Lest I give the impression that I do nothing here but party and travel and get sick, I feel I must relate some recent anecdotes regarding my work situation.
I have been surprisingly pleased with my teaching in the last month. This change of heart is most likely attributed to the attitude adjustment I experienced as a result of our mid-service conference the first week of July in Santiago. Not only was it great to be reunited with the volunteers that live in Los Angeles, Chile and our program directors, but it gave me a focused time to reflect on my experiences here, both professional and personal, and set some goals for the short time I have left. It was really hard to reflect on what was not working, take personal responsibility, and ask myself, no matter the situation, what I can do to improve it. It was also nearly impossible to confront the reality of leaving here, a fact that is always in the back of my mind but physically hurts to consider seriously. However, I was able to set some clear goals, such as being braver about improving my Spanish, not letting my dread at facing certain classes doom me from the start, and being more creative and intentional in my lesson planning. I have been particularly successful in the first and last goals.
I feel like I am at a good place with my students right now. I have been here long enough now that I have gained their trust, and I feel like a majority of my students look forward to my classes. I have tried really hard to come up with lessons that will be fun, spark their interest, and inspire them to learn and use English. It is a very difficult process, especially when a lesson you have planned to use all week bombs in the first class and you have to improvise your way through it as well as quickly revise for the next class, as happened with a recent attempt to play Pictionary.
However, when a lesson goes well, you feel so accomplished, especially when your students use English and seem happy to be participating in class. For example, I invested in a bingo game recently because I realized in an earlier lesson about dates and times that my students didn't really know their numbers. I played a game with all my classes to reinforce the numbers, and they loved it, not only because there were candy prizes but because it was a way for them to test how much they understood when I spoke (the differences between, for example, sixteen and sixty is very difficult for them to hear). I was really excited because they would always ask me to repeat numbers, but I wouldn't answer them unless they asked me in English. By the end of class, they were all asking, "Miss, could you repeat that please?" and "Miss, did you say thirty-five?" It was so cute with their accents, and I was sort of stunned at how accomplished it felt to have us exchanging information in English only, even for something as inconsequential as a bingo game. If it seems like a small victory, all I can say is that it is a huge, huge accomplishment for me as a teacher and for my students as well. And I honestly think they were proud of themselves and excited to be communicating in English only. I wish every class was as successful as that one. Now, before I start some of my classes, the students start chanting "Bingo! Bingo!" which always cracks me up.
I have come to love certain students deeply and I know there are going to be small Chilean holes in my heart when I walk away from Liceo de Niñas. There is one particularly tall, goofy girl in one of my sophomore classes that is rarely on task, but she is so funny and loveable I cannot for the life of me toss her out of class. On the other hand, she is very sharp when she focuses, and is often one of the first students to understand a task and be brave enough to try it out or remember a phrase from a previous lesson. Another of my favorite students is one of those kids that needs constant attention, and she is constantly busy, yelling things out in class and getting up from her seat to look out the window and comment on the action. She enters my classroom three times a week and cheerfully yells, "Hello Miss! How are you?" and responds to my queries with equal merriment. There is another very sweet girl that, in that awkward way of teenagers that want to befriend their teachers, is always hovering around me, asking strange questions just for the opportunity to talk to me, and asking me for advice about her personal life. And there is another incredibly smart and precious sophomore that told me about a tough home situation that brought tears to my eyes. She lives with her grandmother, who apparently goes out of her way to discourage this student from seeking higher education and constantly tells her that she is an ugly, bad child. At these moments, I feel I am having a lasting impression here, and if even these four students remember anything I have taught them, about English or about life, all the struggle of teaching here will be worth it.
Of course, there are constant challenges that make me count the days I have left of teaching in Chile (61). It is amazing that teenage girls are the same everywhere in the world in key ways. Their haughtiness and disrespect mirror that of many of the girls I taught in AmeriCorps. Teenagers from lower economic classes are the same, too. They are listless and appear lazy, although I believe it is just because they do not have examples in their lives that hard work can pay off. They seem greedy, although I know it is only because when you are poor, you have to fight for everything you can get. For example, when I award winning teams candy, many of the girls beg for candy if they didn't win, or complain when I give them only one piece instead of two. I always smile at them and say, "Or, you could say 'Thank you Miss Tiffany for giving us candy today!'"
The girls that annoy me the most are the ones that pointedly ignore my activites and instead spend every moment I am not hounding them to work applying makeup or looking at magazines or text messaging. But they don't believe education will help them, and don't understand that it is up to them to put forth the effort to make it pay off. I do see their point; Liceo de Niñas is a poor, public school, and it is clear that my students do not have the same resources and opportunities as other schools. This was completely evident at our regional debate competition, where the teams we competed against were crisply attired and had folders and notecards emblazoned with school logos. My students looked shabby, with messy hair and unkempt clothing and papers or notecards that were wrinkled and stained. The contrast was clear to me, and I know some of my students noticed as well.
The way I deal with students that don't want to be in my classes is more passive than some of the other volunteers. I do not like tossing students out of class, especially since inevitably a power struggle ensues, and the last thing I want to do is get into some sort of power struggle with a snotty and stubborn teenage girl. As long as they are not being disruptive and distracting other students that would otherwise be paying attention, I let the students stay in class and waste their own time. At these moments, I feel all I can do is acknowledge that my job is to give them information and try to make English class interesting and fun; it is up to them to take what I give them and act on it. Especially with teenagers, it has to be their choice to do something with their education. Unfortunately, because of the barrier of language, I am rarely able to talk to students individually and discover their personal stories and tragedies, like I was able to do in AmeriCorps. What many of my students really need are social workers, like the foster child who moves from house to house and is constantly fighting with the family she stays with. Before I knew of her situation, I thought she was an incredibly rude young woman. I can only assume that many of my other most insolent students are in similar situations. Many in my toughest classes are very angry that they are poor, and thus feel they are entitled to handouts in any way, shape or form, be it grades, candy, or the chance to use their class time as they choose. I worry about these students most, even though they treat me horribly.
