Why We Love Our Host Family!!!

The first night we arrived in our home-to-be was such a wonderful affair. Our Spanish was incredibly limited; we were in a foreign country being placed into some stranger's home, and we were welcomed like kings. We talked for hours, only able to understand and speak minimal spanish, but they were so incredibly patient with us. Not only were they kind and patient, but also comical and silly. Their sense of humor right from the start, reminded us of our own. From our first encounter with these wonderful people, we could tell that we were where we're intended to be.

Camila is this wonderful light in the big blue house on the corner. She is a short (for American standards but still taller than me), very pregnant, silly, angel who shoots rays of happiness everywhere she turns. Walking with her in town, we are always bound to run into someone she knows. People are drawn to her, want to be near her energy, and to be touched by her goodness. The first day she picked us up from the prov, she was dressed in a very fashionable, sleek outfit with black slacks, black high heeled boots, and a long green pea coat with over sized buttons which added a sense of creativity. Her blond hair is not God given, but because her skin is light, complimented with green blue eyes, it looks almost natural. Her beautiful laugh, releases easily without timidity, and is cheerful and contagious. She loves to tell stories which make us laugh so hard our stomachs hurt. Her stories are emotive, colorful and are chock-full of funny faces, hand motions and gestures to help clarify empty Spanish words to the gringos. Every time, Camila says the word, “enojado” for example, she places her finger in between her eyebrows and
presses down to show the emotion “anger.”By now, we understand that word without the action, but she continues to explain anger in this manner. Several of her stories include her sister in San Fernando, Vicky, who is the youngest of three sisters and is the craziest. She didn't like school, was a terrible student, had too much energy and too many rules to break to be held down by the words of teachers or parents. She was such a bad student that because she continuously flunked her classes, she would change schools so that she wouldn't have to repeat the grade. (Another flaw to add to the Chilean school system.) Vicky, during college, had three boyfriends at the same time, who by some twist of fate found out about each other, and all came to confront her about it at the same time. Vicky came down the stairs to see all three of her boyfriends standing in her doorstep, demanding that she pick one of them. Without blinking an eye, she broke up with all three because the situation was all too complicated and she didn't want to deal with it. She walked back upstairs to her room, and called her fourth boyfriend to come pick her up!

After Camila is done with one of her stories, she laughs to herself, and continues on with the next story. With Camila, awkward moments vanish, because she always finds a way to fill the space with her presence. Sometimes she will call Kyle from another room, just for the chance to say his name. Kyle is an unique name in Chile, and a very difficult one to pronounce and because of this, Camila almost makes his name into a game she plays with herself. It also makes everyone laugh.

Jorge is a complicated yet simple addition to this family. Jorge, Camila's husband, is the Fiscal de Publico here in Pichi, which is the equivalent to a district attorney. He has a reputation as the lawyer with the iron fist. One of the first things we learned about our family upon arrival, was that Jorge was prosecuting the Mayor of Pichilemu. He was corrupt, a unique quality in a
politician, and taking money from anywhere he could, and pocketing it. Half of the town loved the Mayor because of the kickbacks, and rewards they received and half of the town supported the trial and the incarceration of their elected public official. The trial lasted several days, and was broad casted over the radio for all of the province to hear. It was exciting hearing Jorge's voice on the radio, and bragging to anyone who would listen, that the voice from the little black box was our host father. The trial ended on a Saturday, and the verdict was to be read the following Monday. We sat next to Camila, inside our living room, listening intently to the Judge presiding over the case, who had been in our house for dinner a couple of weeks before. The
verdict, which I missed because of my incredible understanding of Spanish, was guilty! His voice on the radio was cold, and hard, nothing like the Jorge we knew. Camila confirmed our suspicions, that Jorge has dual personalities, his lawyer personality and his home personality. Jorge loves his job, and is always excited to talk about cases that he is working on, including
showing pictures of murder victims. It is wonderful hearing him talk about his work, because he is passionate about what he does and I think he really believes in justice and the system. But when Jorge comes home and he sheds his work personality, child Jorge emerges from the ashes. Besides the fact that he is so excited by food, and while grocery shopping, will jump up and down begging Camila to make lasagna or hot dogs, he also exerts his childlike behaviors in other ways. For instance, he is never hungry in the evening unless the meal includes hot dogs or

hamburgers. He has a motorcycle, dresses up in his motorcycle outfit, and makes excuses for outings just so that he can ride his favorite toy. His laugh, is that of a little boy; he laughs often, and at his own jokes, looking around to see if anyone else found it funny. He loves to joking, to the point where sometimes we don't know what is a joke and what isn't. For instance, one time, Jorge mentioned that he was going to go to Argentina, but I called him a fibber and continued
on my way. On a different occasion, it was mentioned that they would be gone for about a week, which wasn't abnormal since they both had been leaving quite often for work and the baby. When they returned they explained that they had been in Argentina. It was such a shock, I couldn't figure out what had happened. When Jorge had said he was going to Argentina, I assumed he was joking, because so much of what he says is false; like how he said we were going to cook cat for dinner, and that someone in Pichilemu had been decapitated. More than just words fall through the cracks in different countries, and words aren't enough to understand.

Rodrigo is another interesting character in our family. He is not actually a part of the family, but we call him our almost host brother, because he lives in the house for weeks at a time. He is a good friend of Camila, from law school. She is a lawyer as well. As a law student in his last semester, he evidently has a lot of free time, and chooses to spend it at our house. The
relationship between Camila and Rodrigo is that of best friends; while the relationship between Rodrigo and Jorge is that of brothers, wrestling, riding their motorcycle, and constantly making fun of each other. Rodrigo came into our lives one day during Semana Santa as were sitting down to eat Easter dinner with Jorge's family, after riding three hours on his bike from Santiago. His hands were shaking so that he couldn't hold his full glass without spilling the content. I thought this characteristic was from nervousness, or possibly the long drive, but we were to find out later, that is Rodrigo. He claims it is genetics and says his entire family shakes. He is timid, a couple a years older than Kyle and I, but with boy like features. In groups he hardly speaks, but will talk freely after he feels more comfortable. His personality is sometimes hard to read, but it only takes a glance in his eyes to know that his soul is warm and welcoming.

Jorge and Camila are also pregnant with their first child. Jorge is in love with their child to be, dubbed Dinosaurio, because of his appearance in the sonagram. As fetuses, babies look like creatures from the beyond, and Dinosaurio is no different. Even after they had decided on the name Pablo, he is still referred to as Dinosaurio. Another reason for this nickname is because of his voracious appetite for food, and his propensity for moving and kicking his mother, especially during the night.

Arriving here in our beautiful mansion of house, especially for Chile, we knew that we had something special, but it was even more clear after the coincidences that were left as buried treasure for us to discover. Our first discovery was the name of the neighborhood, Villa San Antonio. The name of our beloved city in Texas was the first thing we noticed as we turned onto the street heading towards our new home. After meeting Rodrigo, we quickly unburied the second coincidence, we shared the same birthday. And as if the first two weren't enough, we hit gold with our third discovery; their exquisite and lovely dog. Not only did we love her right off that bat, but her name is very special, Canela. Kyle's childhood dog, and amazing pet Cinnamon just recently passed into doggy heaven. Cinnamon was beautiful, loving, faithful, a talented jumper and was very special to Kyle and his family. We didn't make the connection of Canela's name right away, but when realized that Canela means cinnamon in Spanish, we knew we were where we were supposed to be.

