today chile fell back an hour. they were supposed to do this with everybody else, a month ago, but they didn't feel like it or something. so today when i woke up, I was notified that, finally, it was a quarter to 9, and not a quarter to 10. ok. whatever.
it was also a day of lesson planning and hanging out with a fellow northwesterner. i.e. one who understands that those who don't recycle will have to pay penance for it. it was nice, anyways.
it was a day of lesson planning. it was almost like studying, in a way. when we sat down to plan out our classes, every distanction became magnified x10, at least. strange.
and now, it is a day of rest.
Sunday, 30 March 2008
Saturday, 29 March 2008
blah blah blah
I feel a little bit like a columnist stretching for a good story right now. I have nothing inherently interesting to say. So I won’t even try to be mildly entertaining. (There’s my disclaimer. If you turn back now, I’ll never know.)
My classes started this week. I have three classes right now: One with three women at their office downtown and two small classes of teens at the institute, each with about eight students. My favorite class was with the beginning teens, who tend to be on the younger side of the “teen” category. The more advanced ones were a little older and a bit on the attitudinous side. (Ew.) But I anticipate that all three classes will go well, and I’m sure they’ll be more fun once we get to know each other.
I’m still living a bazillion hours away from where I work. (Annoying.) I’d like to move closer…but I’m lazy. Maybe next month. I’ll just keep complaining in the mean time.
In other news, I miss Seattle like crazy. I’ve never felt more ‘at home’ than I do in Seattle. It’s nice to feel like I’m supposed to be a part of a place. I still think it’s beneficial, in an empathetic sort of way, for me to have this experience as a foreigner living in a place that isn’t the home my heart would claim as its own. My situation is pretty different from that of the immigrants and refugees I hope to work with in my career, because I have the advantage of choosing to be here and the power to decide to leave. The experience should count for something, anyway. Right?
And that’s it. Nada mas. Or “nada ma” a they ay here in Chile. ¿Cachai? Ma o meno, I’m sure you do.
Whoever said that a watched pot never boils must have been a rogue physicist, because this one is doing just fine.
My classes started this week. I have three classes right now: One with three women at their office downtown and two small classes of teens at the institute, each with about eight students. My favorite class was with the beginning teens, who tend to be on the younger side of the “teen” category. The more advanced ones were a little older and a bit on the attitudinous side. (Ew.) But I anticipate that all three classes will go well, and I’m sure they’ll be more fun once we get to know each other.
I’m still living a bazillion hours away from where I work. (Annoying.) I’d like to move closer…but I’m lazy. Maybe next month. I’ll just keep complaining in the mean time.
In other news, I miss Seattle like crazy. I’ve never felt more ‘at home’ than I do in Seattle. It’s nice to feel like I’m supposed to be a part of a place. I still think it’s beneficial, in an empathetic sort of way, for me to have this experience as a foreigner living in a place that isn’t the home my heart would claim as its own. My situation is pretty different from that of the immigrants and refugees I hope to work with in my career, because I have the advantage of choosing to be here and the power to decide to leave. The experience should count for something, anyway. Right?
And that’s it. Nada mas. Or “nada ma” a they ay here in Chile. ¿Cachai? Ma o meno, I’m sure you do.
Whoever said that a watched pot never boils must have been a rogue physicist, because this one is doing just fine.
Thursday, 27 March 2008
Four Hundred and Five
The 405. That's the bus I take to the metro (subway), which I take to the Instituto downtown. Bus stops are everywhere. There's one very close to home. So that's nice. But. Every time I'm waiting for the grand 405 to barrel my direction, I watch 4, 5, 6, 7 405's alllllll going the other way. How does that happen? I'm not one to lecture anybody on the virtues of efficiency, but.... reallly??
And, today, for some reason, the 405 is practically non-existent. There was some sort of substitute bus that came by. And I was thinking, instead of saying that you're running a special route, why not just call yourself the 405, and we'll all be happy?