I had a telling moment in my most difficult class. I have to work hard to pump myself up before they enter my classroom because it is my last class on Wednesdays and Thursdays and very late in the day, so both the students and I are uninspired, tired, and irritable, and in general their behavior is worse than all the other classes I teach. I was excited to start class on this particular day, because I had a lesson that had worked well in other classes and that I thought would be particularly fun for this difficult group. However, many of the students (in this class and others) like to ignore me, and I believe they do not do it to be intentionally disrespectful. Other teachers in the school let them get away with this behavior as well. In this group of students, about four students tend to enter the classroom and almost every day turn their chairs around so their backs are to me and they can talk to their friends behind them. No matter if I am ready to start class, the message is clear: it is their time, not mine, and if they are not ready to work, they will not, despite my repeated entreaties of "Okay, class, let's get started," or, "Girls, can I please have your attention?" To be honest, it makes my blood boil and I would be lying to say I haven't fantasized about slapping the shit out of them. So, this particular day, I was doing everything possible to get their attention, talking to them, clapping, walking up to them and helping them turn their chairs around (they just turn their bodies around again anway), all to no avail. Finally, exasperated, I whistled at them. Well, that got their attention. One of the girls said, "Miss, we are not dogs," in Spanish, to which I responded in English, "Well, you are not particularly acting like human beings today." (I am sometimes grateful that they generally cannot understand a thing I say, because moments like this when I can vent my frustration through sarcasm does a lot to save lives in the classroom). In order to get my point across to them, I wrote the word "respect" on the board, since the Spanish translation is very similar (respecto) and I knew they would understand. Then another girl started lecturing me in Spanish about how I need to respect them. I nearly exploded...who is the adult in the classroom? So I just said, "Out!" and pointed to the door. She stormed off and spent the rest of class taking her frustration out in the hallway by pounding on the walls. I ignored her behavior and we ended up having a very productive class after. (The next day the girl apologized, and I explained to her--in Spanish so she would understand--that I was very sad because I had a fun activity and I had wanted her to participate in class.)
One of the problems I find here is that there is not a clear system of discipline. There are "inspectors" who are responsible for discipline, but often it seems they talk to the kids and then just send them back to class. There is no detention, and many students don't care if their parents are contacted (which generally they are not). Many of my students live in a boarding house on campus during the week because they live too far out in the surrounding countryside and making the hour or longer commute to school each day is not realistic. Thus, many students are without the influence of their family during the week. So, in genearl, there is nothing to threaten students with when they misbehave, and my only option is to throw them out of class, which I hate doing because it feels in some way like giving up on them.
Another issue that I feel exacerbates the problem is the issue of classroom ownership. In general, the space in the classroom seems to belong to the students, because they stay in the same room all day while the teachers rotate between rooms and come to them. Therefore, there is an entirely different attitude that tends to give much more power to the students than to the teachers. And the teachers, who are largely overworked and underpaid (they usually teach 45 hours a week, not including planning time, which means many teachers plan very little), rarely seem to have the energy to stand up to the students. And since almost all of them are products of this system, I am not exactly sure that they see much wrong with it. They complain about student behavior all the time, but seem sort of resigned to the reality. But for me, coming from an American system of education that, yes, has insolent, lazy, and poor students but from my experiences a far more orderly, fair and disciplined system, every day is incredibly challenging.
So yes, the last month of teaching has been going very well, but can I say that I enjoy teaching English in Chile? Sadly, no. I cannot wait for my work here to be over, which is mostly because of the terrible relationship I have with my coteacher (which I will post about soon). It is sad that every other aspect of my life in Chile has been incredible and the only complaint I have, the only moments where I feel like I am beaten, is in my professional life. I remember telling my friends and family before I left how excited I was to teach English, and how I thought I would be really good at it. I have grown remarkably as a teacher here, and am amazed sometimes at my creativity. It has been an incredible learning opportunity, and in terms of my patience and controlling my temper (two areas I know many people were hoping I would grow in!), I have made extraordinary personal progress, of which I am very proud. But, to be honest, I have had enough professional growth for now. The real challenge will be to keep up my current positive outlook and hang on to the feelings of success for the next three months. I hope I can do it with at least modest success.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Valdivia restored my soul.
Visitng Valdivia felt a lot like going home for a weekend. It all seemed very familiar: the foreboding clouds that unleashed brief but devastating downpours, the verdant islands and hills, the abundance of bodies of water (lakes, rivers, the sea) and the attendant seafaring craft, even the hipster-filled cafes.
I arrived in Valdivia at 4:30 a.m. on Friday in the midst of an utter downpour, and was grateful to my hostel owner for hopping out of bed to let me into my room earlier than expected. After sleeping until 9, I wandered around town. The weather cleared up, and I was able to fully appreciate many of the sights before another mid-afternoon deluge chased me back into bed. Valdivia is located on a bend of the Calle Calle River, and due to rampant German settlement in Chile's history, is awash with German-influenced architecture and culture. There is a buzzing little fish and produce market on the riverbank, where sea lions beg for fish scraps like dogs! The male sea lions resemble old men, with their white whiskers, weathered faces, scarred bodies and volatile temperaments. They also make the most alarming sounds when upset. I watched them for a long time, then walked along the river and back. Crossing the Pedro de Valdivia bridge to Isla Teja, a river island, I hit Parque Saval, where I enjoyed the isolation and increasingly grey weather. The entire morning and all the walking I did was invigorating, but my tummy led me back to town for food.
Valdivia as seen from the Puente Pedro de Valdivia.
Sea lions begging at the market.
Lazy!
A view on my walk to Parque Saval.
