Wally Lamb, I Know This Much Is True

I was receiving counsel today from my best friend. After a few email exchanges she sent me a link to an Oprah article by Liz Glibert (I loved Eat Love Pray- who didn't, but since then Liz has not been my favorite person- I thought in selling the rights to her book she negated any shred of respect I had for her experience).

This article was essentially, what can you really know for sure, everything keeps changing. This idea pretty much encapsulates my life right now, or at least the future of my life right now. I'm headed for France, but where, and maybe not, what if, but then, how will that work, can I really do that etc...

So there was a link after Liz's article for Oprah's top 20 things she knows. I relished in the concreteness of things she knew. Whew, in my current state of instability, it felt good to have a list, it felt good to read something I could hold on to.

I've been getting advice and counsel from everyone, people I haven't heard from or talked to in years, I've shared my troubles with. I'm thankful for their support and guidance. No one has said don't go to France. The general consensus has been looks like you need to leap. But then, that's easy to say when it's not your life.

Oprah's nice concrete list felt like getting into a warm bed, safe and secure. I have an equation to figure out and I need to solve for variables y and z to find x, and x is not an absolute number. Yikes. But thank god for Oprah's list!

So number 8 hit a homer for me: The happiness you feel is in direct proportion to the love you give.

Because immediately I thought Sylvain. I could recognize this love=happiness equation because I'd seen it before with my students. Walking into a classroom I never got "Hello Ms K" I got hugs, from each student under the age of 8. It was like a receiving line at the White House. I know my friends and family have noticed that this year, has been really stressful, and I've done a lot of worrying, but I know what stands out isn't the worrying I've done, because I've always done that. What they notice is that I'm a lot happier than they've often seen me.

P.S. #5. Worrying is wasted time. Use the same energy for doing something about whatever worries you.

P.P.S. Oprah- if I knew how to get a Visa for France without marriage, I'd be happy to expend my energy making that happen, if I knew how to make the US attractive to my boyfriend, I'd do that too.

Going to the Dogs

Here in Chile a burning desire to have a dog has been reawakened in me. My parent's bought me a dog when I was 4, they weren't able to have more children and felt that I deserved a live-in playmate. Probably the best parenting decision they ever made. My golden retriever was a fantastic dog, and gave me a lot of security and comfort. As a pet she offered unconditional love that could be seen and felt. I am a current cat owner, and I love my cat, but he has never offered much in the love and loyalty department. I look forward to being a future dog owner with as much excitement and anticipation as anything else I have to look forward to in my future.

As an animal lover, in general the streets of Valpariaso and a lot of South America (speaking only for Chile, Peru, and Argentina) are a disturbing site. Maybe if The Price is Right wasn't my favorite childhood show, and you didn't have Bob Barker's daily reminder to have your pets spade or neutered you wouldn't be moved to despair by the number of street dogs looking half dead all over the streets of Valpo. There are so many confounding aspects to the situation. My American friend brought her cat in to get neutered and started asking questions about the street dogs and the lack of planned pregnancy. It's a cultural thing the vet said. And the Valpo attitude seems to be it takes a village. There are pet food shops dotted along most streets and people seem to feed these dogs, but as my father would say, it's unfair to have a dog in the city where he can't run around and get some exercise.

These dogs all seem flea ridden, eczematic, and unhappy. They lie around on the streets looking wasted and weary of life. Replace the dogs with people and you have the great depression and bread lines, street urchins and homeless. Hoovervilles. Valpo street dogs look like they've lost to will to live, and really why not, except for daily feedings, no one acknowledges their existence, there's no touch, no play, no love for these dogs, at least not the kind they deserve.

Lately I've been taking it easy with throwing my opinions around too much, but this has been getting under my skin. Where is Betty White and Bridget Bardot when you need a famous face to fight the cause. In the Bronx and Harlem they would often have these medical vans parked to provide free support services for people who otherwise wouldn't have access to healthcare. I want a white van to pull up in Anibal Pinto and offer free spade and neutering services to the dogs here.

Winding down

I have just over two weeks left in Valparaiso. At this time of year I'm anxious to go home and see friends and family. But before I came to Valparaiso I laid out reasons why I was coming, why this was important to me, and what I hoped to achieve from the experience.

I had various goals, none being more important of significant than the other but as this experience winds to a close I think it's worth reflecting on whether the goals shifted or changed and whether I met the goal.