It must be hard for our family to know what words they should try and explain and what words we already have driven into our memories. But they are always patient with us, without under estimating or under appreciating our intelligence. They talk and treat us like adults, but at the same time mother us. When Kyle was sick, Camila made kyle lunch in bed and made him lemon tea with honey. The time we spend with our host family is delightful and we couldn't be more pleased with this wonderful quirky pair.

Pieces of Spanish

Arriving in Chile, and being surrounded by words that hold no meaning, was more than a little overwhelming. My brain hurt by the end of the day from attempting to grab hold of one or two recognizable words in an entire conversation. The difference between then and now is that when I arrived I could speak in complete simple sentences, but understand next to nothing. Now, after 2 and a half months, I can string more simple sentences together to make (an almost) paragraph and understand close to 50 percent of conversation, if spoken slowly and with lots of body language. Things are starting to fall into place, and Spanish is beginning to make more sense to me, but I find myself, everyday, in situations where I have no idea what has been said or what I have agreed to after using my standard reply of “si!” I like to listen to native speakers, discussing, to remind myself that this is real, not a fake language like pig latin. People all over the world use these words to make themselves understood. And I want that; I want to be understood. But I don't just want to be understood, I want to use that thing we call Spanish.

Spanish is a mysterious, romantic, and beautiful language that twirls me around, blows kisses in my direction, but refuses to let me come closer than arms length. Spanish is like a distant lover leaving pieces of itself hidden all over Chile. Spanish is everywhere and at the same time nowhere. He wants me to find him, I think, but he teases and taunts me with his intangible clues. I find a piece of my mysterious lover in the sound of my alarm in the morning, and another in one of the many puddles of mud on my way to school. And yet I catch another as it is falling from the sky with the rain, and I can faintly see the trace of one lost to the green flame dancing the tango with the more popular orange flames in the chimenia. I gather all of my pieces together and hold them close to me for fear that I might lose them, which I do from time to time. I take them to my room and set about to make my puzzle pieces into a complete picture. Although Spanish has left me treasures of itself, he has failed to leave instructions or an example of what my puzzle should resemble as an end result.

Discovering my hidden treasures, and playing with how they fit into the jigsaw is a rather enjoyable game some of the time. But like a game that has gone on too long, or a distant lover who never lets his guard down, I tire, and just want to know the answer already. I want to know Spanish. I don't want to know him, like I know the many cities I traveled within when traveling around Europe staying only long enough to see the tourist attractions. I want to know Spanish like a traveler who sees what is meant to be seen, the outside of the shell, but also as a native, who knows where the after hours bar is in the seemingly deserted building, that requires a secret knock and a long , overcomplicated handshake.

Spanish occasionally reveals himself enough to dance with me. One hand below my shoulder bone and one hand gently holding mine. Our stature is gentle but stiff. I am twirling around the room, or shall I say, being twirled around the room, and I have to close my eyes because the world is spinning out of control. My eyes dart painfully around for something to focus on, but I can find nothing. He is a graceful and talented dancer, but I don't know the steps, and I feel so embarrassed. Why is it that everyone around me seems to know this dance, and I can't figure out what to do with my feet. I am going to fall. I know I am going to fall. I am afraid and embarrassed. Will everyone laugh at me when they hear me speak? How much more of this until I can go home, crawl into bed and never come out? No one speaks Spanish under my covers. I am safe there.

Learning Spanish has been a much slower process than I imagined. My standard saying, when someone asks how my Spanish is coming along is, “un poco a poco.” Somedays, it is hard to get out of bed, I am so tired of attempting this language. It is not that I am afraid of making mistakes, because that is a daily reality, but rather that I am exhausted from thinking so hard and drained from this overwhelming feeling of stupidity and my daily reminder of my inability to communicate effectively. I know it is a learning process, and I am aware that it takes time and effort, but constantly making mistakes, and not being able to express ones thoughts or ideas, takes a tole on a person's self-esteem. No wonder babies cry all the time, they just want to be understood.

There are days, when speaking, and understanding comes exceedingly easy, and I find myself soaring through the clouds, along with those felicitous souls newly in love. But it doesn't last. I always fall. It is inevitable. Like a substance induced high, I come crashing down, without a parachute, with bits of cloud remains embedded in my hair. My lungs feel constrained from the rapid change in altitude and my body is covered in bruises to remind me of how much work I have left to do. I am waiting for the time that my trip to the clouds lasts more than a day, maybe even more than a week. I am waiting for the day, that I will grow wings, and fly with the others who have accomplished their dream. And then I will really be in Heaven!

Random pictures

Looking out my bedroom Window!

Looking out my bedroom window is always a new adventure. I love to walk up to my window, push the curtains aside and stare. Stare at the unknown, and the incomprehensible. The shacks, I mean houses, here in Chile are pitiful by American standards. They are thrown together without thought to the future. Unlike Italy, these buildings and houses are not built with love and care, but with haste and thoughtlessness. The centers of almost all towns in Chile, have dilapidated buildings, crying with neglect. I understand there is a lack of money, but building houses that are made to fall in the face of a storm will not prove helpful in times of need. Even the beautiful house we live in, doesn't seem made to last. In the entire house, there is only one built in closet. The closet we use is poorly built and is actually more of a wardrobe. I don't believe I have seen one garage since moving here to Chile, 2 months ago, and storage space is non existent. Kitchens, if the house comes with one, don't have a pantry, and many of the dishes are stored in the oven. The dishwasher is not built in, and is in the form of a woman. Dishwashers, the machines, are rare, and a luxury. Gas is bought from a truck and heats the water and the general cooking devices such as the stove and the oven. However if the gas runs out, which it does often, your shower turns from hot to cold within the blink of an eye. Cold showers really make the day start off fantastically.

I didn't realize before, that houses could come without kitchens. Next door, I see our neighbor tending his outside fire, as he does everyday. I never realized until recently that the reason for his outside fire, is not for warmth, or entertainment, but for cooking. How could a house be built without a kitchen? What happens when it rains, how does he eat? Pichilemu is cold and unpleasant in the winter and to be outdoors, enduring nature is unthinkable for a spoiled American brat like me. In order to eat a hot meal, he has to start a fire, outside, against the wind and elements. I am cold enough inside buildings, since heaters are almost non-existent here in the sixth region. Houses also don't have fire places but these iron box chimineas that are used in place. Unfortunately, only the room they are located in stays warm, while the rest of the house, or building remains as cold or colder than the outside. Pichilemu is not much colder than San Antonio, but imagine never being able to feel fully warm and protected by the outside cold. San Antonio might actually be miserable in the winter without the car heater or the house and building heaters. My bones have a permanent cold gripping at their core, and it's impossible to defrost.