Parque Saval, where I enjoyed a brisk walk through the varied foliage, lagoons, and a rusty, abandoned playground.
On the way back from the park, I stopped at the market and bought some smoked salmon and produce for lunch. After a long nap at the hostel, where I tried to fight off a headache, I headed out to La Ultima Frontera cafe, where I consumed falafel, green tea, and a half-liter of beer as I read the paper (in Spanish!) and chatted with my waiter. The place was exactly like something you would find in Seattle--contained in a brightly painted house, the walls covered with the paintings and photography of local artists, crazy mobiles hanging askew from the ceiling, and dirty looking subversives with black-rimmed glasses and unkempt hair. Obvio, I loved it!
Saturday brought my favorite kind of weather--bright blue skies, crisp, clean and cold air--the kind of day that feels distinctly autumnal, where you can roam around without getting hot and cranky. I started out my day with a brisk 20 minute walk, across the bridge to the steps of the Museo Historico y Arqueologico.
Housed in a riverside mansion, the first floor was filled with antique furniture, books, paintings, and decorative trinkets. One wall that particularly interested me was filled with early photographs of Valdivia and the extensive family trees of several German immigrant families that populated the area. The staircases were lined with old, brightly illusrated maps, some as old as the seventeenth century, of the South American continent, Chile, the Carribbean, and even specifically Valdivia. They were colorful and interesting, and took me back to my map-studying days in Dr. Earenfight's Spain in the Age of Expansion class. I love imagining the days of exploration, of confronting the unknown, when explorers really struggled to survive. Sometimes I feel like I am missing out on something key to our existence in never having struggled like that.
Upstairs was perhaps my favorite part of the museum, with its exhibits on the Mapuche. The Mapuche were a group of people, also known as the Araucanias, who originally inhabited Southern Chile. They were so fierce and committed to their freedom that they were never conquered by the Inka Empire, faced down 300 years of the conquistadors and the attendant violence and pillaging, and finally today still skirmish with the Chilean state in a search for reparations for the ancestral lands taken from them. I met a man in San Pedro that called the Mapuche a "very difficult people," which I let go though I found the comment offensive. I am obsessed with Mapuche jewelry, and am looking for some silver reproductions to take home. The museum had extensive displays of Mapuche jewelry, as well as photos of it being worn. The Mapuche photography on display was really interesting, and definitely gave me a sense of their pride, grace, and composure. I would like to learn more about this group of people that carried out the longest and hardest fought indigenous struggle in the Americas.
Museo Historico y Arqueologico.
The only picture inside the museum that turned out, since I couldn't use my flash.
The view of the city from the steps of the museum.
I left the museum and caught a micro (bus) to the town of Niebla, also on Isla Teja. I spent some time exploring the Fuerte Niebla, a fort overlooking the mouth of the Rio Calle Calle as it opens on the Pacific. The best part of the fort was the museum inside one of the buildings, where giant wall panels explained the role of historical figures and the site in the conquest of Chile and the battle for independence from Spain, as well as put the area in context of the greater conquest of the Americas. I think I was so thrilled with this exhibit because it mentioned multiple historical figures that I had recently read about in a fictionalized account of the life of Pedro de Valdivia by Isabel Allende (Ines of my Soul). There was no mention of Ines by name, but one panel displayed a quotation praising Valdivia's character, which was marred by two flaws: his hatred of the nobility and his living with a woman he was not married to. I had to ask a fellow museum-goer to clarify this second piece of information for me, since the panels were in Spanish and the vocabulary unfamiliar, but I thought it referrred to Ines and I was right. It was a shame that the only mention of her in the museum was as a stain on Valdivia's reputable character. Women are always blamed for men's whoring around.
Cannons at Fuerte Niebla, circa 1645.
Umm am I in Washington?
Looking down at the fort grounds, where the awesome museum was housed.
After poking around the fort's grounds, I walked about 15 minutes back to the town of Niebla and hopped on a cute little boat to the island you can see pictured above behind the fort. The island or the town (I could never figure out which) is called Corral, and there was another fort over there that I ended up being really happy I visited, since it felt much more like what I expected the remains of a fort to feel like. Everything was crumbling and going to pot, and in the midst of all the ruin, little flowers and ivy and other greenery was growing out of the cracks. I love the images of time exacting its toll on a structure as stalwart as a fort. It withstood battles with Spaniards, but the ivy is going to do it in. I wandered around in isolation for about an hour, enjoying the heavy weight of history on my heart. Also, can I please mention that the structures of the town are built right up to the edge of the fort grounds? Growing up, my backyard had a swing set and a sand box, not a freakin' fort! After I barely got over that fact, I got back on a boat to Niebla, and despite the wind chill, stayed out on the deck for the duration--about a half hour.
I was really proud of myself for the completion of my Saturday outing, since I had managed to avoid paying thirty-some dollars for a boat tour to the sites, which would have been far more convenient. But for roughly six dollars in transportation costs, I got to see the whole spread at my own pace, complete with feelings of independence and self-satisfaction. I'll pay six bucks for that any day! I celebrated by hopping off the colectivo a few kilometers from town and visiting the Kunstmann beer factory. Chile has pretty crappy beer, but its one saving grace is Kunstmann, a German beer that is proof of the influence of German settlement in the South. I drank the amber Toro Bayo and ate crudo, a strange German delicacy of raw beef "cooked" in lemon juice. Unfortunately, it still had the consistency of raw beef, and while I love raw fish and even the near-raw pile of beef Bethie and I get for Ethiopian food, the texture sort of weirded me out. But I will try anything once!
A view on my walk from the fort to the boat launch.
The little settlement on Corral where my boat landed.
The grounds at Castillo de Corral.
These gun banks are from 1764-1767.
On the boat from Corral to Niebla, for Mom and Dad. It is the only picture of me on this trip, because if there is one thing I hate, it is hassling people to take my picture when I am traveling alone.
