my kids don't pee in their pants!

Did I mention the spiders?

We went on a walk a few weeks back on what is now (when it isn't below freezing) our running path.  Exiting the red brick colonial Virgina style school, we walked along the paved road five minutes, following the river/stream.  (I don't know what it is technically, but the water is only ankle deep).  Taking a turn across a bridge we passed farm homes.  We live in the country, far away from city life and yet, Koreans tie their dogs to yard long leashes.  This is the country.  This is where dogs should be free to roam free, eat bugs, run after squirrels but they are constrained.  Maybe Koreans feel that if they as a people are constrained, their dogs should be constrained as well.  I can't fathom what the reason is though. Why would someone own a dog, only to tie them up to a doghouse.  How can a pet be enjoyed that way?

 

As you can see, we are surrounded by mountains.  It is magnificent.  The view trumphs Seoul's gray lifeless, box buildings any day.  One of the farms was growing chilies.  At the end of the running path is a killer hill.  I never make it up all the way without walking some.  Even walking up the 90 degree angle leaves me heaving.  On our way back into the village we found some critters we couldn't help but take pictures of.  Praying mantises in Korea are huge, or maybe they are normal sized and praying mantises and I have had much acquaintance in the past. Either way, they are so interesting.  This praying mantis as seen below, was curious, either that or just dumb.  Do you see how he looks directly at the camera?

"That's right, I'm just chillin on the road.  Should I look at the camera or look uninterested?"

A while ago, I did a post about MASSIVE INSECTS  in Korea and I mentioned a spider, but didn't provide a picture.  Well here is a picture of a different spider, a much meaner looking critter.  I mean seriously, whos to say that critter isn't straight from a science fiction novel.  Toxic chemicals obviously transformed this ginormous spider into what it is today and I wouldn't be surprised to see a human-sized mutant form of this bug crawling around ready to fight the teenage mutant ninja praying mantises.  That should be a fight to remember.

We were trying to give perspective at his size, but were too frightened to get too close.

This web was an intricate weave of at least five webs, with several different kinds of spider all living harmoniously together.  It was like a spider commune.

Weeman and other Philippino airport adventures

I am trying an experiment. Usually after a trip, we, or rather I, will write an exceedingly long post about our experiences. It usually encompasses everything from what happened, to what we wore, to how we felt, what we ate, what the dog ate, how many insects we came upon, and on and on until everyone reading is either sleeping in front of the computer or has quickly skimmed and gone on to their next task. This time instead, we have decided to try a different approach and write a series of posts in the interest of not taking up too much of your time in one sitting.

To start off, we are going to write two posts about airport experiences. Yes, two separate posts. The airport stories are almost more exciting or at least humorous than the rest of our trip. Possibly. You can be the judge. Writing the "Philippino airport experience" will be your favorite Rogers hostess, and authoring the "Chinese airport experience" will be the handsome male counterpart.

At this point you might be rolling your eyes at what you might consider our eccentric and verbose habits. Why would two posts need to be written entirely revolving around airports? Most airports are the same right? There is a line before the check in, boarding passes handed out, occasionally a tax, an x-ray machine, laptop out, no liquids allowed, shoes off, the scramble to put your shoes on, put our laptop and passports back and grab all of your bags while attempting not to hold up the line before the other passengers begin to boil with rage at your sloth-like movements. And did I mention waiting. Lots and lots of waiting. Those aspects of the airports are duplicated in nearly every airport world wide (as far as we have traveled) but we found a few intriguing differences while traveling in Asia.

Noticeable differences from Manila to Boracay:

-multiple x-ray machines. (in Manila) Manila is not known for it's safety. The Philippines is a poverty-stricken nation for the most part, and with that comes violence. So before one even enters an airport an x-ray machine scans your bags and body for metal or perilous objects.

-after checking in we were weighed (with our bags). I guess so they knew how much the plane would weigh with passengers and baggage, I didn't like it, whatever the reason.