And, today, for some reason, the 405 is practically non-existent. There was some sort of substitute bus that came by. And I was thinking, instead of saying that you're running a special route, why not just call yourself the 405, and we'll all be happy?
Tuesday, 25 March 2008
Things Are What You Make of Them
Santiago is car alarms, stray dogs, skinny cats, sweaty strangers standing next to each other, on each other, hanging on to my pride when the metro jerks to a halt, and I am falling on men in business suits and women's vulnerable toes. Disculpa. Santiago is school girls clamoring, desperate to vogue-ify their school uniforms, mothers infantilizing their adult children, men gawking. Santiago is staring down the tops of buildings, because something just beyond you is very intriguing, and I don't see you talking to me. Santiago is looking forward to class on Friday, looking forward to horse back riding into Argentina, looking forward to a second go at winter, looking forward to my next entertaining faux pas, looking forward, intently, contentedly, outwardly.
Monday, 24 March 2008
Saturday, 22 March 2008
Friday, 21 March 2008
I'm not saying I'm bored of Santiago, but sort of. I just needed a change of scenery for a little bit. So I headed westward to the coast for a little get-away while I still have plenty of time and nothing important to do. I've wanted to visit Valparaíso, which is purportedly B-E-A-utiful
(not so), and I thought I could check out Viña del Mar while I was in the area. I headed out early in the morning on a cushy tour bus for the hour-long drive to Viña. Viña is just north of Valparaíso, and there is a metro-tren (i.e. a train that sometime goes underground) that connects the two cities.
Of course I intended to spend a mindless day at the beach, but as we cruised along through throngs of ramshackle houses that populate the outskirts of Santiago, and even more in and around the coastal towns, my mind and affections were plunged into deep consideration of poverty and my responsibility (or lack thereof?) to ... people. The more I saw, the less I felt. And the less I felt, the easier it was to completely remove myself from their situations. This isn't my country, isn't my life, isn't my problem.
And that was depressing. Because... I came to Chile chasing a career path that will inevitably lead me toward people who aren't my problem. I came here wanting to get myself involved with education--of any sort--because education is KEY to having social and economic mobility (I think). And the people who need education the most-- people who don't have easy access to education--they haven't typically been my problem, or any part of my world.
The more devastating the situation looked, the more helpless I felt. And it didn't take more than a couple miles of rotting roofs on closet-sized houses to convince me that no attempt of mine would make any sort of progress in these...'situations.' The good thing about my convictions is that it is extremely easy for me to write them off in cases of hardship. Done. An hour later, walking along the beach, I felt completely free of my previous obligation to the uneducated poor, not to mention completely aimless.
I know this one is a bit of a doosy. But we're getting there, I promise. Here's a picture of Viña to keep you interested.
So, I sit for a couple hours on the beach, reading, thinking, minding my own damn business. And then I go. I'm parched. One of my favorite things about Chile is that there are these street vendors EVERYWHERE, always selling cold water and tasty frozen treats and things. Just before I pass out from dehydration, there is a man with his little bicycle cart selling just what I'm after. All I have to say is, "¿Agua fría?" And as he hands me that golden bottle, he is looking at me wide eyed and asks, "¿De dónde eres?" And that launched us into a lengthy conversation about population, inflation, why the dollar is so low, etc. I wanted to take advantage of the opportunity to practice my Spanish. And seeing as I'm in no hurry... why not?
When I told him (Jorge) that I was in Santiago for the year teaching, he said, "¡Qué bueno!" And asked me how I taught. I didn't know how to answer that question. How?... What?... It made more sense when he told me that he never had the chance to be educated. He starting working when he was a child, because everyone has to eat.
I tried to focus on what he was saying to be sure I was understanding correctly and not just hearing what I wanted to hear. Could it be that this conversation was really happening, right after I decided to abandon the cause? Really??