First, this one was probably no more important than any other goal for me, but it turned out to have the most significant impact on my time in Valparaiso. Teaching English, I had one interview and no luck finding any work no matter how many posters I posted. Before I left for Chile I had found a job on craigslist that made me fill out a million practice forms only to give the job to someone else. A week ago I got an email from them saying their other choice left them high and dry and would I still be interested in the job. Ah, the irony. Financially not working was a big pain, but mentally not working colored my experience here. I found the absence of work, any work, even volunteer work (which I probably didn't pursue hard enough only contacting two opportunities) to be really hard. In looking at my future with Sylvain this has been the biggest barrier, because I don't want to move to France and not find work. Meaningful work.

I wanted to learn Spanish. Thanks to Rosetta Stone, I feel like I can speak Spanish significantly better than I did after a year in college and several years working in restaurants. Yesterday I returned and exchanged a $10 tub of cream cheese for 2 cartons of Philadelphia Cream cheese and although I didn't understand a word the Chilean accented manager was saying to me, I know I communicated my needs and desires correctly and effectively because the exchange was made and I got twice the amount of cream cheese and some change. I know tourist Spanish, and I could probably have a really bland conversation about tourism, cleaning the house, or body parts if pushed into a corner. I am currently reading Harry Potter in Spanish and find that young adult literature is an appropriate reading level for me. I found when I first got here that the Spanish learning was interfering with the French I was trying to improve, and because most of our friends were French I held off pursuing Spanish conversation, I think I was also very intimidated hence the lack of trying to find volunteer work.

I was hoping to make art while I was here. I am a jewelry designer and I also do a lot of sewing. So even though I came here thinking I'd go back to painting, and this time with guache, I felt completely out of sorts. I can paint, but I paint with oils, not watercolors, and I found the medium change uninspiring. I missed my sewing machine, I wanted to make jewelry and in the end I did some sketching and very little art making. I'd say what I did was plan to make art, and often I would find myself saying, when I get home I want to make x, or y. I have A at home I can make a B with. While I was here I knit 3 scarfs, and crocheted 4 grocery bag totes. This was a personal disappointment.

In coming to Chile, I planned to figure out what next. I was ready to leave New York, and although I'm excited to go back for a visit, I am still ready to leave New York. In the time I have been here we had considered Buenos Aires, but then found that their economy stinks and I'd probably have an even tougher time finding a job, Spain, because we wanted to continue learning Spanish, but then I realized, I didnt really want to carry on with the Spanish and that it would be best for our future if I jumped into French, and so because France was a good solution for lots of reasons, we pursued France. It has been a roller coaster I'd rather not have been on, I'm still on it, and I'd like to get off. What I think I've figured out is this. I like the northern hemisphere, when it's christmas, I want to have the chance of snow in the forecast, not another day at the beach. I want a city that is not New York or Boston. Something big enough to be exciting, with intellectual, cultural and artistic opportunities, and a vast expanse of park and outdoor leisure space. I am ok if rent is high as long as it isn't so high you feel like you are being taken advantage of. I want it to be English or French speaking and somewhere I can find a job. Right now, Lyon and Montreal look pretty appealing. I love that both are close to Paris and New York respectively because while I don't want to live in either of those cities, I still love both of them. The last 3 months no place in the States has really appealed to me, which I suppose is why it's been so easy to let Sylvain's life determine a path. Here's what I figure: I hated Boston don't want to ever live there again, but I like living on the East coast, if not NYC that pretty much leaves D.C., but it doesn't appeal to me that much, I only barely know about 3 people there although I do love crab cakes. In considering the midwest there is really only one or two options. Minnesota is fine and I have a great friend there, but it's too cold. Chicago, well I love Chicago in a lot of ways, it's affordable, I have friends there, but the school system isn't on track and while I love teaching in urban schools, Chicago's seem headed completely in the wrong direction and funding is seriously low. I am also a coastal girl, and Chicago feels landlocked. The west coast is beautiful and oftentimes appealingly open-minded and nature loving. But California is bankrupt, Portland doesnt have enough money in their education program to hire teachers and everyone I talk to there is unemployed anyway. I'm also put off by what from a distance is a really sad state of affairs in America. On the one hand you have Sarah Palin who frankly is a massively narcissistic and ignorant woman- but there are plenty of people like that in America- what is unappealing is the gross amount of people in America that tout her ignorance and consider her a role model while they misquote her political stance. At the same time, it's discouraging to constantly read about how retarded and hypocritical she is at every turn. We knew this about her last year, and yet we validate her media existence by even responding to the mind-numbing fluff in Going Rogue. The same can be said of the scandal that is Fox News. Take a step back and it is truly frightening. Yet no one, no one in America is smart enough or strong enough to effectively protest what has transpired into angry white racist men and women who shame themselves and America. The America I thought I lived in as a child has become divided and weak. It's not Obama's fault, and I don't think it was even Bush's fault and it certainly isn't the fault of any real or imagined terrorist. I think it's our fault. We hold tight to what divides us instead of taking care to consider what we share and trying to build that which binds us. So is it better in France or Canada? Well certainly the healthcare is, and I think in general, yes, it is better. I watch French news with Florence Dauchaise ever night, France isn't perfect, and neither is Canada. But I get the feeling neither countries are cutting off their nose to spite their face.