-after paying our tax (for what I'm not sure) we stood in line to be x-rayed one more time. I guess in case the first x-ray machine didn't catch our machete.
"Weeman over there" said the man in front of us, indicating the line next to us.
Kyle and I looked at each other, hoping the other had understood this strange accent. It had been lost on both of us.
"I'm sorry?" I asked.
"Weeman over there" he repeated patiently.
Weeman, I thought. Does that mean small people? Is this a mixed English Philippino word that should sound familiar to me?
Still uncomprehending, Kyle began to walk to the next line over.
"No, no, weeman." he repeated, as if we were the dumbest people he had come across in all of his years.
And then it clicked. He was saying "women." There were two separate lines for women and men and we had failed to notice the obvious. Laughing, I made my way over to the "weeman" line where I had to remove my shoes, take out the laptop, hand them my passport, and with an added bonus of being patted down for weapons. I looked around for any more lines we might have to wait in. Five lines and counting...

Differences from Boracay back to Manila:
-Boracay in general is more relaxed. They sometimes have trouble with electricity. So when that happens, the x-ray machines fail to work. Not to fear, your bags are still checked, however, with a thorough investigation.
"May I open your bags?" A nice man asked.
"Sure," I answered dreading the re-packing of the bag we had stuffed to the brim with Kyle's mad packing artistry.
He opened the top, looked in (not without a certain amount of dread, probably calculating how difficult it would be to re-pack the bag)
"Is it mostly clothes?" he asked
"Yes, just clothes" I answered
Closing my huge bag, he glanced and at the next bag.
"Whats in there?" he asked, mildly curious
"Mostly books" I responded.
Next to me I heard the lady inspecting Kyle's bags, "ooohh nice bags. Is this the mommy bag and the baby bag?"
Kyle, as some of you might know, loves outdoorsy stuff, especially of military fashion. Oh, and bags. My husband is a bag man. He is to bags as Carrie from Sex in the City is to shoes. If he sees a bag, especially one that is durable with multiple pockets, he just has to have it, not matter how many bags he already has in his closet. So, on our trip, he had not one, but two military bags with him, his large backpack, and his smaller shoulder bag.
"Uh-huh" Kyle agreed to her question laughingly
"Can I adopt the baby?" she asked jokingly (but only half joking)
"I'm pretty attached." Kyle responded with a witty smile.
And we were through, much more smoothly than anticipated at least with the bags.

The next sign we noticed was "Flight la la la is canceled." (I don't remember the numbers)
"Is that our flight?" I asked Kyle anxiously?
I had booked our flights from Manila to Boracay separately, but with a little extra time for error which meant that if we missed our next flight, I don't think the airlines would cover the cost of purchasing us a new ticket. We had to catch our flight from Manila home.
It was 2:30
From Boracay to Manila was supposed to be at 4:00 arriving at 5:10
Manila to China was 7:15.
"It won't be a problem" said the flight attendant checking us in, "your new flight will put you in at 6:20 and it's in the same terminal."
But she was wrong. VERY WRONG.
Our connecting flight wasn't in the same terminal. And in Manila terminals aren't even in the same vicinity but nearly across the city.
As soon as the plane hit the ground, Kyle and I were running out the door.
"Where do we go?" we asked several people at information desks.
"Terminal 3, you need to take a taxi"
"What!! We are out of money" we pleaded.
We seriously had less than $5 (in Philippino pesos)
"There is a free bus service" (it was very cheap, but not free)
We jumped in the van and pleaded with the man to go as we had less than 50 minutes before our plane took off and some flights wont let you check in 45 minutes before the flight.
"The traffic is tight, I don't know if you will make it in time. It is best for you to take a taxi."
Explaining our lack of money, we pleaded for him to make an exception and not wait for the van to fill, with little success. However once we had filled every seat, with absolutely no extra room, he drove like a race-car driver on speed, both feet on the pedals, which is actually how most Koreans drive, but maybe it is a trend throughout Asia.
A man and his cute as a button two year old sat next to Kyle grinning with excitement and anxiety.
"Where are you from?" he asked Kyle
Kyle who was trying not to have a heart attack as we were almost surely going die from trying to get to the airport on time or miss our plane responded quickly and without much interest "America."
"We are going to Texas" the man continued excitedly. "My wife is a medical technician in Houston, so we are moving there. I am nervous. I am not sure we will be able to make it there" We assured him that Houston was a very international city, and we were sure he would be fine. He was beaming from ear to ear, excited to start a new life in America, in Texas no less. Had we not been pulling our hair out from angst we most certainly would have a more in-depth conversation with the man.
Swerving to the front of the gate, we somersaulted through the doors, flew through the x-ray machine, and jetted towards our check in counter as they were closing up.
"You just made it" the flight attendant said.
We were the last ones to board the plane. We were so thankful.