Jorge lamented that he never learned to write and never had the chance to pull himself out of poverty with education--such a simple tool. He told me all these things that I already know- things I've spent countless hours mulling over in my mind- that there is a mighty rift in our societies that aggravatingly separates the rich from the poor.
Because he can see from my expression that I am straining to understand his language, he fills in the gaps with hand motions. He repeats over and over that, because he is so old (35...not sooo old, where I come from) he can only bajarse - and he inches his hand, palm down, down down down. And I (me), I am young and educated and on my way - and he inches his other hand, palm up, up and up and up. And the division gets greater. When he says that he is nothing and I am rich, I try to deny it. But it only takes half a second to realize that he's right. No matter how strongly I believe, or want to believe, that all people ideally have the same inherent value, it doesn't play out that way. Jorge will spend the majority of his days on this boardwalk selling sticky popsicles into grubby fingers, and I will travel and have varied experiences. I cannot deny that education has given me mobility and that poverty has taken away this man's chance for the same.
And I suddenly realized that the majority of these street vendors and the men washing cars in parking lots and the ones 'directing traffic' in parking lots for whatever you will give them-- they are all trapped in this same system that has caught Jorge.
We talked for at least half an hour. Mostly, I just listened, not knowing what to say, or how to say it. I asked him if he thought it would even be worth the trouble for me to be a teacher in a context like his. Of course he said yes, emphatically. But there are so many factors that complicate the whole thing. It is altogether overwhelming, and I don't really know where I can get my foot in the door.
When I told him I would go back to the United States in a year because that is my home, he said that, afterwards, I could come back to teach in Chile. Who knows.
And so my relaxing day at the beach, never was. But the career path that I abandoned in the morning, I gladly took back in the afternoon. Not that I can solve the problem, but I can at least not ignore it.
(not so), and I thought I could check out Viña del Mar while I was in the area. I headed out early in the morning on a cushy tour bus for the hour-long drive to Viña. Viña is just north of Valparaíso, and there is a metro-tren (i.e. a train that sometime goes underground) that connects the two cities.Of course I intended to spend a mindless day at the beach, but as we cruised along through throngs of ramshackle houses that populate the outskirts of Santiago, and even more in and around the coastal towns, my mind and affections were plunged into deep consideration of poverty and my responsibility (or lack thereof?) to ... people. The more I saw, the less I felt. And the less I felt, the easier it was to completely remove myself from their situations. This isn't my country, isn't my life, isn't my problem.
And that was depressing. Because... I came to Chile chasing a career path that will inevitably lead me toward people who aren't my problem. I came here wanting to get myself involved with education--of any sort--because education is KEY to having social and economic mobility (I think). And the people who need education the most-- people who don't have easy access to education--they haven't typically been my problem, or any part of my world.
The more devastating the situation looked, the more helpless I felt. And it didn't take more than a couple miles of rotting roofs on closet-sized houses to convince me that no attempt of mine would make any sort of progress in these...'situations.' The good thing about my convictions is that it is extremely easy for me to write them off in cases of hardship. Done. An hour later, walking along the beach, I felt completely free of my previous obligation to the uneducated poor, not to mention completely aimless.
I know this one is a bit of a doosy. But we're getting there, I promise. Here's a picture of Viña to keep you interested.
So, I sit for a couple hours on the beach, reading, thinking, minding my own damn business. And then I go. I'm parched. One of my favorite things about Chile is that there are these street vendors EVERYWHERE, always selling cold water and tasty frozen treats and things. Just before I pass out from dehydration, there is a man with his little bicycle cart selling just what I'm after. All I have to say is, "¿Agua fría?" And as he hands me that golden bottle, he is looking at me wide eyed and asks, "¿De dónde eres?" And that launched us into a lengthy conversation about population, inflation, why the dollar is so low, etc. I wanted to take advantage of the opportunity to practice my Spanish. And seeing as I'm in no hurry... why not?