We ran into a woman Camila knows at the market, where all of the town congregates to buy their produce, used shoes, cheap jewelry, and gossip about the scandals rocking Pichilemu for the week. Camila's friend invited us over for “onces”, the snack that they have in place of dinner, that evening. She recognized me as the American English teacher, and informed me that her daughter was one of my students and was always talking about Tia Vanessa. I was apprehensive about the situation. I didn't want to lie if she was one of my dreadful students who came to school only to play and harass the other students and teachers, making the learning process near impossible. I don't like to lie, and I certainly didn't want to lie to this nice woman inviting us into her house, if her child was one of those born to cause me pain, but luckily my fibbing skills weren't necessary. Her daughter is in my last class on Friday afternoon at Divino Maestro, when the only English my students bother to listen for is “You may leave.” This class is horrid, and feeds on my energy like leeches sucking blood out of it's host. They sit looking out the window, holding their backpacks for the entire 45 minutes of class ready to bolt when the bell rings. Or in the case of last week, the children cornered me fifteen minutes before the bell, begging and pleading to be let out early. That's right, fifteen minutes early. Not two, not five minutes, but fifteen. I held the fort for 11, blocking the door, while they surrounded me like a pride of lions moving in for a slow kill. All twenty-five students encircled me, so close I could smell their hair, body oder and breath. Eleven minutes, I stood there blocking my students from leaving, yelling at them to sit down and finish their work, and repeating that they couldn't leave, but it all fell on deaf ears. They were done for the day, and sitting and behaving was out of question. I had already written down almost half of the classes names to be placed on the behavior needs improvement list, so I was out of threats. I gave in after eleven minutes. I wanted to leave as much as they did, and to breath fresh oxygen. My personal bubble needed tending. The poking and pulling and prodding had ripped gaping holes in not only my bubble, but also my good mood and positive energy. All of this is to say that Sylvia, the daughter of the woman who invited us over, is in this class and is the best and my favorite student.

We arrived at the house, on Chilean time and were welcomed by the entire family. Sylvia made my head swell with pride when the first words our of her mouth were, “Hello, how are you?” Many of my students say “hello”, but very few venture out to speak anymore English than that one word. For the first time, I realized that even though my classes were difficult teaching environments, some of the students are learning and want to learn. She was thrilled to have all three of the Americans (Bethany, the other volunteer came with us) in her house, and was very affectionate the entire night. Hugging me, petting my hair, and trying to converse with me, even when I was involved in another conversation. She was actually excited to have her teacher over for dinner. However, the reason I am telling you this long, bloated story, which is obviously not staying on the main road, is to bring us to the point of their very interesting house. It consisted of an extremely small living room, two bedrooms each containing two people; the two sisters in one room, and the parents in the other, and a bathroom. The house was tiny and quaint and lacking in a dining room and a kitchen. However, dinner wasn't in the house, but in an outside, dirt-floored, over sized tool shed. This very rugged, yet actually cozy room served as their kitchen and dining room. In the middle was a fire and to the left was a long wooden table which might have been made out of the same tree that built the kitchen. Four of us squeezed into a bench facing the family, as we ate our avocado, tomatoes, potatoes and tea over good conversation and wonderful company. Oh yeah, almost forgot. There was a tarantula in the bedroom.

The noon “bell” rings as I stare into the hillside of trees and run down shacks that pass for houses. The bell sounds at noon in every town in all of Chile and each time, it grips my heart with panic. The sound is less like a bell, actually not bell at all, but the noise one would hear as a warning for a bomb raid or a tornado alert. At noon, every day, the siren fills the town people's ears, not with lovely chimes or musical notes from an instrument, but with a terrifying noise, that I not only associate with a warning siren but also a horror movie I saw a while back called Silent Hill. The noise was made to alert the town of the darkness that would soon take over. The only shelter from the evil that oozed out of the walls, and the creatures that rose from the dead, was a church, which in the end proved to have more evil within it's walls that the outside darkness. These are the thoughts that run through my head when I hear our courtesy noon alarm.

After staring into the heart of the Chile countryside for an unmeasurable length of time, my eyes finally focus on a dog roaming around in the next yard. There are many dogs near and around us, but this particular one causes my nerves to boogie like they had Saturday night fever. The music floating through the night air, every evening, is that of the communication of dogs. Barking, howling and growling, come together to create a symphony to compete with Mozart, except without instruments, a Capella style. The particular dog I mentioned before, is the star of the symphony and has the voice of a dying demon being pulled into hell. Her voice fills the night air with such unbearable noise, that any creature with the ability to hear, scatters to the farthest reaches of the country. The dog probably doesn't even have fleas for the awful noises she makes. Honestly the first time I heard her bark, I thought the poor dog was fighting it's last fight and miserably loosing but after enduring her grating voice everyday, I have come to realize the truth. Her bark always sounds like a dying creature. No one bothers to tell the dogs to stop their music making. It's just an accepted part of living in the country. And did I mention that she, the demon dog, has had puppies, and has given the gift of her beautiful voice to her offspring. So now, not only to we hear the song of the Demon dog, we are also graced with the melody of the little minion perroitos.

Dogs live outside in South America. End of story. Dogs, if they have an owner, are not pets but accessories to the house or the yard. Because they live outside and in the countryside, they all of fleas, even our brand new puppies. Canela, our beautiful chocolate lab who was knocked up by an unknown boyfriend, had her puppies several weeks past. Twelve little black, confused and unhappy puppies were born in a dirt hole outside in the front yard. All twelve survived the first two weeks, but because of normal, but sad realities, we now only have ten. It is fortunate at least that we have a little doggie house for our puppies, and I am surprised and pleased we didn't loose more to the cold. The very day they were born fleas from the countryside found a new home on our precious little puppies. It's sad, but impossible to help.

And there are even more dogs still that roam the streets of Chile without an owner, unwanted and uncared for. Another dog that causes me pain, but rather in my heart than my ears is one that makes his home in the center of town along with the majority of the other strays. He no longer resembles a dog, but a zombie creature back from the dead to torment the living. His mange causes this skeleton like animal to have only patches of hair to protect him from the cold wind. I can't look at him without almost crying, and the other night, he followed us for an uncomfortable length of time on our walk home. It is normal to be followed by dogs wanting attention and food, but this non-dog, zombie creature gives us the willies. The majority of strays in town, don't cause problems. They lay around, wait for food, chase cars and practice making puppy dog eyes for weak-willed humans. The other day, we watched two dogs take post on either side of the street for a fun game of “try and attack the cars”. Every time a car drove by, which was not to their liking, they would run at it from either side, nipping at the tires and barking as if the car were their long-time adversary. The drivers of the cars seem un-phased by the commotion and continued to drive as normal, despite being surrounded by barking, stray dogs. I want to give these poor, attention-deprived dogs love and care that they long for, but I can't because of the possible diseases they might carry. These abandoned and sad creatures therefore are doomed to forever roam the street without human affection.