These pictures are actually of us in the Seoul airport, but as we aren't writing a post about that airport- I thought I would share them on here.

A very fat and distorted looking Col. Sanders

Ronald McDonald looking exceedingly happy

How they clean Korean airports- ingenious

Other posts to look forward to in this series:
China airports
A night in Manila
About the Philippines
Scuba diving
Suggestions for other travelers going to Boracay
Our general adventures

Korea has massive insects

I was walking home from lunch the other day and I saw a moth the size of my hand laying on a drain. I tiptoed carefully so as not to scare it. When it didn't move, I nudged it with my toe. Completely nonreactive, I was nearly convinced that it was fake. I looked around for cameras thinking I might be like those poor suckers on a reality TV shows who are duped somehow or another for the benefit of an audience sitting comfortably on their cushy couch laughing at the stupidity of the one caught on camera. "Candid Camera" came to mind and I was really perfect for the role. I scare, scream and faint at the drop of a hat. Seriously, Kyle can terrify me in our own home by the element of surprise even when I know he is home. Dozing in my own private day dream movie, all he has to do is appear in my line of sight where I don't expect anything but a coffee table to be, and I have all but left my skin behind and probably frightened the neighbors with my shrieks. As I stare down at this ginormous moth, I almost expected a string to be attached waiting for it's victim to follow to an embarrassing moment, but hilarious for onlookers. It was the largest insect I have seen in my life and it looked too big to be real. After determining the things authenticity, I tentatively touched it. There was no movement.

Lifting, without damaging the poor creature was a difficult task. Yellow dust particles flew off as I carried him towards our house. Kyle was sick at home and I knew if anyone would appreciate a moth made in the image of his sci-fi books, it would be my husband. We kept him long enough to take his picture, as I couldn't just pass up the opportunity to document such a large insect. He is not the only mammoth size insect Korea has. They also have alarmingly large bees that look at least three times the size of a normal bee, about the size of a thumb. But nothing is quite as disarming as the spiders with webs at least four feet wide with bodies half the size of my palms.

I am happy as long as he continues to eat the annoying insects such as mosquitoes and gnats, but he seriously makes me think of the spider monster in Lord of the Rings. I just hope she doesn't start to catch teachers in her web. I'd be Okay if she caught a few of the administration though. In fact, I might lure them to her web for her.

A beetle just hanging out on our towel!

Lost in translation

Walking to the morning meeting last week, all I could think about was swimming in the school pool after work. Swimming laps certainly beats hitting the treadmill in the non-air conditioned gym, but I had a problem, I didn't have goggles. No goggles, don't be a baby, you might say... and for most people it isn't, but someone who is infamous for swimming across all four lanes in a swim team contest the summer before high school needs goggles. I am significantly stronger in my right side, and without the use of my eyes can never tell if I have started swimming off in the wrong direction. In our neighborhood pool a few years ago, I was swimming laps with Kyle and once again, predictably, I veered. I grabbed onto who I thought was Kyle's hairy arm, but once opened after wiping the chlorine from my eyes, I found that instead in my grip was a random strangers arm. I am not afraid to be silly or make a fool of myself, but swimming into strangers is just plain embarrassing. And doing it more than once, well... I don't even know the word for it.