When I told him (Jorge) that I was in Santiago for the year teaching, he said, "¡Qué bueno!" And asked me how I taught. I didn't know how to answer that question. How?... What?... It made more sense when he told me that he never had the chance to be educated. He starting working when he was a child, because everyone has to eat.
I tried to focus on what he was saying to be sure I was understanding correctly and not just hearing what I wanted to hear. Could it be that this conversation was really happening, right after I decided to abandon the cause? Really??
Jorge lamented that he never learned to write and never had the chance to pull himself out of poverty with education--such a simple tool. He told me all these things that I already know- things I've spent countless hours mulling over in my mind- that there is a mighty rift in our societies that aggravatingly separates the rich from the poor.
Because he can see from my expression that I am straining to understand his language, he fills in the gaps with hand motions. He repeats over and over that, because he is so old (35...not sooo old, where I come from) he can only bajarse - and he inches his hand, palm down, down down down. And I (me), I am young and educated and on my way - and he inches his other hand, palm up, up and up and up. And the division gets greater. When he says that he is nothing and I am rich, I try to deny it. But it only takes half a second to realize that he's right. No matter how strongly I believe, or want to believe, that all people ideally have the same inherent value, it doesn't play out that way. Jorge will spend the majority of his days on this boardwalk selling sticky popsicles into grubby fingers, and I will travel and have varied experiences. I cannot deny that education has given me mobility and that poverty has taken away this man's chance for the same.
And I suddenly realized that the majority of these street vendors and the men washing cars in parking lots and the ones 'directing traffic' in parking lots for whatever you will give them-- they are all trapped in this same system that has caught Jorge.
We talked for at least half an hour. Mostly, I just listened, not knowing what to say, or how to say it. I asked him if he thought it would even be worth the trouble for me to be a teacher in a context like his. Of course he said yes, emphatically. But there are so many factors that complicate the whole thing. It is altogether overwhelming, and I don't really know where I can get my foot in the door.
When I told him I would go back to the United States in a year because that is my home, he said that, afterwards, I could come back to teach in Chile. Who knows.
And so my relaxing day at the beach, never was. But the career path that I abandoned in the morning, I gladly took back in the afternoon. Not that I can solve the problem, but I can at least not ignore it.
Tuesday, 18 March 2008
AHEM.
I have something to tell you.
I'm going to be a teacher.
Not this Friday, but the next one. They're going to be teenagers, and it's essentially a beginning English course. !!! It's only 3 hours a week for now, which amounts to a paltry sum in pesos, but... I'll be assigned more classes with businesses and university students along the way.
And, I took the psychological assessment this morning. Wow. Wow. Should I say it again? One part of it was... I forget what it was called... something with an umlaut. She basically asked me what my favorite color was and then told me that I hover between being extroverted and introverted, and that I don't know what I want. I mean, I would have just told her that if she had asked me. No need to be so fancy. Psychologists and their magic arts! Psh.
I'm going to be a teacher.
Not this Friday, but the next one. They're going to be teenagers, and it's essentially a beginning English course. !!! It's only 3 hours a week for now, which amounts to a paltry sum in pesos, but... I'll be assigned more classes with businesses and university students along the way.
And, I took the psychological assessment this morning. Wow. Wow. Should I say it again? One part of it was... I forget what it was called... something with an umlaut. She basically asked me what my favorite color was and then told me that I hover between being extroverted and introverted, and that I don't know what I want. I mean, I would have just told her that if she had asked me. No need to be so fancy. Psychologists and their magic arts! Psh.
Monday, 17 March 2008
Ah, yes. Tomorrow (∞)
[sigh]
I'm determined to cut down on the amount of time I spend roasting like a little enchilada in the stuffy transit system. And these boots are made for walking, so... it's easier to get to know my way around the city if I walk, anyways.
So I set out, once again, for the [nearest] metro station today. It's not worth it. I should just move closer to the metro. Two hours later, I find myself at Escuela Militar--and it looks familiar, because that nice man from Maipu brought me here a week ago.