Looking out my window is like looking into a microcosm of Chile and my emotions about living in this foreign country. The breath-taking countryside consumes my heart with a sense of peace and tranquility. The rolling hills that stretch before my eyes are scattered with dilapidated houses poking out between the trees. The deceivingly calm ocean to my right reaches out towards the sky wanting to touch it's sister, but never quite making contact. Confusing to the human eye, the blends of the blues make it difficult to detect the dividing line, but we sense that they are separate. I can't help but smile at my conflicting emotions surrounding this country. I love the beauty of it's nature and of it's people, but there are permanent flaws in this picture that cry out for help. There are days that this country makes me joyful beyond belief and there are days when all I want is to be home, surrounded with things that are familiar. I am like the ocean reaching out to the sky for something. I am not sure what emotion I should feel or will feel if I touch my mysterious goal. My waters, depending on the wind on the particular day, are either turbulent with fear or calm and content. Chile is beautiful but with flaws. My window gives me a perfect view into the confusing Chilean soul, but helps me reflect on my own as well.

Kyle Posts 2 Blogs in One Day!?

The Situation So Far...

When we first arrived in Pichilemu, the town looked much bigger than what I had been expecting. Everyone that we had talked to about our teaching situations had made it sound like it was straight out of Little House on the Prairie. Pichilemu is actually not that bad, but for me, in the Rural schools, man where they right. The second day we were here, we spent the better part of it driving out to the 4 schools I was assigned to. Panul, Barrancas, Ciruelos and La Villa. The largest class consists of 18 students, the smallest one being Ciruelos at a whopping 8. The thought that kept running through my mind, as we drove from school to school was, “how the hell am I supposed to get out here.” As of now, I still don't know what they were thinking. Each of the little towns are about 18 kms from Pichilemu and about 5 km from each other. I don't have a car and there is one bus that sometimes goes to 3 of the schools. For Panul and Ciruelos, the professors come to pick me up in the morning and drop me off in the evening. It only took a little over a month for us to figure this system out. It's obviously very complicated >,<>

So as of now, my week is supposed to look something like this. Monday, relax, no school. Tuesday, the professor from Panul picks me up in the morning, I teach the first half of the students for a good 45 minutes before they start to loose interest. We eat lunch and I do the same thing with the other half of the students. At 5, Don Francisco takes me home. Wednesday, I get up at 6:30 so I can eat and get ready to leave the house by 7 so I can make it to the bus stop at 7:30. I then wait for 15 to 45 minutes for the bus to come. Of the past three times I have waited, it has come once. Thursday, Don Carlos from Ciruelos picks me up, I repeat the same process of 45 min teaching, 1hr 15 min of talking to myself, Lunch, repeat, home. Friday, I'm not really sure what I am supposed to be doing but so far it hasn't really mattered, in fact, I have yet to have had a solid week without interruptions. The first week after my new and improved schedule was organized, We had a slough of meetings to go to. The next week, we had to go to San Fernando to clear up the mess with our Identification cards. See Van's blog for the beef on that one. This week, more mess with Identity and now I have a cold! I just don't know when things are finally going to get into some kind of a routine around here. I am starting to think that routines just don't exist in Chile. Nothing seems to function the way it should.

I am becoming more and more tranquilo each day. I am starting to realize that while things don't run as they should around here, no one really expects them to. As long as no one is getting mad at us for the inefficiency of others, why should it bother us so much? In the end, they are the ones that suffer for it. I know that sounds a bit harsh but the truth is, we came here to help. If they don't want it, what will getting all worked up about it do to help the situation? Instead, I think we are all coming to the realization that we just have to take things day by day and hope that, at some point, we will actually teach some kids some English.

Kyle Posts 2 Blogs in One Day!?

The Situation So Far...

When we first arrived in Pichilemu, the town looked much bigger than what I had been expecting. Everyone that we had talked to about our teaching situations had made it sound like it was straight out of Little House on the Prairie. Pichilemu is actually not that bad, but for me, in the Rural schools, man where they right. The second day we were here, we spent the better part of it driving out to the 4 schools I was assigned to. Panul, Barrancas, Ciruelos and La Villa. The largest class consists of 18 students, the smallest one being Ciruelos at a whopping 8. The thought that kept running through my mind, as we drove from school to school was, “how the hell am I supposed to get out here.” As of now, I still don't know what they were thinking. Each of the little towns are about 18 kms from Pichilemu and about 5 km from each other. I don't have a car and there is one bus that sometimes goes to 3 of the schools. For Panul and Ciruelos, the professors come to pick me up in the morning and drop me off in the evening. It only took a little over a month for us to figure this system out. It's obviously very complicated >,<>

So as of now, my week is supposed to look something like this. Monday, relax, no school. Tuesday, the professor from Panul picks me up in the morning, I teach the first half of the students for a good 45 minutes before they start to loose interest. We eat lunch and I do the same thing with the other half of the students. At 5, Don Francisco takes me home. Wednesday, I get up at 6:30 so I can eat and get ready to leave the house by 7 so I can make it to the bus stop at 7:30. I then wait for 15 to 45 minutes for the bus to come. Of the past three times I have waited, it has come once. Thursday, Don Carlos from Ciruelos picks me up, I repeat the same process of 45 min teaching, 1hr 15 min of talking to myself, Lunch, repeat, home. Friday, I'm not really sure what I am supposed to be doing but so far it hasn't really mattered, in fact, I have yet to have had a solid week without interruptions. The first week after my new and improved schedule was organized, We had a slough of meetings to go to. The next week, we had to go to San Fernando to clear up the mess with our Identification cards. See Van's blog for the beef on that one. This week, more mess with Identity and now I have a cold! I just don't know when things are finally going to get into some kind of a routine around here. I am starting to think that routines just don't exist in Chile. Nothing seems to function the way it should.

I am becoming more and more tranquilo each day. I am starting to realize that while things don't run as they should around here, no one really expects them to. As long as no one is getting mad at us for the inefficiency of others, why should it bother us so much? In the end, they are the ones that suffer for it. I know that sounds a bit harsh but the truth is, we came here to help. If they don't want it, what will getting all worked up about it do to help the situation? Instead, I think we are all coming to the realization that we just have to take things day by day and hope that, at some point, we will actually teach some kids some English.

Kyle Finally Posts a Blog!!!

Ciruelos

Ciruelos is undoubtedly my most interesting school. Not my best behaved, but the most interesting.The professor there is Don Carlos Leyton. He is really something else. His father was one of the first students there and later became the professor of the school, then handed down the position to his son. The school itself has been around since I don't know when and it's age is really starting to show. It's a one building school that has been divided into two parts. One half is the classroom and the other half is Don Carlos' office that seconds as a classroom and thirds as the computer lab/tv room. They do have a computer, which is a pretty big step up for them but the tv gets one channel and there is no vcr. There are 4 other buildings on the school grounds. The kitchen, the museum, the bathrooms and another building slightly bigger than a tool shed that I think might be the wood working shop.

The Ciruelos Museum is, by far, the nicest building on the property. It's pretty much a three room house that has been converted. The displays consist of some rather interesting artifacts belonging to the Mapuche culture that once thrived in the region and the Incans as well. Another section is mostly old machines from the turn of the century including a huge old movie projector that still works and a collection of fire arms. Don Carlos has also amounted a very impressive taxidermy collection that I honestly have to say I was a bit concerned about. I appreciate the scientific aspect, but some of the species he has in the collection are very much endangered and a few may even be extinct. I know that Don Carlos is not capable of driving a species to extinction himself but I am afraid that he may impart the human superiority mentality necessary to amount such a collection on to the students. The is a mind set that, I am afraid is far too common here in Chile. Animals just aren't thought of the same way here as they are in the States. Animal protection is a new thing here and I don't think it's caught on in the country yet. The crowning glory of the Museum's collection is a huge, eight foot tall Leather back turtle that according to Don Carlos was caught just off of Punto de Lobos about 5 years ago.