To combat this predictably embarrassing moment, I asked a fellow Korean co-worker if she had goggles.
"yes" she said
"Do you think Kyle and I could borrow them?" I asked sweetly
She stopped for a moment and thought. Her face was one of consternation. Thinking I had made a culture faux pa I quickly added,
"If you aren't comfortable lending them to us, it is perfectly fine. I really don't mind if you say no."
"No, no" she said, "I will bring it after lunch"
"Are you sure?" I asked. Asians often will not say "No" even when they desire to, so I wanted to make sure that this was not something that she really didn't want to let us borrow.
After lunch I walked into the office to speak with the hubs. Kelly, the co-worker, sits across from Kyle's desk.
"What you asked for is right there." Kelly said pointing to Kyle's desk.
I glanced and saw a container filled with blue liquid, but as I was in a hurry and didn't have time for chatting, I thanked her and ran back to class.
After work, however, I was able to get a second glance at it. I had thought maybe these were special goggles kept in liquid but as I stared into the blue, I could see nothing.
Smiling, Kyle explained, "She thought you said 'gargle'."
"That's why she looked at me so strangely?" I asked
"She said she thought it was a strange thing to ask for but she brought it anyways."
It has become the current office joke. "gargle!"

Lost in translation round 2

We have had 6 weeks of Russian students. Four of the six of those weeks, I have been their teacher. The way our programs work is that morning time is grammar and nitty gritty study time, while the afternoon is typically all theme classes. One of the theme classes is called INSECTS. It sounds boring or gross depending on your reaction to insects, but it is a favorite because the activity involves drawing on a plastic film, melting and shrinking said film in a toaster over to a small hardened key chain. The kids love it. However as we were going through the names of the different insects, a picture of a lady bug came up. One kid yelled out "flying cow!"
"Seriously?" I asked "This looks like a flying cow?"
"No!" another kid corrected him "God cow."
It turns out, that is the direct translation for ladybug in Russian.

Another strange and rather fitting translation is "flying rat," which I would have assumed referred to a pigeon, but it is actually the name for "bat" in Russian.

Living in Korea certainly provides for many mis-communications and mis-translations, but never a dull moment.

Mudskipper vs crab

About a month ago we went to an area of Korea called Jellomnam-do. It is considered one of the most traditional areas of Korea. While we were there, we visited a National Reserve. The national reserve had bridges traversing long green blades of grass, some type of rice paddies. Within the inter-circles lived strange fish called mudskipper that have actually evolved to live amphibiously and walks on land. We spent hours just watching these bizarre creatures. Well... not hours, but we couldn't stop watching them. I had never seen a fish crawl with it's fins out of water. They were nothing short of fascinating. They lived amongst crabs, mostly in peace. If a passerby didn't but take a quick glance, they might see nothing but mud. A second glance demonstrated that the mud was moving. With further observation, one could see that it wasn't mud moving but these crabs and mud skippers habituating and caked in the wet dirt. At the bottom of the post, I have posted a short video of an interaction between the crab and mud skipper. The mud skipper who actually doesn't move a whole lot, flares his dorsal fin in aggression. It is quite exciting for nerds such as ourselves. I hope you enjoy. Also, if you want to learn more about the mud skippers, read below.

This info was taken from scienceray

The mudskipper holds water in its gills in order to “breathe” out of water. The fish’s pectoral fins act as arms that have well-developed muscles to carry the mudskipper’s body. Using the pectoral fins and tail, the mudskipper crawls and flaps its body across land in search of food. These fish eat spiders and insects – prey that is not usually found in the sea.

Not only can mudskippers walk on land, they can also leap in the air to heights of half a meter (around two feet), by bending and suddenly straightening their bodies. The mudskipper is also known for climbing mangrove trees in search of food. Because of these unusual actions, mudskippers have also been called kangaroo fish, climbing fish, mudhopper and johnny jumpers.