After a failed attempt at a nap, I cobbled together a dinner in the hostel, where I fell into conversation with a character from New Zealand. Minutes into our conversation, I discovered he is a new volunteer with the Ministry and has lived in Osorno for about two weeks. He had a lot of questions and concerns, and it was really fun to talk to him with a bit of authority as a volunteer with some experience behind her! I ended up inviting him out to La Ultima Frontera where we split a bottle of wine and had a chat. He, like just about everyone I meet, knows a lot about American politics. He thinks 9-11 was a government conspiracy and that our two-party system is crap. I learned that New Zealand has a female prime minister and was the first country in the world to award women the right to vote. I had never met a New Zealander before! I asked him his opinion on Americans, American culture, all of it, and he said that he loves a lot of things about our culture, and that because it is a culture of excess and power, it has a wealth of innovation in art and music, but that our government is seriously screwed up and that Americans in general don't seem to care much about the rest of the world or what our policies do to it, and that most of us seem content to live in blissful ignorance. This is one reason why I love to travel...the exchange of ideas and learning about other people's points of view and ways of life.
Another reason I love to travel can be summed up by Carmela Soprano when she visits Paris in season six of The Sopranos. I can't remember the exact quote, but she says something like, "The amazing thing about traveling is it makes places real to you. It's like none of this ever existed until we came here and saw it." That is exactly how I feel when I visit a new place, as if it failed to exist until I became a witness to its existence, which will now endure forever as a part of me. Now, Valdivia, and the other parts of Chile I have seen, are real, whereas before, they existed for me only theoretically.
Another thought: Learning Spanish is the best decision I have ever made. The world just got twice as big for me.
I spent Sunday in relative isolation, indulging in a decadent hot chocolate (Valdivia is known for its chocolate--again, thank you, German settlement!), wandering the city and walking along the river, devouring sea bass, and seeing a movie. This weekend was exactly what I needed. We have family staying with us in Chillan right now, and it is next to impossible to find a moment to myself, especially in the midst of a curious ten year old Chilean raised in America and his friendly grandmother. Every so often, I get the feeling that part of my soul is dying, which sounds dramatic but there is no other way I can explain it. At these moments, I know I need to retreat from the people I know and love and my daily routines and just be by myself, think things over, try something new, and most importantly, not interact with people who know me. That way, I don't have to voice what is on my mind or feel pressured to focus on other people's problems, which sounds selfish but I can assure you it is quite healthy. Plus, there is something so rewarding about striking out on my own, and knowing that I can survive, find my way around a new place, find food, make acquaintances using another language. At these moments, I am reminded that my most valuable possession is my independence. So thank you, Valdivia. I needed that.
Some cool church, right across the street from my favorite Valdivian pub, probably so you can close down the bar and walk across the street to atone for the night's sins, all in one fluid motion.
Valdivia is the first city I have visited that just has, like, parts of castles lying around town. It is a new phenomenon for me; I guess I need to go to Europe. This is the Turreon de los Canelos, from the 17th century. Yep. Right in the middle of power lines and cars. A freaking turret!
I arrived in Valdivia at 4:30 a.m. on Friday in the midst of an utter downpour, and was grateful to my hostel owner for hopping out of bed to let me into my room earlier than expected. After sleeping until 9, I wandered around town. The weather cleared up, and I was able to fully appreciate many of the sights before another mid-afternoon deluge chased me back into bed. Valdivia is located on a bend of the Calle Calle River, and due to rampant German settlement in Chile's history, is awash with German-influenced architecture and culture. There is a buzzing little fish and produce market on the riverbank, where sea lions beg for fish scraps like dogs! The male sea lions resemble old men, with their white whiskers, weathered faces, scarred bodies and volatile temperaments. They also make the most alarming sounds when upset. I watched them for a long time, then walked along the river and back. Crossing the Pedro de Valdivia bridge to Isla Teja, a river island, I hit Parque Saval, where I enjoyed the isolation and increasingly grey weather. The entire morning and all the walking I did was invigorating, but my tummy led me back to town for food.
Valdivia as seen from the Puente Pedro de Valdivia.
Sea lions begging at the market. 
Lazy!
A view on my walk to Parque Saval. 
Parque Saval, where I enjoyed a brisk walk through the varied foliage, lagoons, and a rusty, abandoned playground. 
On the way back from the park, I stopped at the market and bought some smoked salmon and produce for lunch. After a long nap at the hostel, where I tried to fight off a headache, I headed out to La Ultima Frontera cafe, where I consumed falafel, green tea, and a half-liter of beer as I read the paper (in Spanish!) and chatted with my waiter. The place was exactly like something you would find in Seattle--contained in a brightly painted house, the walls covered with the paintings and photography of local artists, crazy mobiles hanging askew from the ceiling, and dirty looking subversives with black-rimmed glasses and unkempt hair. Obvio, I loved it!Saturday brought my favorite kind of weather--bright blue skies, crisp, clean and cold air--the kind of day that feels distinctly autumnal, where you can roam around without getting hot and cranky. I started out my day with a brisk 20 minute walk, across the bridge to the steps of the Museo Historico y Arqueologico.
Housed in a riverside mansion, the first floor was filled with antique furniture, books, paintings, and decorative trinkets. One wall that particularly interested me was filled with early photographs of Valdivia and the extensive family trees of several German immigrant families that populated the area. The staircases were lined with old, brightly illusrated maps, some as old as the seventeenth century, of the South American continent, Chile, the Carribbean, and even specifically Valdivia. They were colorful and interesting, and took me back to my map-studying days in Dr. Earenfight's Spain in the Age of Expansion class. I love imagining the days of exploration, of confronting the unknown, when explorers really struggled to survive. Sometimes I feel like I am missing out on something key to our existence in never having struggled like that.