The students have been pretty great so far. Most of them are very interested in learning English and all eight of them really enjoy having a new face around to talk to and play with. As far as school is concerned though, we are all kind of at ground zero. Basics are still a struggle. Numbers, letters, how are you, what's your name, etc. The way it goes now is, I spend 4 hours a day with the older kids and 4 hours with the younger ones, split up by recess, lunch and snack time. This is a really easy schedule for me to work with, but it's not very conducive to them actually learning. They loose interest fast and when they aren't paying attention, there's really no point for me to keep talking.

Last time I went out was a very interesting day. I have learned to be much more laid back about things around here and as such, I wasn't just itching to get them back in the classroom. So, when I saw Don Carlos going into the forest with a couple of students from the other class, I decided that was a good time to call it a day and see what they were up to. What I saw, when I caught up with them, made my heart rate double. One of the older boys, Sergio, 10, was revving up a chainsaw with no gloves, no safety glasses and obviously no real training. About ten feet away from Sergio, two of the girls from the class were crouched at the base of a tree, hacking away with hatchets. Don Carlos meanwhile, was swinging away, Paul Bunyon style, with what looked to me to be a two headed battle ax. After I came out of my state of shock at the situation, I ran over to Sergio who had just gotten the chainsaw running and put my sunglasses on his face. I turned to see how the girls were coming along just in time to see one of them barrel roll out of the way of the falling tree without a second to spare. After four trees had been cut, they were taken away by some guy in a truck and I still don't know what for. It was the most interesting time I have had yet teaching English. That day the students learned the words tree, ax, hatchet, chainsaw, and the two most important words of the day, safety and TIMBER!!!

Interesting Chile Facts

Cool and Interesting facts about Chile

• Population : 16 million

• Percentage of population under poverty line: 19% (Life expectancy is on the up, and poverty has halved in the last 15 years)

• Unemployment rate: 8% (This statistic should be interesting to watch because of the increase of people going into higher education, but lack of jobs to support the educated students leaving the Universities. For example, they have a saying about lawyers, “you lift a stone and you find a lawyer.” There are many lawyer graduates but not enough jobs.)

• Population growth rate: .97%

• Adult literacy: 96.2%

• Pisco produced annually: 50 million liters ( a tangy, bitter-sweet cocktail, which is easily the national favorite drink)

• Produces 35% of the worlds copper. (45% of national exports)

• Chile contains approx. 10% of the worlds active volcanoes.

Chile's Social Revolution:

Conservatism, has been a defining characteristic of the Chilean culture, but there are many changes brewing from this newly democratic country. The church is loosing ground, and after a brutal dictatorship, Chileans are celebrating with cultural rebellion.

• Presidential race: A woman- an unmarried mother at that- Michelle Bachelet is the first woman elected to president not only in Chile, but in all South America; something that would have been unthinkable, only a decade ago.

• Divorce: Chile was until recently one of only three countries without a divorce law. It was introduced in 2004 despite strong opposition from the church. The lack of a divorce law in the past didn't keep marriages together so much as to increase the acceptance of couples living together out of wedlock with children.

• Gays and Lesbians are either ignored or frowned upon, but the situation is easing.

• Children out of wedlock: Until recently, men could leave their girlfriends with their babies and take no responsibility. However, since a law in 2005, father's are required to recognize their children out of wedlock.

• Chileans are family, and kid-oriented. Children typically live at home with their parents until they marry. If they leave their homes for Universities, there are often accommodation for the students to live in a home with a surrogate mother who cooks, cleans and takes care of them like their mother would.

A little History about the country

• 12,500 BC: Evidence of human habitation. Most famous is the Chinchurro culture who left behind the oldest known intentionally preserved mummies. In fact they began mummifying their dead 2000 years before the Egyptians.

• 1535-1600: Similar to North-America, Europeans, mostly Spanish settlers claimed the land as their own, bringing diseases, enslavement and death the indigenous peoples.

• 1888: Large scale nitrate and copper mining.

• 1900's: lots of political turmoil, including an elected president, a dictator taking over, the dictator being exiled to Argentina.

• 1960: The strongest earthquake ever recorded took place in Southern Chile, killing about 1000 people, destroying all buildings, and resulting tsunami wreaked havoc in Hawaii, 10,000 km away and on the coast of Japan.

• 1935-1970: Unstable political climate takes force. Democratic, but a fiercly polarized and militant society is forming. Communists, socialists and radicals form a party, but with very different goals.

• 1970: The world's first Marxist president is democratically elected; Salvador Allende. But an even more polarized country was rising.

• 1973 (Sept 11): Pinochet successfully overthrew the government in a brutal coup d'etat, killing the president, and hundreds of thousands leftists, or supporters were, tortured, killed and thrown into exile. Although the military government was only supposed to stay in power until the country stabilized, his rein lasted 17 years. The Caravan of Death traveled the entire length of the country killing many political opponents, while many others just disappeared.

• 1990: In order to appear as a democratically elected president, Pinochet held an election and lost. Although Pinochet continued to extend power through other means.

• 1998: Pinochet was arrested for human rights violations, but he never reached trial before his death last year, because of his failing mental health. To this day, Pinochet is still a very hot topic with Chileans, because some of the country continues to support his actions while others viciously despises the man.

• 2005-now: A woman president is in power, and the democracy is as health as ever, with frequent protests and strikes. Voting and democracy is taken very seriously here.

Geography

“Chileans delight in recounting the joke that after God made most of South America he took what was left over-bits of desert, mountain, valley, glacier, rainforest, coast and mountain and strung them together to create Chile, a slinky, thin country that extends some 4300 km, but averages less than 200 km wide: all ocean on one side and almost all Andes on the other. Sure enough, geography students could cover almost their entire syllabus in this single country: from dry desert top to sparking green rainforest to ice-capped south and a necklace of 50 active volcanoes, woven together by rivers, lakes and undulating farmland.”

• 10% of all the worlds active volcanoes are in Chile.