Part of the mudskipper courtship ritual takes place on land, with the male doing ‘push-ups’ to reveal his golden chest and chin to the female.

Mudskippers take in oxygen through the water stored in the gill cavities and through the skin. Because they also breathe through the skin, mudskippers need to remain moist and will often roll in puddles while on land. Their eyes are particularly sensitive to drying out and the mudskipper use a wet fin to dampen them. Another method that the mudskipper uses to moisten its eyes is to retract the eyes into the eye-sockets.

During the Devonian period of evolution, the first fish evolved legs and crawled onto land. This rapid evolution allowed the fish to search for new homes when their previous residence threatened to dry up.

To watch the video click here.

The monk mantis

Teaching ESL students is always an interesting experience. Sometimes I am surprised when looking down at my hands that I don't have clumps of my hair tightly gripped within them. Each strand tightly wound around my finger tips cutting off the circulation. Other times however, my stomach hurts from laughing so hard at their comments, cleverness and/or silliness.

Here are some fun examples of comments that caused tremendous laughter!

Koreans have a difficult time pronouncing my name because the "V" sound does not exist in this language. So instead it comes out "paneso" or "banessa" which they generally think is identical sounding to banana. Almost every school has at least one class that insists on calling me banana teacher. However this week, one class decided that "Kyle's wife" was the best choice for my name. Explaining that I had my own name was futile and from that point on, the entire class referred to me as the second part to Kyle instead of addressing me as an individual.

I was teaching a theme class this week called "Insects." The students goal was to name the insect. Depending on their level, the students knew at least a few, but when they didn't know they would sometimes make up names that might seem to fit.

Did you know that the Horse bee is otherwise known as a WASP? I didn't either. Probably because it isn't true. But that is what the Korean children suggested as its name.

The previous slide was a honey bee, the obvious guess for the wasp was a hose bee, clearly. I thought this was a very clever guess. Especially since an over-sized fly in English is called a horse fly.

The Monk mantis aka: Praying mantis
The students all know mantis. I don't know if it is a Konglish word or if they are just taught it in school, but regardless "mantis" is the word they yell out when the picture fades in. We were prompting them with our hands in the prayer position to help them come up with the beginning word when one boy shouts: "Monk mantis!" I love when the kids actually try as opposed to the usual blank stares and although his guess wasn't EXACTLY correct, I was very grateful for his effort.

I would say it is pretty typical of students not to pay much attention to classes they don't see much value in, even in the states. So either the students this week really didn't pay attention, they got confused or their teacher taught them wrong. But more than one class told me that mosquitoes drink pee. Yep, pee. They're so funny!

Did you know that fireflies have a fire on their HIP?

This is typically how the conversation goes.
What insect is this?

"uhhhh.."

"Its a firefly. Why do you think it is called a firefly?"

"Fire... hip..."

I really don't understand this national misunderstanding, but for some strange reason, Korean children are taught that "the butt" is actually called "hip". They often giggle when they say "hip" as if it is a naughty word they might get in trouble for using. I continuously try and correct each class that comes in, however pointing at ones butt isn't always considered appropriate.

Despite "other issues" there are always fun times to be had in Korea!

Reflections of our 8 months in Chile

(Another in the flashback series. Yes that means it is long)

Our family with baby Pablo in his pumpkin Halloween suite

Our house

Celebrating Chilean Independenc

The cueca, their national dance

Another national dance. The boys are pretending to row a boat.

Pichilemu, like Chile, was not what I expected. Expectaion plays a large role in one's experience in an unfamiliar place. My expectation was vague at best, but I am sure it played a vital role in our lives during our stay. The first thing I noticed upon arrival to Pichilemu was the red dirt like the dirt from childhood summers in Lubbock, Texas. I didn't like red dirt. I associate it with malicious fire ants and the burn from their bite. This red dirt had no such fire ants. Instead there were mysterious bugs that continually bit me throughout my stay in Chile. We still don't know what they were for sure, though every Chilean and their mother assured me they were mosquito bites, however we rarely saw mosquitoes.