Jugo Naturale and Bed Bugs... Love and hate

It started out with Hawaiian Fruit Punch, which as a child I called Fruit pooch. Then came school days and bags of Capri Sun. Later it would be as simple as Tropicana Orange Juice with LOTS OF JUICY BITS. The same juice that marked the end of an 18 month relationship. In London cloudy apple juice with it's extra tang and punch that I couldn't keep my friend Steve from polishing off out of the carton when I wasn't looking. A nanny job introduced to the sparkling and refreshing cranberry and soda and in Valparaiso it's mostly been Kiwi and Raspberry jugo naturale that I will miss when I leave.

You'll find a few varieties here of jugo naturale, the best I think is from el deseyunador. They have delicious Kiwi, tart raspberry and a variety of others (take care to avoid the apple, it's a disappointment). Unlike a lot of other places here they don't froth it with an egg white, which I find disgusting and completely unnecessary, I'm not drinking a beer, my juice doesn't need a head. You'll also find places that dilute the juice with water, which is a bit of a bummer, and places that add too much or no sugar.

But almost across the board, you'll find the price hovers around about 2 dollars for a decent sized glass (never less than a half pint). In New York, you'll often find if your palette wants fresh squeezed orange juice at brunch you'll likely pay about $4 or more for what amounts to a big sip. To get 2 big sips, you'll sometimes pay more for the juice than what your belgian waffle costs.

One of the things I won't miss about Valparaiso are the bug bites I keep getting. I've taken to sleeping with the cortizone we bought for Sylvain's athlete foot under my pillow for emergency application in the middle of the night. So, I've been down the bedbug road before, but I can't decide if these bites have bedbugs to thank. When our pub housing got a disastrous outbreak of bedbugs they pretty much ignored me in favor of my friend Sonja. And in New York, our apartment avoided them for the most part except a few bites Pete got. A tell tale sign of bedbug bites is that they will often eat in a succession of three bites- they start but you move in your sleep and they'll move a few steps and carry on often in a series of three called breakfast, lunch and dinner. Sylvain is also getting bitten although we seem to tag team and he'll get bitten and then three days later I'll get bitten but we never see bites in successions of two or three.

With less than 3 weeks left, I'm not about to go through the hassle of "dealing with the problem". I'll put on a brave face and get up for the bi-weekly nightly feedings, slap on some cortizone and nestle back in. However when it's time to pack, the luggage will be looking at a serious strip search...

Mugging here and there

Last week I met yet another girl from Wisconsin named Laura. We were with two other American girls and Laura was telling us how she had just gotten mugged and beat up- the bruises she said, were finally gone. She had been walking home (she stays with a host family) at 4am after having been out drinking. She tried to negotiate at least her keys and maybe something else from the thieves and although she maybe got her key back she also got punched and kicked. When they left, someone pulled up beside her and offered her a ride home, not probably the safest idea, considering all she had left to offer, but he was a kind stranger and dropped her off at her door. On Saturday I ran into the other girl we had had lunch with from Portland while I was talking to a mutual Chilean friend, she was carrying her hand and described to us how the night before she had been mugged and her hand was hurt and she was considering going to hospital. She too was coming home late at night but she lives in our neighborhood rather than a more Chileano neighborhood.

Later at home I told Sylvain I was glad we didn't stay out late, and happy to have him for protection.

I've never seen any kind of violence here, but I've heard a lot about it, Sylvain has a few acquaintances who've been mugged or beaten up, but again it seems to most often take place after late night drinking.