- The majority of this information has been taken from “Lonely Planet: Chile”

The Chile School System

The United States schools are divided into two seperate sectors, private, and public. The Chilean schools are divided into three, 1)public, 2)private, and 3)half public and half private. The half private, half public, and the full private schools are able to pick which students are allowed to attend. The other schools have no decision making power and accept all students. However, unlike in the US, there are no school districts directing which school a student must attend. The parents have a choice of which school their child may attend, allowing that the school has openings. For example, there are many rural towns within a thirty minute drive of Pichilemu, with their own schools located within the town, but because the parents can elect their choice school, I have many students in my schools from the rural towns. These students live in boarding houses during the week, to avoid the cost of transportation, and then live with their parents on the weekend.
I am working at two basico public schools, Divino Maestro and Digna Camilo. Basico means that the students range from pre-kinder to 8th grade. It is a combination of elementary and middle school. These schools, although similar, have differences as well. For instance Digna Camilo is a much older school and has been around since the begining of time, at least Pichilemu's time. Divino Maestro is brand spanking new and was built two years ago, primarily because there was a need for another school for students from the rural areas. Because there seems to be a lack of available teachers, some from Digna Camilo were reassigned to the new school. Evidently there was no option for the teachers to stay or go, they were told what they would do, and they obeyed. Something that all Chilean public schools have in common is a general lack of funding and materials. Books are almost always available, but projectors, radios, televisions any other teaching supplements are not provided or available.
When I say that I am working at these schools, I should clarify that I am a volunteer at these schools. Schools with english programs apply for volunteers through the Ministry of Education and a volunteer is assigned. There is supposed to be this rigorous process with many different requirements but the only real requirment seems to be having a school and frankly, none of us really understand why they choose the schools they do. As a volunteer with English Opens Doors, my only requirements seem to be that I speak English and I have a degree (not that they have seen it or asked for it.) I am then assigned to an English teacher in a designated school, that I am supposed to work with. We divide the classes up into 20 and 20 and after 45 minutes, we switch groups. I am to work with listening and speaking while the other teacher works with reading and writting. Our plans are supposed to correspond with each other, but at the moment, I am breaking the rules and focusing soley on getting the kids to the level of understanding and responding to basic questions such as "What is your name? and "How are you?" Interestingly, the kids hear the question "How are you?" everyday, and respond in unision "Fine, Thank you." but have no idea as to what they are saying. For all they know or care, they are saying, "I am a monkey and you are too!"

The school buildings are incredibly poorly built out of concrete, and without insulation or temperature control additives such as heaters or ACs. Because South America is in the Southern Hemisphere, we are in Fall, which in Region 6 is not an extremely cold season, and in fact very close to the temperatures in central Texas, but because no public buildings have heaters the buildings contain the cold as if it were their sole purpose for standing. The schools might as well be the Ice Palace in Narnia with the only difference being the addition of desks and a white board. Unfortunatly, although I teach in the Ice Palace, I lack the power to freeze any students who deserve the ice staff, which happens to be all of them. I feel like the buildings are taunting me sticking their cold, concrete tongues out in a way only a school can, chanting "just try to teach students, who all need Ridalin and corpral punishment, and as an added bonus, you'll have to keep moving around to avoid from freezing to the desk!" Ok, so my students haven't frozen to their desks yet, and I don't think we are actually located in Narnia, but I truly wear gloves, a hat and three layers of clothes to school in Fall because it is colder inside the classrooms than outside. The teachers, during their breaks, drink tea and coffee, not for the taste I don't think but for a substitute heating device. I am definitly looking forward to the rainy winter when not only will we have to battle cold, but we will have an extra adversery to add to this delightful picture; wetness.

I have a better understanding of the school system than I thought was possible, considering my ignorance of the language, but I am still confused about this next situation. I am under the impression that there is a teacher shortage in Chile considering that the majority of the teachers now, are all over 40 and counting. However, the schools claim that there are too many teachers per school to give each teacher their own classroom. Therefore, students have their own classroom and the teachers move around from ice room to ice room. This means that the 40 students in each classroom rule their class. The classroom is their domain, their jungle, and the teachers are just passing visitors or lion tamers for an hour and a half. If there are any decorations on the walls, it is not the teacher's doing. Materials are carried from class to class by the teacher throughout the day. Luckily, the students love to carry their teacher's things and are more than willing to enslave themselves for 5 minutes to help their teacher. Once in the classroom, it's a very different story.
Other differences include a lack of a discipline program. There is no such thing as ISS (In School Suspension) or Alternative school. There is also a law in Chile that all students have to be in the classroom at all times during the school day, so being sent home is not an option either. Basically if a student misbehaves regularly, there is nothing to be done except possibly call the parent, who may or may not care to discipline their child and the child is then left in class to continue their disruptions. With 40 students in one class and no threat of consequences, discipline is a near impossible feat. Along with no discipline program, there is no school nurse or school counselor or anyone else for that matter. There are teachers, one to two secretaries, an equivalent to a Principle and a Vice Principle and that about wraps it up. The other day, I had a student in my class who started to cry becuase she felt sick, and there was nothing for me to do with her, except let her lie down on the chairs. There was no school nurse to send her to and I was at a loss. When I asked my English teacher about it, she said "We are teachers, nurses, psychologists, mothers, and whatever else the kids need us to be."
The different schools: Divino Maestro (DM) and Digna Camilo (DC). Divino Maestro is about a ten minute walk from my house. This school is larger than DC because there is more than one of each grades. So instead of one single 7th grade class there are two seperate classes where at DC there is only one class of each grade level. Divino Maestro also has an English teacher who speaks English pretty well. Her name is Brenda. I somtimes forget that she is not a native speaker. I am so thankful to have someone to speak English with that I start to talk at my normal rapid pace, before she has to slow me down. Brenda is a lovely, single woman who lives on her own in one of the nicests houses in Pichilemu, with black curly hair, and a strong love for her family in Talca. She worked over 60 hours at three different schools for several years in a row to save up and build her own house. She teaches her English classes in English which is a rarity here in Chile. Carmen, a very sweet older woman with a lazy eye is my principle English teacher at DC, but I also have the priveledge of working with two other teachers at DC giving me a grand total of 4 teachers to coordinate lesson plans with. There is a serious lack of English teachers in Pichi, so any teacher who is the most qualified, meaning they have had at least one course, is the next in line for teaching this foreign language that no one knows. Carmen has taken English courses, but the only English words I have ever heard uttered from her mouth are Hello and Good-bye. Loreta and Louis are the other two teachers I work with. Loreto is currently enrolled in English lessons, and Luis actually speaks some and understands some, but I honestly feel more comfortable speaking in Spanish with all of them. Carmen is the teacher who has been informed as to why I am at their school, and what my true purpose is here, but still to this day, the other teachers at DC have not been properly informed as to how best to utilize me. I have tried explaining how the program works, and what I am supposed to do, but because they haven't been told what the English Opens Doors Program is really about, they don't really know what to do with me even after I have attempted explainations in both languages. (We were supposed to have a meeting yesterday, but Carmen fell ill, maybe next week).