Upstairs was perhaps my favorite part of the museum, with its exhibits on the Mapuche. The Mapuche were a group of people, also known as the Araucanias, who originally inhabited Southern Chile. They were so fierce and committed to their freedom that they were never conquered by the Inka Empire, faced down 300 years of the conquistadors and the attendant violence and pillaging, and finally today still skirmish with the Chilean state in a search for reparations for the ancestral lands taken from them. I met a man in San Pedro that called the Mapuche a "very difficult people," which I let go though I found the comment offensive. I am obsessed with Mapuche jewelry, and am looking for some silver reproductions to take home. The museum had extensive displays of Mapuche jewelry, as well as photos of it being worn. The Mapuche photography on display was really interesting, and definitely gave me a sense of their pride, grace, and composure. I would like to learn more about this group of people that carried out the longest and hardest fought indigenous struggle in the Americas.
Museo Historico y Arqueologico.
The only picture inside the museum that turned out, since I couldn't use my flash. 
The view of the city from the steps of the museum. 
I left the museum and caught a micro (bus) to the town of Niebla, also on Isla Teja. I spent some time exploring the Fuerte Niebla, a fort overlooking the mouth of the Rio Calle Calle as it opens on the Pacific. The best part of the fort was the museum inside one of the buildings, where giant wall panels explained the role of historical figures and the site in the conquest of Chile and the battle for independence from Spain, as well as put the area in context of the greater conquest of the Americas. I think I was so thrilled with this exhibit because it mentioned multiple historical figures that I had recently read about in a fictionalized account of the life of Pedro de Valdivia by Isabel Allende (Ines of my Soul). There was no mention of Ines by name, but one panel displayed a quotation praising Valdivia's character, which was marred by two flaws: his hatred of the nobility and his living with a woman he was not married to. I had to ask a fellow museum-goer to clarify this second piece of information for me, since the panels were in Spanish and the vocabulary unfamiliar, but I thought it referrred to Ines and I was right. It was a shame that the only mention of her in the museum was as a stain on Valdivia's reputable character. Women are always blamed for men's whoring around. Cannons at Fuerte Niebla, circa 1645.
Umm am I in Washington? 
Looking down at the fort grounds, where the awesome museum was housed. 
After poking around the fort's grounds, I walked about 15 minutes back to the town of Niebla and hopped on a cute little boat to the island you can see pictured above behind the fort. The island or the town (I could never figure out which) is called Corral, and there was another fort over there that I ended up being really happy I visited, since it felt much more like what I expected the remains of a fort to feel like. Everything was crumbling and going to pot, and in the midst of all the ruin, little flowers and ivy and other greenery was growing out of the cracks. I love the images of time exacting its toll on a structure as stalwart as a fort. It withstood battles with Spaniards, but the ivy is going to do it in. I wandered around in isolation for about an hour, enjoying the heavy weight of history on my heart. Also, can I please mention that the structures of the town are built right up to the edge of the fort grounds? Growing up, my backyard had a swing set and a sand box, not a freakin' fort! After I barely got over that fact, I got back on a boat to Niebla, and despite the wind chill, stayed out on the deck for the duration--about a half hour.I was really proud of myself for the completion of my Saturday outing, since I had managed to avoid paying thirty-some dollars for a boat tour to the sites, which would have been far more convenient. But for roughly six dollars in transportation costs, I got to see the whole spread at my own pace, complete with feelings of independence and self-satisfaction. I'll pay six bucks for that any day! I celebrated by hopping off the colectivo a few kilometers from town and visiting the Kunstmann beer factory. Chile has pretty crappy beer, but its one saving grace is Kunstmann, a German beer that is proof of the influence of German settlement in the South. I drank the amber Toro Bayo and ate crudo, a strange German delicacy of raw beef "cooked" in lemon juice. Unfortunately, it still had the consistency of raw beef, and while I love raw fish and even the near-raw pile of beef Bethie and I get for Ethiopian food, the texture sort of weirded me out. But I will try anything once!
A view on my walk from the fort to the boat launch.
The little settlement on Corral where my boat landed. 
The grounds at Castillo de Corral.
These gun banks are from 1764-1767. 
On the boat from Corral to Niebla, for Mom and Dad. It is the only picture of me on this trip, because if there is one thing I hate, it is hassling people to take my picture when I am traveling alone. 
After a failed attempt at a nap, I cobbled together a dinner in the hostel, where I fell into conversation with a character from New Zealand. Minutes into our conversation, I discovered he is a new volunteer with the Ministry and has lived in Osorno for about two weeks. He had a lot of questions and concerns, and it was really fun to talk to him with a bit of authority as a volunteer with some experience behind her! I ended up inviting him out to La Ultima Frontera where we split a bottle of wine and had a chat. He, like just about everyone I meet, knows a lot about American politics. He thinks 9-11 was a government conspiracy and that our two-party system is crap. I learned that New Zealand has a female prime minister and was the first country in the world to award women the right to vote. I had never met a New Zealander before! I asked him his opinion on Americans, American culture, all of it, and he said that he loves a lot of things about our culture, and that because it is a culture of excess and power, it has a wealth of innovation in art and music, but that our government is seriously screwed up and that Americans in general don't seem to care much about the rest of the world or what our policies do to it, and that most of us seem content to live in blissful ignorance. This is one reason why I love to travel...the exchange of ideas and learning about other people's points of view and ways of life.
Another reason I love to travel can be summed up by Carmela Soprano when she visits Paris in season six of The Sopranos. I can't remember the exact quote, but she says something like, "The amazing thing about traveling is it makes places real to you. It's like none of this ever existed until we came here and saw it." That is exactly how I feel when I visit a new place, as if it failed to exist until I became a witness to its existence, which will now endure forever as a part of me. Now, Valdivia, and the other parts of Chile I have seen, are real, whereas before, they existed for me only theoretically.