When I first moved to Brooklyn I lived in an unsavory neighborhood with 9 roommates in the most amazing loft I have ever seen. There were 7 boys and 2 girls. The apartment had been broken into just before I moved in when one of our roommates woke up, they left, and just after I moved out it was broken into again and the two other apartments in the building had been robbed before- once they tied the person up who was at home. The building was home to about 25 artists, musicians and photographers, the thieves stole the cameras and Mac computers for the most part. Still, all the boys had been robbed, once by gun-point in daylight right outside the door of our house. One night some of us were sitting around watching a movie, and Marcus came in and asked to borrow someone's phone as he had just been robbed and wanted to cancel his phone and credit cards. He said he simply handed phone and wallet over to the guy when the request was made - but he asked to keep his ID and keys as he was headed to Germany for an art opening the next day and would need it at the airport, the thief acquiesced "sho man, no problem" and he took what he wanted and handed the wallet back.

I always think of that as a somewhat defining New York moment, Marcus was hardly troubled, this was his second time being mugged- he was a skinny gay man, but he took it in stride. The thief was chill, the experience was as ordinary as any transaction made with a teller at Target. Everyone who travels is aware that when you're clearly a gringo westerner you're a target for pick pocketing, otherwise why would you have so many silly-looking bum bags and passport holders you tie onto your undergarments. The idea of getting robbed doesn't really worry me too much, I travel enough that it seems likely I'll find myself handing over my cash at some point, the thing that strikes me as profoundly worrying is the beating that seems to be coming with these transactions. Nothing is so valuable to me I want to taking a beating for it.

I won't even get into the disgrace of happy slapping... If you want to know google it.

Teaching and Learning

While showering today it occurred to me that I may never teach art again. For my family and friends, some of you may be thinking this is a huge sacrifice and or that I'm giving up who I am. While I want to teach art, and be an art teacher, I feel pretty good about possibly finding a future in teaching English. Teaching at Hyde, we "specials" teachers were always required to attend the English and Math professional development because they never arranged for professional development specific to our subjects, and it wouldn't be fair if we didn't have to attend some sort of 3 hour meeting, so I became invested in raising those reading scores on the high stakes state tests, we as educators knew were false indicators of our students actual intelligence. I came into the teaching profession as an art teacher and had a really good experience, I hope I find myself in a similar position in the future, but I fell in love with teaching, and I think I could find a similar passion for teaching English. That's not to say I have any interest whatsoever in teaching math or physical education, but I minored in English and during the last 4 years I've spent plenty of time working with students who are remedial in their English writing and reading skills both as an America Reads tutor and at Hyde where I had a reading group with students whose reading levels were 2 levels below grade level. Teaching English as I see it, offers a chance to keep teaching fresh and interesting, a new challenge and a new teaching perspective. I hope to have the chance to teach art again, it's something I love, but as long as I'm still in the game then I don't see any reason to complain.

Still in the shower I was also thinking about something I was learning from being with Sylvain. I've done a lot of reading and watched a lot of lectures online about Global Warming, I have no doubt it's one of the most important challenges our world faces right now and as an American it's clear that we produce the most waste and are the biggest culprits in making climate change a reality. However, my dad thinks this is a huge liberal agenda farce. My parents and I don't share even a morsel of the same political ideas, we could be further apart on the spectrum, and at least in the sense that I did some research, kept an open mind and then made up my own mind I find my father's refusal to be open-minded and at least read and watch the evidence before stubbornly sticking his head back in the sand a selfish mistake- he may not have to live to see global warming play out, but my kids will. I recently had a conversation with my mom two days in a row where she mentioned the "bizarre weather" we've been having- she was so sincere in her inability to account for the strange fluctuations in cold one week and hot the next- but when I said, but of course this is evidence of climate change- her knee-jerk reaction was- well I don't believe in that. Two days in a row people, same statement citing evidence of climate change, and then refusing to accept the reality!

But what I realized early on in my relationship with Sylvain, is that Europeans, or at least the French - and I'm sure there are those individuals who don't adhere to this cultural condition- are raised with a green conscious. Europeans have always driven smaller cars, they were the first to address environmental issues when Global Warming first became a buzz phrase and I've never even heard of anyone from Europe denying it's reality. Sylvain is not nearly as pro-actively liberal as I am, he doesn't forward articles to friends and family or get worked up about this stuff- but I mention how I miss having a bath and his immediate reaction is baths aren't environmentally friendly and the look of disappointment on his face shamed me. He does this about everything, turning off the water for the toilet unless we're flushing, the lights, no AC, public transportation- his parent's don't seem especially environmentally conscious it's just a cultural condition.

