Pucha!

"Pucha" in Chile means "darn." It is such a tame word, you can say it in front of your grandma, as our program director told us. I remember the first time I realized the brilliance of this word. It was the day a handful of us gringos visited the house of Pablo Neruda in Santiago and were trying to walk to the Providencia neighborhood to buy some clothes. We were walking along this sidewalk and it just ended on the side of a busy four-lane highway. In our American impatience we waited to cross the road, and at the last minute before we charged across we realized the two far lanes were moving in the opposite direction and we had to wait for another two minutes before making a run for it. At the moment of our realization, Tall Andrew said, "Pucha!" and Megan turned to me and said, "This is definitely a pucha moment."

My week has been filled with "pucha moments." Nothing to get too upset about, almost nothing worth an expletive, but definitely moments of frustration for me. First of all, I felt like my Spanish had been coming along pretty well, but this weekend, I hit some sort of wall. I spoke very little, and understood far less than I have been in most conversations. I realized that everyone has just been asking me the same questions over and over again, and that I have gotten really good at answering those questions, but if the conversation goes beyond the limits of my small vocabulary, I am immediately lost. I was most frustrated by this fact on Saturday, when Lito, his wife Marisa, their daughter Catalina, and Marisa's brother Pablo (veeery handsome!) came over for onces. They were all talking so fast and at the same time, and I had no idea what was being said. I would have been really cranky about it, except that Marisa took pity on me and would occasionally lean over and sum it all up using simple vocabulary. Pucha!

Second, this was supposed to be the week I started working with my classes, but due to circumstances beyond my control, I still have not been able to be alone with my students. Namely, my coteacher decided to give an exam this week, which took up more time than expected. Now she's away at training for the rest of the week, and we didn't work out the details of dividing the class before she left because all the arrangements were made last minute. In any case, I am a dejected teacher with no class to teach. I did get to work with a handful of students in a workshop yesterday. They are working on understanding a page out of these little books their teacher has given them. The pieces are about things like the history of music or science. I helped the girls understand the pieces by going word by word, helping them look up unknown terms, and acting things out so they understood the main idea. (Please note, I look quite foolish acting out ballet, a violin concert, and drawing pictures of a harp, but I hope in the end it makes my students more comfortable learning English and feeling foolish themselves.) I have been infinitely frustrated with my relationship with my coteacher, and for whatever reason, I find it difficult to work with her and get things done. To be fair, though, she can be very kind and generous to me in moments when I least expect it, and she is pretty overworked, so I can understand why there is so little time to plan. In general, Chilean teachers are not paid well and most put in 45 hours of teaching per week, not including planning time, which creates a state of madness and struggle for some, I think including my coteacher. However, sometimes I get the feeling that since I don't work the same hours, some of the teachers feel I don't really work that hard. Also, if I stick around in the teacher's lounge too long, they are always coming up to me with creative ways for me to use my "extra" time. Everyone wants me to take a class for them, and I feel like an asshole saying no, but I am also really clear about the fact that I am a volunteer, and am not getting paid in the same way they are. But still, I have to be really protective of my time! Another teacher came up and asked me if I would sing the Star Spangled Banner at an assembly, with him acompanying me on the piano. He seemed unruffled by my explanation that I don't sing well, as he kept saying, "It's not important!" over and over. Umm, sir, I think it will be important if I make an ass of myself butchering my country's national anthem in front of an auditorium of high school girls! Pucha!

It is starting to feel like fall in Chillan. The leaves are starting to change color and fall. The mornings are overcast, although it usually burns off by afternoon. However, it is freezing in the Liceo! My hands are icy if I am online for too long. Pucha!

My major pucha moment of the weekend concerns my cellular telephone. It likes to cut out in the middle of phone calls from home. In addition, I had a little episode on Sunday when my dad, and as I later discovered, my mom were both trying to call me. I would answer and only hear dead air. My temper flared up, and I seriously had to talk myself out of hurling my piece of crap cell phone at the wall. I shed a few angry tears (my first in Chile!) and finally my dad was able to get through. There is nothing like the feeling of knowing home is calling and not being able to talk. Seriously, I live for those calls. Pucha! (Actually, this was the one time "pucha" didn't quite cut it.)

I can tell Chile is starting to get to me in general, because I am pissy sometimes, and in general, the moodiness I am famous for in my family has returned. I try to shelter the people here from it as much as possible. I have found an area to jog. It's pretty cute, actually. Two streets near my house form an "L" and in the middle, there is a median that is landscaped into a park-like area. The pathway is sandy, too, which is much better for my joints, and presents far less possibilities for me to fall on my face in front of traffic as I run over the uneven concrete of the sidewalks. Also, I have been reading a lot, and btw, if anyone is interested in reading an interesting book, I would recommend The House of the Spirits by Isabel Allende. Incidentally, she is the neice of Salvador Allende, a fact not lost on me as I read the book. Read it read it!

It is almost the weekend, and there is some big birthday festivities at my house on Saturday for my host brother Reuben, who is coming down from Santiago with his girlfriend and her kid to celebrate. My cousins and other brothers are all coming over, and I am kind of exited to see what a birthday celebration is like in Chile. Hopefully, the remainder of the pucha moments will be banished by food, music, and if I am lucky, some Spanish conversations I can actually understand!