Another thought: Learning Spanish is the best decision I have ever made. The world just got twice as big for me.
I spent Sunday in relative isolation, indulging in a decadent hot chocolate (Valdivia is known for its chocolate--again, thank you, German settlement!), wandering the city and walking along the river, devouring sea bass, and seeing a movie. This weekend was exactly what I needed. We have family staying with us in Chillan right now, and it is next to impossible to find a moment to myself, especially in the midst of a curious ten year old Chilean raised in America and his friendly grandmother. Every so often, I get the feeling that part of my soul is dying, which sounds dramatic but there is no other way I can explain it. At these moments, I know I need to retreat from the people I know and love and my daily routines and just be by myself, think things over, try something new, and most importantly, not interact with people who know me. That way, I don't have to voice what is on my mind or feel pressured to focus on other people's problems, which sounds selfish but I can assure you it is quite healthy. Plus, there is something so rewarding about striking out on my own, and knowing that I can survive, find my way around a new place, find food, make acquaintances using another language. At these moments, I am reminded that my most valuable possession is my independence. So thank you, Valdivia. I needed that.
Some cool church, right across the street from my favorite Valdivian pub, probably so you can close down the bar and walk across the street to atone for the night's sins, all in one fluid motion.
Valdivia is the first city I have visited that just has, like, parts of castles lying around town. It is a new phenomenon for me; I guess I need to go to Europe. This is the Turreon de los Canelos, from the 17th century. Yep. Right in the middle of power lines and cars. A freaking turret!
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Unsettled
I feel the need to post, although I realize as I write this that I don't actually feel like sharing the things I feel compelled to talk about.
So, I will commence with a short list of things that are bothering me:
1. being far away during a family health crisis
2. a series of bad decisions I made last Friday
3. a lingering cough
4. high blood sugars
5. a terse exchange with my coteacher
6. the debate tournament, for which I am the school coach
7. yesterday's junk food binge
The last couple weeks have been really hard for me, actually. I have started to miss home, which I think has been an odd sort of relief, because I was wondering if I ever really would miss home. I tell people I miss home all the time, but it was more out of habit or that I thought they needed to hear it. But now, it is official.
On the other hand, I have been really proud of my Spanish recently. I am feeling a lot more fluid in conversation, something else that I was starting to doubt would ever happen. Tonight I participated in a lengthy conversation at onces, and yesterday Felipe and I talked about Latin American politics, and for the first time I felt like I shared a little something about myself with him. Also, Felipe said he would help me download and burn all the episodes of my favorite Chilean telenovela, Don Amor, so I can watch in when I get back to the US. It's really, really good, but I fail to watch it every night. However, I can't lie. I do miss American television.
Also, to end on a good note, I bought a ticket to Valdivia for next weekend. We have a federal holiday on Friday, so for the three day weekend, I have decided on some alone time in a new place. Not to wallow, though. Valdivia is supposed to be the most beautiful city in the Lakes District, and as I am currently reading Isabel Allende's Inez of my Soul, a historical fiction about the life of Pedro de Valdivia and his lover, it seemed appropriate. It will probably rain in Valdivia. I like that.
So, I will commence with a short list of things that are bothering me:
1. being far away during a family health crisis
2. a series of bad decisions I made last Friday
3. a lingering cough
4. high blood sugars
5. a terse exchange with my coteacher
6. the debate tournament, for which I am the school coach
7. yesterday's junk food binge
The last couple weeks have been really hard for me, actually. I have started to miss home, which I think has been an odd sort of relief, because I was wondering if I ever really would miss home. I tell people I miss home all the time, but it was more out of habit or that I thought they needed to hear it. But now, it is official.
On the other hand, I have been really proud of my Spanish recently. I am feeling a lot more fluid in conversation, something else that I was starting to doubt would ever happen. Tonight I participated in a lengthy conversation at onces, and yesterday Felipe and I talked about Latin American politics, and for the first time I felt like I shared a little something about myself with him. Also, Felipe said he would help me download and burn all the episodes of my favorite Chilean telenovela, Don Amor, so I can watch in when I get back to the US. It's really, really good, but I fail to watch it every night. However, I can't lie. I do miss American television.
Also, to end on a good note, I bought a ticket to Valdivia for next weekend. We have a federal holiday on Friday, so for the three day weekend, I have decided on some alone time in a new place. Not to wallow, though. Valdivia is supposed to be the most beautiful city in the Lakes District, and as I am currently reading Isabel Allende's Inez of my Soul, a historical fiction about the life of Pedro de Valdivia and his lover, it seemed appropriate. It will probably rain in Valdivia. I like that.
Friday, August 1, 2008
Socks, sweaters and scarves
So, if you have any sense at all, you may have noticed that I have been blowing up my blog all week, and are beginning to wonder if I ever have to work in this country. By now, my blog should have given you the overall impression that no, I don't work that much in Chile. However, this week my lack of attendance is related to my health. Let me explain.
A few days before I left for vacay, my throat started to hurt, but I tried to shake it off as an allergic reation to the mold that is growing on the walls of my bedroom. (Yes, it is true, sad times. My walls are made of concrete, and they manage to hold Chillan's abundant moisture better than a sponge.) However, my sore throat followed me north, but I refused to give up a day of my carefully planned vacation to sit in a clinic. However, after a week or so on the road, things cleared up nicely, which I attributed to the dry climate I then found myself in.
When I came back to Chillan last weekend, all was well. I went to work on Monday (and had a fabulous day of teaching, by the way), and afterwards it was sunny out so I went for an hour-long walk around the city. As night set in, though, my old ache was back, along with some new ones. My joints were achy in the way they are before the flu hits. And I was dead tired. I thought maybe my vacation was just catching up with me, that I was sore from hauling a giant backpack around for two weeks, who knows why. I declined plans with Stacey around 8 and went to bed early. However, my sleep was haunted by nightmares of my throat closing as I steadily breathed in the mold on my walls, so my sleep was fitfull at best.