Teaching Adventures

On a whole, I have more problems at DC primarily because of discipline problems. On my first day working with Loreto in the 7th grade class, I was horrified. I was horrified at the lack of respect the students gave her, and I was also horrified at how she could just ignore such blatant, and atrocious behavior. She walked into the class, greeted the class with the stamped and approved salutation of the Chilean English class:
Teacher: Good morning
students: (standing at their desks) Good morning Ms. So and So
Teacher: How are you?
students: Fine, sank you
Teacher: Sit down please.
students: Sank you ms.
Normally this is the most tame part of every class, but this particular class, takes the disrespect to an all new level of outrageousness. Maybe three students of the 40 stood up and responded to Loreto, the rest continued walking around and discussing gossip with the other students. She then had me try and teach the lesson since I was the token English speaker. The lesson first began with a worksheet with a word bank and a scene from a typical city block. The sheet had blanks next to objects such as a bus, a road, a newspaper stand etc. Dictionaries were handed out and the work was to begin. A couple students completed the worksheet and the rest just copied after thirty minutes of talking and ignoring the worksheet staring up at them. I found this particular worksheet humorous because it used all British terms such as Zebra crossing for crosswalk and others that I can't think of at the moment. After this worksheet was completed, the teacher had me read a passage from the brand new English books. Before I continue, I must say that I think the new English Books designed for the Ministry are great, colorful, and entertaining, but are way too high of a level for my seventh graders in Pichilemu, who can't answer the question "how are you?" The passage, "A tour of Babylon, a city of the past" included words such as "divided, unequal parts, Euphrates River, consisted, King Nebuchadnezzar, Hanging Gardens, impressive ect." Basically, in this passage, the kids could only understand the word "the." She wanted me to read this two paragraphed passage to them out loud and not only expected them to listen but to understand anything that came out of my mouth. I did as she asked but I tried to make it interactive and have the kids figure out the vocabulary as we went. They stayed interested for half of the passage probably because I made a fool of myself and they found me amusing for some time but after I was no longer interesting, they returned to their normal activities of yelling, screaming, climbing on desks and generally being animals in a jungle. I then tried to teach the clapping method of attention grabbing. I clap once, they clap once, I clap twice, they clap twice, I clap three times, they clap three times and so on until everyone in the class is paying attention and silent except for their hands. However as soon as they figured out how this clapping thing worked, they erupted into cheers, and hollered even louder than before the clapping. My exhausted voice failed me and I sat down as the teacher failed to get them to pay attention.
The second time with this class I nearly walked out. They had behaved better than normal for my first visit because a novel person was in the room, but as soon as I became old news, life resumed back to chaos. It was the same story as before except for worse and with less attention. I should note that this is not the only class I have wanted to walk out on. Last week while teaching the 6th graders basic questions, I decided to remove ten students, about half of my class, from the classroom because they refused to pay attention and didn't listen to a word I said. They don't seem to understand that the more time they yell, wrestle, play their recorder, scream my name and tattle tale on each other, the less time they will have to play the game... if I have a game. This particular day, I was planning on playing musical chairs with an added twist of English, but this class didn't have time to play because I had spent so much time just trying to get them quite.
At Divino Maestro, I have more problem students rather than problem classes, not to say that I don't have problem students at DC, but the situation is different. In one of the 7th grade classes, I have a 17 year old who has been held back at least three times and loves to make teachers wish they had never entered into the teaching profession. He is at least a head taller than me, and last week proved this to me by sticking his chest in my face as an intimidation method. He also grabbed another kid by the shirt and yanked him around. His parents were called, who knows if it will help. Other students like to hang and swing on the railing in the library. And I have a couple of girls in separate classes who refuse to speak or participate.
I don't want it to seem like everything about Chile's schools are bad because they aren't, the bad is just more apparent at the moment than the positive attributes. There are kids in the groups who are surprisingly knowledgeable and intelligent, and there are also kids who genuinely want to learn English. I have these kids in every one of my classes and I wish I could just teach the ones with genuine interest, but as that is the wish of all teachers around the world, I will just have to continue teaching them all. Some positive aspects include getting notes, drawings and gifts from my students almost daily. My first day of observing at DC, a little girl drew a lovely portrait of me in my kacky skirt and red shirt with stars circling my body. At DM I received a note from a little girl entitled "Tia Banesa" This note was not only cute for it's misspelling of my name, but also the content. The girl wrote "I hope you are happy and I hope that I have class with you because you are very pretty and nice and your husband too." She then drew a picture of Kyle and me at the bottom of the note, both holding briefcases and wearing pink shirts. At both schools I am a celebrity and get swarmed by little girls who want to hold my hand and ask the gringo questions as I walk to the teachers lounge . I appreciate the attention because, lets be honest, we all know I like attention, but sometimes it feels a little weird to have little girl ornaments every time I walk the halls in my school. But after a frustrating class, it is nice to have that little girl hug.

A side note: Because the kids had a hard time understanding my name, they started calling me Tia Vienesa, which is a hot dog brand. And it seems that no Spanish speaker can pronounce Kyle's name correctly so the students gave up all together and call him Tio Gringo. The other volunteer here in Pichi also has a very difficult name in Spanish; Bethany. The "th" sound comes out like an "s" so what you hear is "Tia Bessa me" which translates to Tia Kiss me.

Orientation into the schools.

My first experiences with these schools were very conflicting and confusing. In Pichilemu we don't have a coordinator and there is no one assigned from the Ministry of Education to help us. Our first week of orientation with the town and our schools, we were left to flop around in the cold, salty, treacherous sea of schedules and details, without any lessons as to how to swim or any possiblity of a rescue anytime soon. The second day in Pichilemu, we were handed off to different men from the provincial, who were taciturn, un-smiling and un-informative. The driver was plump with glasses and a lazy eye, while the other wore a black leather jacket and had squinty eyes. They took Kyle, Bethany and me out to Kyle's rural schools one by one so that he could meet his teachers and figure out some type of schedule. (This part will be an entirely different story so we won't go any further with the Kyle section, except to say, that the "schedule" didn't work out)


After a long day of riding in a small truck on bumpy roads behind two strange men, that never introduced themselves and obviously thought this was an unwanted chore, we were ready to jump off this welcome wagon head first. Still to this day, we remain unsure as to what their names are. Nothing of my schedule was settled and so we were off on another exciting journey with the two jolly men. Our shady guides took us first to Divino Maestro, where the principle speaks at the speed of light, to discuss my "horario." I was glad to go there first because my initial impression was that this school was friendlier. The motor mouth principle, on our first day, had been extremely excited to greet us and inform us that we were very welcome and that I would be very happy with them. He said they considered my presence a privilege. Bethany, our friend and the other volunteer in Pichilemu, was the mediator since she was the only one of our crew who spoke both languages. I had 25 hours of actual teaching time to divi up between the two schools, and 16 hours were assigned to Divino in that meeting. I sat in the cramped office, similing, nodding and listening as Bethany did all of the talking. The meeting with Divino was a piece of cake however, in comparison with Digna C. At our next stop DC, the principal was an unhappy camper when she discovered that 16 of my 25 hours had already been assigned to Divino M. Because I hadn't become fluent within 48 hours of being in Pichilemu, I sat looking from frowning face to frowning face, trying to figure out what was being said about me. They were allotted a measly nine hours, and they wanted more. They wanted me to either work more hours than my designated 25, or to work more extra-circular hours with them than Divino M. They also wanted Kyle to dedicate his extra time to their school. I understood why they were unhappy, but because we were dropped to the sharks without a life jacket, and left to figure out all of the nitty gritty details on our own in a foreign language without any help or protocol or official meeting between the schools, there was nothing to do except doggy paddle as best we could and hope survival was one of the options. The schedule at Digna Camilo was not decided that day, but later in the week. The schedule was ironic, because Digna C had decided that although Kyle was not assigned to them, he was to work 9 hours at their school anyways. Because Kyle's schedule was so confusing and he had no way of actually getting to his rural schools at the time, he didn't argue and dutifully followed the schedule.
After this rather painful meeting which felt like having all of my teeth removed without anesthetic, the easy part was to begin; the teaching! Har har har! Luckily, there was a protocol as to when to start teaching and it wasn't until after two weeks of observation of the real English teacher. DC redeemed itself with the welcome ceremony they threw for Kyle and I. A construction paper sign was hung on the wall outside stating, "Welcome At Our School." A speech by the principle, and the English teacher was made about how much we were appreciated. The national dance, which I have now seen at least 6 times at different functions, was performed. A Spanish and English color song with balloons was sung, the national anthem as well and little Chilean flags were presented to us gringos. Also a birthday song for "yours truly" (since the next day was my birthday), and a little question and answer session for me by two little girls. It was a lovely welcome ceremony and I loved every minute of it. They wanted to share with us how appreciative they were to have us volunteering at our school, and they succeeded. After the welcome ceremony with the whole school, the teachers held a separate wine and empanada celebration afterwards, with more of the "cueca" dance and more singing of Chile songs. A nice, but strange woman sitting next to us, who was missing several teeth continually chatted with Kyle and me as if we understood every word. She didn't seem to mind that our reactions only consisted of smiling, laughing and nodding, she continued to tell her life story to the new guests of DC. If this was my introduction to the schools, I had no idea what to expect for the "real life" part.