As if that wasn't enough walking for the afternoon, I get to my destination, La Moneda, and I spend AN HOUR looking for a shop donde se toma fotos carnet. I need photos* to add to my personnel file.
*I already had these photos taken. Twice. The first time I looked like a yahoo, so I had them retaken at another shop. And it was only after the second time that I realized that my passport number needed to be on the photo. UF.
I promise you-- I was walking with my eyes opened. I was sincerely and earnestly looking. These shops come a dime a dozen. When I finally found one, it was closed.
Of course it's closed, I thought. Why would they be open on a Monday afternoon, anyway?
A little more hunting, and I found one. And then another. And another. And another. And now EVERY store also takes passport photos.
Whatever. Things are (still) coming along. I find it somewhat comical (somewhat really irritating) how poor the communication system is around the Instituto. When I went to take my photos in to the woman who hired me, she asked if I had talked with so-and-so about getting some training. ... "I thought I introduced you to her last week?" she says. I remember. I met her in passing. Was I supposed to intuit that I should ask her to set me up with some training? I mention that I was supposed to observe some other teachers, and she says, "Oh. I don't want to do that now." Okay. I know they are all very well meaning, but... eh? I'm new here. I kind of feel like the freshman in high school being directed to the "elevator just around the corner."
I am taking a psychological test tomorrow morning. What if they find out that I'm crazy??? And, hopefully, she says, I should have a class assignment by then.
Oh-- P.S. It was the highlight of my day when I was walking through an office at the Instituto and this woman jumped up and said, "Sara! I was just calling you!" This person knows who I am! And I am supposed to be here after all.
As a side note-- this is THE La Moneda, which is the capitol building of Chile. The street that the Instituto Norteamericano is on is the same that this building is on. Apparently, this is the only capitol building in the world where any visitors can walk around inside if they just feel like it. Haven't gone yet. :)
I'm determined to cut down on the amount of time I spend roasting like a little enchilada in the stuffy transit system. And these boots are made for walking, so... it's easier to get to know my way around the city if I walk, anyways.
So I set out, once again, for the [nearest] metro station today. It's not worth it. I should just move closer to the metro. Two hours later, I find myself at Escuela Militar--and it looks familiar, because that nice man from Maipu brought me here a week ago.
As if that wasn't enough walking for the afternoon, I get to my destination, La Moneda, and I spend AN HOUR looking for a shop donde se toma fotos carnet. I need photos* to add to my personnel file.
*I already had these photos taken. Twice. The first time I looked like a yahoo, so I had them retaken at another shop. And it was only after the second time that I realized that my passport number needed to be on the photo. UF.
I promise you-- I was walking with my eyes opened. I was sincerely and earnestly looking. These shops come a dime a dozen. When I finally found one, it was closed.
Of course it's closed, I thought. Why would they be open on a Monday afternoon, anyway?
A little more hunting, and I found one. And then another. And another. And another. And now EVERY store also takes passport photos.
Whatever. Things are (still) coming along. I find it somewhat comical (somewhat really irritating) how poor the communication system is around the Instituto. When I went to take my photos in to the woman who hired me, she asked if I had talked with so-and-so about getting some training. ... "I thought I introduced you to her last week?" she says. I remember. I met her in passing. Was I supposed to intuit that I should ask her to set me up with some training? I mention that I was supposed to observe some other teachers, and she says, "Oh. I don't want to do that now." Okay. I know they are all very well meaning, but... eh? I'm new here. I kind of feel like the freshman in high school being directed to the "elevator just around the corner."
I am taking a psychological test tomorrow morning. What if they find out that I'm crazy??? And, hopefully, she says, I should have a class assignment by then.
Oh-- P.S. It was the highlight of my day when I was walking through an office at the Instituto and this woman jumped up and said, "Sara! I was just calling you!" This person knows who I am! And I am supposed to be here after all.