I remember once in forth grade we did this science project- we had to close the drain in our tub and measure whether we used more water taking a bath or a shower- of course we used more water with the bath- lesson learned- but I am sure it didn't affect us as 9 year olds in the least, we carried on taking our bath or shower but not about to be inconvenienced by this issue. As American's, I'm sorry but we don't care, or at least not enough to be inconvenienced. Sure, as an adult, there are those of us who have grown up conscious of the way we live, trying reduce, reuse and recycle. Turning off lights, and tv's, not buying everything in access, buying local, buying smaller more energy efficient cars, not using the air-conditioner constantly etc, but this is hardly a national trend. My dad turns the tv on at 7am when he wakes up and the reality is he spends half the day outside working on stuff, but that tv stays on full volume all day long until 9pm when he goes to bed- as a child my parents may have nagged me to turn off my light or close the door because the air conditioner was on, but it wasn't about the environment it was about their electricity bill, and if they want the tv on, or if they want a bath every night their conscience isn't stopping them. My parents are the rule not the exception.

One of the things I remember growing up was our clothes line- I'm sorry, but there are few things as wonderful as getting into bed at night with sheets that have been hung out to dry in the afternoon sun. There's a controversy now in America over clothes lines being a sight for sore eyes, and in many housing developments having them is illegal. My aunt breaks the rules and has one anyway, and the local newspaper did an article about her in the paper. There isn't a country in the world that does everything perfect- see my European joke from France, you suck! but when there are models out there that do it better, it's important and smart to realize you can learn from others and adopt better practices, because frankly it's sad that people are more concerned about their neighbors laundry being an eyesore than the win win of fresh sheets to sleep in, and lower energy bills.

Planes, trains, and auto…no, buses.

The last few years I’ve been to Africa twice, Turkey, London, Chile and back and forth from New York to the west coast 4 or 5 times- not to mention several visits home to Wisconsin. If you’ve been on an airplane you’ve probably noticed service is declining, the customer, being you, is rarely catered to in the same way we were pre-9/11 and that no matter what the circumstances are when your flight is delayed or canceled- it is handled poorly, and you are never compensated for your troubles. While air travel has becoming a necessity in some circumstances, I want to write about alternatives to the time suck and abuse that for me at least has defined many of my experiences flying of late.

A lot of people have started talking about their carbon footprint and some have even started thinking about it. When Ford, GM and Chrysler met with congress last summer and twice ignored the advice of the hand that was about to throw them a much needed life raft it seemed, I don’t know, stupid. But maybe people have forgotten about bus travel since it has long since been outdated. I haven’t taken many buses in the states, just the Fung Wah and the Lucky Star which left every hour from Boston and dropped you often in Chinatown NYC, it was cheap and efficient. Here in Chile I’ve done my fair share of bus travel mostly to and from Santiago but this weekends bus trip to Mendoza is worth mentioning. First I have no idea what the tickets cost, maybe something like $50 a person round trip- not bad even if what they call a 6 hour bus ride is really a 9 hour trip with almost 3 hours spent going through customs at the border. However, this 9 hour bus ride didn’t drag on like any of the oversea flights I’ve been on, and here’s why. As soon as the bus leaves the station you are greeted by what can only be described as a bus attendant, he visits you at your seat and checks your name off a roster like a teacher taking attendance. As soon as he checks that all his registered passengers are accounted for he brings you a pillow, and actually sticks it behind your head- with a smile none the less, once the pillows are handed out he brings you a blanket, unfolds it, and lays it over you, again with a smile, your comfort is his pleasure. Once your nestled in your seats that recline so far back you wonder if your neighbor behind you can pick the dandruff out of your hair, but no, there is plenty of space between your seat and the next row so you can relax and put your legs up, because, oh there is a leg rest a la the living room recliner. Before you can get over how unfamiliar this seems after years of flying, there is your box lunch, sure it’s a sandwich, a juice box, and a cookie, but at least it isn’t some frozen medley of “food” reheated and full of sodium, and since it comes in a box and not on a tray, you can stick it in your front pocket and eat when you feel hungry. There are a couple tv’s and sure the movies are American blockbusters from 5 years ago dubbed in Spanish, but if you don’t want to watch, you don’t have to, and if you want to work on your Spanish language skills, it’s a perfect opportunity because the dubbing is not in a mangled Chilean accent and you don’t have to catch ever word, because frankly you already know what’s going to happen. Your bus attendant has a call button if you need to ask estimated arrival time, and he escorts you through customs like a pro, collecting any garbage you may have accumulated at regular intervals. Thrown in for free are the views; no matter what seat you find yourself in, the Andes encapsulate you and a 9 hour bus ride feels like it couldn’t have taken longer than 6.