Pichilemu was famous for two things, surfing, and being tranquilo. I don't enjoy pain, especially the searing burn of icy, salt water flowing from the Antarctic, so the nearest I ever got to surfing was dipping my big toe into the magnificent blue ocean. Although I consider myself a city girl, I loved living in a small, rural town. I loved the calmness but I also loved the town gossip; the mayor and his unusually bulging pockets was often whispered about in the teachers' lounge. The fresh air in Pichilemu was invigorating and I felt safe alongside nature. Maybe the best way to describe what it felt like living there is to take you on a familiar walk during our stay in Chile.

As I greet Canela, our adorable, and easily excitable chocolate labrador, the door shuts behind me. I walk around Jorge's motorcycle, his pride and joy, and out the tall black rod iron fence. The sky is clear and blue today, and although the house never seems to let go of the cold, the air outside is warm and inviting. With Canela trotting by my side, I walk towards town. I have two choices, the long way down streets and sidewalks, about 30 minutes, or the hazardous shortcut through the steep valley, over the bridge, through the mud and up a steep incline, surprisingly cutting the time in half. I choose the shortcut; I always choose the shortcut. The baby chicks pecking at the dirt road in front of me frantically scatter as I near, as if the ugly giant goblin has come to eat them one by one. I continue towards the pasture which is sometimes a soccer field, and sometimes a grazing ground for Don Pablo's horses. One time, Camila, our host mom, tried to teach Kyle to drive stick shift in that field. With Pablo screaming in my arms in the back it is a wonder how Camila, with true motherly skills, was able to think above Pablo's screams that hit every octave in the human range, to coach Kyle.

The field is empty today. I close my eyes, lean my head back and let my ponytail dangle free in the breeze, allowing the glow of the sun to envelop me. Behind me is our blue two story house, possibly the nicest house in the area. To my right, about ten minutes walking from where I stand, is one of my schools, Divino Maestro, where those diablitos we call children are sent to be babysat. Directly in front of me is a line of dilapidated houses blocking the view of the Pacific Ocean and grey sand beaches. And to my left is the valley, my chosen path into town. I take a deep breath and inhale the tranquility of this small town, far from the hustle and bustle of Santiago.

I walk through the horse pasture, seemingly lacking horses for the time being. Instead of horses however, I notice low flying birds, low enough to step on if one is not careful. They soar right above the grass, looking for those pesky yet tasty insects, I assume. I have never seen birds fly this low to the ground and I wonder where they come from, where they have been, and why they are flying around my feet now?

The first decline into the valley is similar to a dirt cliff side; steep, and without grass to hold the dirt in place. Rocks are dependable in some sections, but not all of the areas, especially during the rainy season when the dirt turns into a slip n slide made of mud. Had I not cared about the clothes I was wearing or the fact that I might plummet off the edge to my death, I might have taken up mudsliding as an extracurricular activity, but I did care about my clothes and my life.

We play a game while going down the hill; who can stay on one's feet the longest and not fall on one's butt. Of course I always win that game because I am the most graceful person you will ever meet; graceful maybe compared to Bozo the Clown!

As I make it down safely into the valley, I breathe a sigh of relief, but the obstacles aren't over yet. Next is the handmade bridge crossing the small muck colored creek. Luckily I have never had an issue with this bridge, although it is obviously older than I am, and missing planks. If it were a person, it would be an old miser who walks with a knobby cane and smiles a toothless mischievous grin. Once over the bridge however is the really challenging part, the "obstacle course," as we lovingly call it. The obstacle course is located in an open pasture that turns into swampland during the rainy season of winter. I keep expecting the swamp monster to come out of the sludge, growling and dripping mud, threatening to eat me. "Come on swamp monster, I deal with a room full of chalkboard scratching, booger throwing, snot nosed Chilean kids, I think I can take you!" But if he is there, he stays hidden in his swamp, smart monster.