First Day in Pichilemu

After a three hour bus ride from Santiago to Pichilemu we had arrived to our final destination. Whizzing past trees, twisting around endless curves, passing many dilapidated casas, the magnificent waters of the Pacific Ocean revealed themselves, beckoning us to what would be our home for eight months. We could see it for what felt like a fleeting moment, and then it was gone, and we and our luggage rested anxiously on a sidewalk, waiting. We, (Bethany, another volunteer, Daniela, our Chilean guide and friend, Kyle and I) waited on the curbside,

for what, I wasn't sure. After two weeks of a disorganized orientation, I was used to not knowing what was going to happen next, and so I waited without questions. However, we didn't have to wait long, before two cars with two men came along quickly and brought us to a building we now lovingly call "The Prov." We were ushered into a room with couches, offered tea with cookies, the staple of the Chilean diet, and poked and prodded with many questions. Bethany, who is just about fluent in Spanish, did all of the talking. I didn't mind, because I understood maybe three words of the entire conversation and just stared at the rapidly moving mouths hoping something sensible would come out. After a while, I excused myself so that I could use the restroom, but when I came back, the room had filled with three more guests. Three women, one a nun, stared at me as I walked back into the crazy Spanish speaking room. The director had forgotten my name which I excused since I hadn't caught any of their names. As I approached he said in Spanish, "This is .... she." I introduced myself to these strangers, going around the room and dutifully kissing every one's cheek then quickly found refuge in the sofa. Because there wasn't enough room for everyone to sit comfortably, Kyle and I had to squeeze into the couch with one of the new women. After officially squeezing into our sardine can, this woman sitting next to me, whom I didn't know, was introduced again as my host mom. I was so embarrassed I tried to apologize and laugh at the confusing situation, but it was nearly impossible to turn and look at her as I was lodged meticulously in between her and Kyle. The other two ladies were also introduced as Bethany's host mom, and the nun was the director of her school. After we were pryed loose, our host mom was told to come back for us later in the afternoon.
After the awkward meeting, we climbed into a car and were taken for a tour around Pichilelemu. Our first stop, the ocean, Punto de Lobos or Point of the Wolves. We were told that this amazing location was named for the many wolves who used to come for mating, but since Chileans had taken up residence, they no longer came. We were a bit confused as to why wolves would come to this particular location by the ocean for mating, until our misunderstanding was corrected weeks later. Lobos did not refer to land animals, but creatures of the sea, Lobos del Mar, seals.
The waters at this location are particularly violent and treacherous. They dance in unison to create graceful and awe-inspiring waves. However beautiful, this dance is also frightening. The dancers are choreographed perfectly with centuries of practice, and the force behind these waters holds an ancient and incredible power. I am afraid of this spot and I am filled with contradicting emotions. Fear, and humility bounce around my body, but peace and happiness course through my veins. It is our first day in our new city and I can't keep my feet on the ground or figure out what emotion to grab hold of to keep as mine.
We drove around the rest of the city with our guide pointing out particulars in Pichilemu. The old Casino which is now an empty building was built by the founder of Pichilemu, in hopes of making the town a huge tourist attraction; seafood restaurants that are designed for tourists to pay too much dinero; and the Parque Ross, a park with a wonderful view of the ocean. After the tour, we venture past an Internet cafe, up some stairs into a room that feels like somebody's house, and into an empty dining room. We are served pisco sours, the Chilean lemon lime specialty drink, and local wine. Our meal is delicious, and the conversation is sometimes slow enough for me to follow and even chime in on occasion. I must say, however, the wine is somewhat to thank as it helped to loosen my tongue. After our delicious lunch, we were taken to our designated schools. Who ever had the idea to stuff and wine the American volunteers before their official and formal introduction to their places of employment had a sick sense of humor. In any case, the introductions went well and the schools were all very welcoming and excited for the new comers to teach their children English. After visiting my schools, and Bethany's school, (the rural schools were saved for the following day) our tour was finally coming to an end. But our day was far from over. Although I felt that it had already been the longest day of my life and all I wanted to do was crawl into my bed and curl into a ball, we had the second round of this on going test waiting for us at The Prov, our host mom. It was to be the first time, we were left alone with a Spanish speaker who didn't also know English.
Camila, a short, beautiful woman, with blond hair, brown, cheerful eyes, and an easy laugh was waiting for us when we arrived back to the Prov. She gave us a tour of the house and introduced us to her pregnant dog, Canela. She was patient with us and praised us for our Spanish. She told us that before, they hosted a couple from Germany who spoke absolutely no Spanish whatsoever, and our little Spanish was a great improvement on no Spanish. I was greatly relieved to find this bit of information out, because it meant that I had a low expectation to meet and exceed rather than a high expectation to fall short of. We discussed anything we could think of to talk about. We discussed the spiders on the porch, who refused to admit defeat even after their homes were destroyed once a week, the orange sun kissing the horizon and the bright moon taking it's place, the horses eating and neighing in the pasture, and the washing machine that stopped functioning but couldn't be fixed in Pichilemu. We also discussed, Jorge, her husband, who hadn't arrived home yet. After an hour or more of talking, we excused ourselves to the bedroom, to start unpacking our belongings. After a short while, Jorge arrived home. He informed us that he knew five English words, one of which was lawyer because that was his profession. Jorge is the equivalent to a district attorney and has a reputation of leading with an iron fist. As we talked over our fantastic four course meal, fit for a king, or at least someone in the king's court, they described to us a recent case of a corrupt public official taking bribes and pocketing money whom Jorge had prosecuted and successfully placed in jail. Among our topics were differences in American and Chilean culture, different animals, foods, and how and why we chose Chile. Somehow, we succeeded to have a two and a half hour conversation with our broken Spanish. When dinner was over, and we had given them their picture book of Texas, and their stuffed armadillo, we retreated to our bedroom to discuss the miracle that had just transpired. I don't know how it happened but amazingly we conversed and for the most part understood what was being discussed. It was an amazing feeling. We loved our family from the get go and they continue to be amazing. We are truly blessed to have such a wonderful family to live with.