The next day I got up with great difficulty, showered, and tried to eat. My eyes teared up as I tried to swallow my bread, so I decided to skip breakfast and just go to work. I usually enjoy the brisk walk to work, but after I had more or less wandered a block and a half away from my house I realized it was not going to happen. I called in sick to my host teacher, tried to figure out where the nearest hospital was, and by 10 a.m. I was at the reception desk at Clinica Chillan.
I had a moment of panic and utter loneliness as I teared up at the reception desk, trying to spit out the sentence, "I feel like my throat is closing," which sounded dramatic, but I wanted to make sure they saw me right away. I apparently had nothing to worry about because I was like the only patient in there. I met with a doctor, who examined me, asked me some questions (I told her about the mold), and then informed me I have bronchitis. Apparently, the draining of my sinuses caused by an allergic reation (hello, mold!) got infected somewhere south of my nose. The cure, by the way, is penicillin, but in the form of a giant shot to the ass, which I had heard horror stories about from two other volunteers that had already been through this mess. I tried to assure myself, thinking, hello, I am diabetic, you can't scare me with a shot! It did hurt, I am not going to lie, but it was not as bad as the time I had to get a numbing shot in my toe so I could get a wound scrubbed out.
Since then, I have had a glimpse of old age, since I am taking like 20 pills a day. My first two days of being sick were terrible. Bronchitis, which I can't ever remember having, hurts like a bitch! But by Thursday, I was feeling better and more than a little full of it. Being shut up in the house has started to wear on my spirit, and as accomodating, helpful, and caring as my host mama and our housekeeper have been, I miss my mommy! When I am sick, my mom is the master of setting up a bedside table filled with various liquids, complete with straws. The best thing about my mom is that she has the good sense to get me all set up and then get the hell out of there and let me sleep! This is not the case in Chile. While I am not necessarily hassled by my family, our housekeeper has these little habits that only annoy me when I spend way too much time in the house (during illness or paro, for example). First of all, in the morning, she stands outside my room and whistles. It's not even a whistle, really, because there is no tone but she definitely blows air in a highly annoying fashion. And she must have the lung capacity of a whale because it is loud! And then, she will stand at the window outside my bedroom door and talk to or yell at our dog! I am like, hello! It's 8 a.m., I am sick and I am trying to sleep! Can I get a little peace and quiet please!
This is all somehow less annoying, though, than the conventional wisdom she impresses on me, which I find totally inappropriate for my situation. For instance, I was trying to tell her and my host mama that I am allergic to the mold in my room, which is what caused the bronchitis, so can we please find a way to clean it? (I only asked for help because I need to borrow the portable heater to dry the walls, otherwise I would have just done it myself.) Then they launch into some tangent about how the heaters on buses spread infections and make people stuffed up, and that's probably where I got the infection since I was on so many buses over vacation. They completely ignored my comments about the mold, and if I had more energy and wasn't feeling like garbage, I probably would have exploded. Every day of my illness, by the way, Zuni has been hounding me to dress warmly. Every time I am not feeling well, she believes it is because sometimes I don't like to wear socks in the house. (This, by the way, is because I have sweaty feet and if they are always in socks, I get athlete's foot. I know, gross!) One day, I came out of my bedroom in the middle of a nap to go to the bathroom without anything of my feet and she literally reeled back, clutching her breast, and gasped. Because I had just woken up and was crabby, I ignored the whole incident. But then the other day, I was wearing a t-shirt in the house without a sweater and she commented again about how I would never get better without a sweater on. I told her I was too hot (because I was, for once!) and that I would put on a sweater when I got cold. She just shook her head at me, like, crazy American girl! The most hilarious moment, though, was when she told me I should be wearing a scarf at all times to protect my throat from the cold. I wanted to scream, "It is an infection! There are bacteria in my body! It has nothing to do with whether or not I am wearing a scarf!"
I don't want to make it sound like, "Wah wah, I have people that care about me, and they want to help, and I hate it." This is just one instance in which it is trying to be 25 years old and living with a family that does everything for you. I love them and all their quirks. When I am sick, though, I want to be left the hell alone, not constantly hassled about my sartorial choices.
On the other hand, my current situation has only increased my love for Felipe. First of all, he fixed my ipod! I don't know what he did because he doesn't even have itunes, but he plugged it into his computer and it sprang back to life! He came home yesterday and I told him I was going crazy because I had been in the house for three whole days with Zuni and his mother, and he just laughed and said, "I understand you." Which I appreciated. Also, I informed him of the mold situation and my attendant allergies, and he came in, wiped the mold away with an old rag, and said that tomorrow we will bring the heater in and rearrange the room so the walls will dry. I told him everything in my life is better when he is around, and I meant it. I mean, he fixed my ipod!
Actually, this whole episode of getting sick and getting it handled made me kind of pleased with my Spanish. I was able to communicate what was wrong with me and get the appropriate information, and I only had to ask for clarification a couple times. Even though I felt awful, I was kind of smiling to myself as I left the clinic on Tuesday.
So, they gave me licensia for a five days, which means I am supposed to stay in bed. Obviously, it also means no English classes. Pucha! Especially since in my last couple weeks of teaching, I feel I have finally hit my stride. More on that later.
A few days before I left for vacay, my throat started to hurt, but I tried to shake it off as an allergic reation to the mold that is growing on the walls of my bedroom. (Yes, it is true, sad times. My walls are made of concrete, and they manage to hold Chillan's abundant moisture better than a sponge.) However, my sore throat followed me north, but I refused to give up a day of my carefully planned vacation to sit in a clinic. However, after a week or so on the road, things cleared up nicely, which I attributed to the dry climate I then found myself in.