A clear path lays straight ahead of me, but before I can reach that pass, I must traverse the obstacle course, a huge mud pit, with make-shift stepping blocks. First is the old tire, that has to be stepped on just right or else the side not stepped on will lift out of the mud causing the person to fall face first. Then its the rocks, boards, frisbees and some other objects thrown into the mix, helping passers navigate their way through the valley of mud.

I once mistakenly attempted to avoid the obstacle course through the mud pit and instead went around the wallow. "What a smart and novel idea, I am so clever." I thought to myself! The lower pasture, the only alternative, seemed safe, but the green grass of the pasture was merely camouflage for the 6 inches of mud below. I discovered this hidden swamp on the day when I had dared to wear my brand-spanking new black boots to class. I meticulously negotiated my path, but without reward. There was no reliable path. Everything was mud. Life is sometimes like that, giving you a choice between decorated and disguised mud or obvious mud. Guess what happened next? Before I realized what was happening my entire foot up to the ankle was submerged in mud, but not just one shoe, both, because as I took that first regretful step, to my dismay, I lost my graceful balance that I am so famous for, only to have both of my beautiful new velvety boots covered in that dreadful, gooky muck. I nearly turned around and went straight home after my humiliation, but I didn't, I dredged on, literally.

Now, walking into a class full of recalcitrant Spanish only speaking students who don't know what the term discipline in English or in Spanish means, can be intimidating. But walking into an already unruly classroom with boots covered in mud and humiliated pride is certainly not a helpful addition to the already hopeless situation.

I have mixed feelings about the time I spent teaching my students. Starting off, I was eager to make a difference and I was energized with new ideas. Most of the students hadn't ever seen someone from another country and their exposure to English let alone an English speaker was limited. I wanted to reach out to the kids, expose them to something new and hopefully improve their English or at least their interest in English. I was given two different schools to help teach at; Divino Maestro, and Digna Camilo. Both schools had English teachers. Brenda spoke English and Carmen, however sweet, did not. Both schools gave me the warmest welcome I could ever have imagined, with a full school assembly, thanking me for my presence in their country and in their schools. Digna Camilo even included dancing and songs in English in their welcoming ceremony. The kids seemed ecstatic by my presence, but that was soon to wear off. After my first few classes, their attention waned. I tried grabbing their attention with games, but the games would lead to rough housing, and no one seemed interested in the English. By the end, I was much less interested in teaching than in keeping my sanity and them in their seats for 90% of the class. I am ashamed I got to this point. I gave up on them as most of their teachers had done. The classrooms were more for group babysitting than a place for education. I don't believe in giving up in principle, but I did. We spent nearly a month on learning how to ask and answer simple questions such as, "What is your name?" and "How old are you?" but after a month, no progress had been made. I tried games, quizzes, rewards but you can't make someone learn something if they don't put in the effort. Maybe they didn't improve their English while I was there, but I am hopeful that I changed their thinking. Maybe someday, one of them will dare to venture out of their country, because my presence proved that non-Chileans aren't aliens after all. Maybe, a couple of them will learn to value English later on in life and go on to college. I don't know what impact I made and I may never know. I just pray that I made a difference in at least one of their lives. I went to Chile to make my mark on the world, to make a difference in someone else's life.

Even though I am unsure of the impact I made on my students, there were many people who greatly impacted our lives while in Chile. I have learned that it is important when we fall in life that we have people close to us, to help lift us back on our feet, even if we are covered in mud. Being in a foreign country, made me feel awkward and out of place much of the time but we were so fortunate with our support. We had many people around that loved and cared for us. Not so much from the Ministry though, in fact, hardly at all.

Although the Chilean Ministry of Education assured us that they were a sturdy leg for us to stand on, that leg was more like silly putty; flimsy, and without support or reliability. Our host family, unlike the ministry, was such an important factor in our adjustment. From the beginning, they were kind, helpful and caring. We felt welcome and comfortable with our host mom and dad, like we were really home. Camila was compassionate, humorous and motherly. When one of us had a cold, she would make us a special hot lemon tea with honey. When we seemed sad, she would tell us stories of her childhood to make us laugh. Jorge was absent minded but easily excitable, especially when it came to food. They welcomed us in as their family, and they will always have a place in our hearts.