As a side note-- this is THE La Moneda, which is the capitol building of Chile. The street that the Instituto Norteamericano is on is the same that this building is on. Apparently, this is the only capitol building in the world where any visitors can walk around inside if they just feel like it. Haven't gone yet. :)
Saturday, 15 March 2008
On Walking There Instead
I took a look at Frommer's travel guide through Chile (thank you, Jacob) last night and was excited to find that I know how I might feasibly get to some of the places described in this book. Las Condes, La Providencia, las líneas del metro, La Moneda, Avenida Bernard O'Higgins.... I know this stuff! Reading the section about Santiago made a lot of pieces come together in my mental map of the city.
So, today, I decided to go spend some time reading and relaxing at Cerro Santa Lucía, which promises an increible view of the city from the top. (Cerro means 'hill' in English.) Feeling a bit (too much) on the ambitious side, I decided to walk to the metro, instead of taking the bus.
As a sidenote-- the 'metro' is the underground subway system in Santiago. There are 5 lines that run all over... or under... downtown. There is also a bus system, called 'Transantiago' that supplements the metro. Chileans roll their eyes when they talk about Transantiago; it's fairly inefficient. The metro is a bit more efficient, but CROWDED!
....So I decided to walk. I've got nothing to do today. Just relaxing. Three hours later, I arrive at a metro station. It happened to be 7 stops past the stop closest to the apartment. I wandered further, mmmmm, left than I should have. I kept trying to figure out the directions on the map in my head, but alas.
It certainly wasn't the end of the world. I ended up stumbling upon a huge rose garden, a nice neighborhood where I might want to live in a few months, a Starbucks where I sat and read for a while (Going to Starbucks in Chile is cheating, I know! Get off my back.), and then wound my way around to the subway, where I succeeded in reaching my original destination of Cerro Santa Lucía. (I probably should have just walked the rest of the way. It was only a few more blocks.) The view was indeed incredible. And I did indeed take the bus home. (And I am indeed very sunburned.)
Friday, 14 March 2008
Traveling Companion
When I left the apartment today, headed for the bus, I happened upon a big friendly labrador. I wasn't in a rush, and neither was he, so we took a walk together. We said our goodbyes when he had to stop off at the hardware store.
In Santiago, the dogs are as friendly as the people. And nearly as numerous. Some of the stray dogs are 'claimed' by people who live or work near them and keep them fed and attentioned. Some even get snazzy collars.
Until Dudley (i.e. my future Great Dane), this suits me fine.
In Santiago, the dogs are as friendly as the people. And nearly as numerous. Some of the stray dogs are 'claimed' by people who live or work near them and keep them fed and attentioned. Some even get snazzy collars.
Until Dudley (i.e. my future Great Dane), this suits me fine.
Thursday, 13 March 2008
¡Hola!
I arrived in Santiago de Chile last Monday. This week has been full of surprises that make 'traveling' what it is. (Example, the first: When I arrived, it was difficult to get in touch with my employer, and when I finally contacted her, she was surprised that I was in Santiago. -- Things are all set now, and I will begin observing other teachers early next week. Ejemplo 2: The first time I went downtown [to meet said evasive employer], it was the first time I used the bus/metro system. It was practically the first time I left the apartment, really. Looooong story, shorter-- I started asking about a particular stop on the bus line [which, as it turns out, doesn't exist on that line], and a kind gentleman went very far out of his way to take me all the way to the Instituto Norteamericano...and no, he didn't steal my passport or anything like it.)
I am looking forward to ... so many things. I can't wait to get to know my way around the city. (I walked around in circles for hours today. So I know La Moneda through and through, I think.) I'm hoping my Spanish will improve a little bit, and more importantly, that I will be able to understand people when they speak. And I'll be teaching in a few weeks! Everything about this trip is an EX.PER.I.ENCE!
I'll try to keep you posted, but... I'm lazy and unreliable most of the time, so.... don't count on it.
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