When I came back to Chillan last weekend, all was well. I went to work on Monday (and had a fabulous day of teaching, by the way), and afterwards it was sunny out so I went for an hour-long walk around the city. As night set in, though, my old ache was back, along with some new ones. My joints were achy in the way they are before the flu hits. And I was dead tired. I thought maybe my vacation was just catching up with me, that I was sore from hauling a giant backpack around for two weeks, who knows why. I declined plans with Stacey around 8 and went to bed early. However, my sleep was haunted by nightmares of my throat closing as I steadily breathed in the mold on my walls, so my sleep was fitfull at best.
The next day I got up with great difficulty, showered, and tried to eat. My eyes teared up as I tried to swallow my bread, so I decided to skip breakfast and just go to work. I usually enjoy the brisk walk to work, but after I had more or less wandered a block and a half away from my house I realized it was not going to happen. I called in sick to my host teacher, tried to figure out where the nearest hospital was, and by 10 a.m. I was at the reception desk at Clinica Chillan.
I had a moment of panic and utter loneliness as I teared up at the reception desk, trying to spit out the sentence, "I feel like my throat is closing," which sounded dramatic, but I wanted to make sure they saw me right away. I apparently had nothing to worry about because I was like the only patient in there. I met with a doctor, who examined me, asked me some questions (I told her about the mold), and then informed me I have bronchitis. Apparently, the draining of my sinuses caused by an allergic reation (hello, mold!) got infected somewhere south of my nose. The cure, by the way, is penicillin, but in the form of a giant shot to the ass, which I had heard horror stories about from two other volunteers that had already been through this mess. I tried to assure myself, thinking, hello, I am diabetic, you can't scare me with a shot! It did hurt, I am not going to lie, but it was not as bad as the time I had to get a numbing shot in my toe so I could get a wound scrubbed out.
Since then, I have had a glimpse of old age, since I am taking like 20 pills a day. My first two days of being sick were terrible. Bronchitis, which I can't ever remember having, hurts like a bitch! But by Thursday, I was feeling better and more than a little full of it. Being shut up in the house has started to wear on my spirit, and as accomodating, helpful, and caring as my host mama and our housekeeper have been, I miss my mommy! When I am sick, my mom is the master of setting up a bedside table filled with various liquids, complete with straws. The best thing about my mom is that she has the good sense to get me all set up and then get the hell out of there and let me sleep! This is not the case in Chile. While I am not necessarily hassled by my family, our housekeeper has these little habits that only annoy me when I spend way too much time in the house (during illness or paro, for example). First of all, in the morning, she stands outside my room and whistles. It's not even a whistle, really, because there is no tone but she definitely blows air in a highly annoying fashion. And she must have the lung capacity of a whale because it is loud! And then, she will stand at the window outside my bedroom door and talk to or yell at our dog! I am like, hello! It's 8 a.m., I am sick and I am trying to sleep! Can I get a little peace and quiet please!
This is all somehow less annoying, though, than the conventional wisdom she impresses on me, which I find totally inappropriate for my situation. For instance, I was trying to tell her and my host mama that I am allergic to the mold in my room, which is what caused the bronchitis, so can we please find a way to clean it? (I only asked for help because I need to borrow the portable heater to dry the walls, otherwise I would have just done it myself.) Then they launch into some tangent about how the heaters on buses spread infections and make people stuffed up, and that's probably where I got the infection since I was on so many buses over vacation. They completely ignored my comments about the mold, and if I had more energy and wasn't feeling like garbage, I probably would have exploded. Every day of my illness, by the way, Zuni has been hounding me to dress warmly. Every time I am not feeling well, she believes it is because sometimes I don't like to wear socks in the house. (This, by the way, is because I have sweaty feet and if they are always in socks, I get athlete's foot. I know, gross!) One day, I came out of my bedroom in the middle of a nap to go to the bathroom without anything of my feet and she literally reeled back, clutching her breast, and gasped. Because I had just woken up and was crabby, I ignored the whole incident. But then the other day, I was wearing a t-shirt in the house without a sweater and she commented again about how I would never get better without a sweater on. I told her I was too hot (because I was, for once!) and that I would put on a sweater when I got cold. She just shook her head at me, like, crazy American girl! The most hilarious moment, though, was when she told me I should be wearing a scarf at all times to protect my throat from the cold. I wanted to scream, "It is an infection! There are bacteria in my body! It has nothing to do with whether or not I am wearing a scarf!"
I don't want to make it sound like, "Wah wah, I have people that care about me, and they want to help, and I hate it." This is just one instance in which it is trying to be 25 years old and living with a family that does everything for you. I love them and all their quirks. When I am sick, though, I want to be left the hell alone, not constantly hassled about my sartorial choices.
On the other hand, my current situation has only increased my love for Felipe. First of all, he fixed my ipod! I don't know what he did because he doesn't even have itunes, but he plugged it into his computer and it sprang back to life! He came home yesterday and I told him I was going crazy because I had been in the house for three whole days with Zuni and his mother, and he just laughed and said, "I understand you." Which I appreciated. Also, I informed him of the mold situation and my attendant allergies, and he came in, wiped the mold away with an old rag, and said that tomorrow we will bring the heater in and rearrange the room so the walls will dry. I told him everything in my life is better when he is around, and I meant it. I mean, he fixed my ipod!
Actually, this whole episode of getting sick and getting it handled made me kind of pleased with my Spanish. I was able to communicate what was wrong with me and get the appropriate information, and I only had to ask for clarification a couple times. Even though I felt awful, I was kind of smiling to myself as I left the clinic on Tuesday.
So, they gave me licensia for a five days, which means I am supposed to stay in bed. Obviously, it also means no English classes. Pucha! Especially since in my last couple weeks of teaching, I feel I have finally hit my stride. More on that later.
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