Brenda, my partner Chilean English teacher was especially important as well in our support system. Brenda is one of the most kind-hearted people I have ever met. I was so grateful during our first meeting with her and the principal. She spoke English so well and I don't know that I would have been able to understand him otherwise. Even some Chileans had a hard time understanding what the principal was saying since he spoke so quickly. After studying English in the University, Brenda spent three months living in New Jersey practicing her English. She moved to Pichilemu from her home town of Talca, away from her beloved family to fulfill her dream of teaching English.

Two days a week, Brenda and I would lunch together. Some days, she would fix authentic Chilean meals such as a special Chilean casserole. Other days the meals were as simple as rice with a fried egg. It was so nice to relax and speak English in her beautiful home and have a friend I could talk with.

Another activity we cherished while in Chile was our English group diners. There were two other English teachers in the town that spoke English well, Cecilia and Luz. One evening a month, we would gather together as an opportunity for them to practice their English and have a cultural exchange. In the beginning we shared American and Chilean food. We cooked things such as baked potato soup and cornbread, and they made pastel de jaiva (an excellent crab dish). Pisco sour, their national drink, was always a must, except for the time Bethany decided to make mojitos and had to go on a wild goose chase to find fresh mint.

Bethany and the other volunteers in our region were another vital part to our support system. Bethany was the only other volunteer in our city and we became a little gringo family while in Chile, laughing and crying together. Twice a month, we would gather to have a gringo reunion, sometimes in Pichilemu, and other times in the other cities where the other volunteers lived. (When I say gringo, I don't mean white, I mean those of us who were not Chileans.) Our gatherings were a time for us to vent, speak English, play games, drink Baileys and enjoy each other's company. I am afraid to imagine what our sanity level would have been if it had not been for those extremely important friends.

Nothing about the valley is easy; the path down the cliff, the old man bridge, the obstacle course and certainly not the incline out of the valley. The incline is steep and often has zero traction. Some days a kind soul has poured sawdust into mud on the hill, allowing your foot to find some sort of stability. The way out, is bordered with houses, not really houses, shacks; shacks surrounded by trash and junk. I avoid looking at the puppies with their rib cages protruding, shivering outside in a huddle. Today, the family is outside and the two year old is grabbing at the ax stuck in the stump in front of their house. After the hike up the hill, I take a breather, taking care not to stare.

My journey in Chile, like the valley, has had its ups and downs. There were times when I couldn't see out of the valley and the feeling of desperation overtook my body, but there were also moments of untainted happiness. Looking back, I can say without doubt, that although it didn't always feel this way, there were more ups than downs in our rollercoaster ride called Chile. I came to Chile for several reasons. First and foremost I went yearning for change; change in myself and change in others. I wanted to find more of myself by helping others. Living in a culture that is not your own is difficult and rewarding. Difficult because it can be excruciatingly uncomfortable, and frustrating, but rewarding because growing is never easy, and if there isn't a certain amount of pain involved, we aren't working hard enough. I struggled with the language, and I struggled with the students. But I learned that even though it was tough going sometimes, scratches and bruises are just reminders of the struggle and growth. I am always searching for more, yearning for more knowledge. Although I didn't always feel like I was growing, I know I did.

I left Chile with some scratches and bruises, but also lasting friendships and a family away from home. I went searching for the meaning of life, and my purpose in it. I may not have found the answers, but I am on the right path. I am on a path out of the valley and on to greatness, I can feel it!

Brenda, me, Bethany and Kyle, when Brenda took us to visit her family in Talca.

Me in my classroom

Me with my students

The kids are jump roping in the courtyard.

At one of our Gringo reunions, except with two other Chileans

Pablo in my suitcase. He wanted to come with us.

p.s. you still have time to write a caption.