France, and Mendoza

A few people commented on my France, you suck! post and I really appreciate, well frankly just the dialogue. Im wondering if anyone knows whether the PACS is good enough or if marriage is the only way?

It's hard to compare to the beauty of Europe, and for the most part when anyone asks where my favorite travel destination has been, my mind skips right over Africa, Asia, and North and South America and goes straight to deciding whether food can factor in tipping the scale between the UK and France. It's a tough call but I think Europe itself can take the prize because it's small enough that travel time from one destination to another is hardly crossing a state line in much of America.

Yet a weekend in Mendoza was just what the doctor ordered, the only pictures I took were of the 1979 Fiat that picked us up for the bikes and wine ride, and then promptly died- we were excited for the adventure, and sought to capture the moment... even if later when we dropped the bikes off and planned to pick up the wine I had purchased and no one was at the "home office" to receive us our consumer satisfaction dropped to a new low.

But even as a neighbor of Chile, the Andes seem to represent a significant shift in orientation. Argentina, from what we experienced was "more European" than "Incan". While Valparaiso is right up my artistic alley, there is something about being stuck between a rock and a sea that makes you feel, or at least me feel cut off from the rest of the world. Maybe it's that literally you can go up or down, north or south, when we travel it's never east or west.

And Argentina is cheap, cheap in the way Chile seems it should be. Argentina has the infrastructure from former high times and has a middle class- which Valparaiso seems to lack, so the high prices in Chile don't seem to compute. I've been studying Spanish here and in Chile I've felt like I've made very little progress but in Mendoza I realized that I had- the Chilean's are known for their garbled accent, but in Mendoza I could understand Spanish just fine, which gave me the confidence to speak Spanish.

Mendoza is not as beautiful as Valparaiso, it's not ugly either, but after months in Chile it offers a refreshing change, and an important one I think. I've always enjoyed living abroad because of how it changes and informs your perspective on how you see your home country, or at least your original orientation- I know myself and my country better because I left it- it gives you a healthy perspective. Visiting Argentina offered a perspective on Chile that then became cultural relativism. In London it was easy to adjust the internal compass according to what I knew as an American, but you can't really locate yourself from what you know as an American and apply it to Chile. Argentina, however, could.

Mendoza, Argentina

There's something about the South American's, they are so laid back that for a North American it can be a little frustrating at times. Today was a good example, but I will start with the trip here which our tickets said would be a 6 hour bus ride, it turned out to be a 9 hour trip- and what makes one wonder is that unless one was in a car, there is no way you could get from Valparaiso to Mendoza in 6 hours. This is because, 1 you're in a bus, and they generally don't drive faster than the speed limit, and 2 because you have to go through customs with your bus, and you're never the only bus. Customs took about 3 hours.

Today we had planned to go on the bike and wine tour/ride they told us to be ready at 9:30 but that we may not get picked up until 10:30. We were also changing hostels because the one we were at couldn't accommodate us for our last night. So we waited by the pool and at 10:30 we were picked up in a 1979 Fiat with a racing engine and no front passenger seat. We looked at each other and thought this is going to be an adventure. 15 minutes later when the Fiat ran out of gas we thought, yup, adventure time. So the guy who picked us up and Sylvain pushed the car down the street to a gas station that ended up being closed, then we headed to another that was only ten minutes away but our driver ended up convincing someone to drive him to get some gas- which ended up not being gas, but instead anti-freeze. I didn't ask. So we were pretty late to our first appointment at the vineyard, and he had to have his employee bring us our bikes at our first vineyard. We had a quick tour, some tasting and then we got our bikes. Our bikes were of the same vintage as our parents, and riding them felt like a death trap. The next vineyard was just down the road and the old man who ran it only spoke Spanish, which was fine for Sylvain and I, but for the rest of the bikers who didn't speak any, a bit stupid. Our third vineyard we had lunch- pizza seems to be a staple here and that's what they had, but it was very good and we had wine as well. Afterwards there didn't seem to be any point in having a tasting since we tasted 3 wines at lunch, the same three we had at the tasting, and by this point we were feeling it. It was well in the 90's and the combination of the heat and the wine was enough for us, we decided to bring our bikes back to the bikes and wine shop and head home to sit at the pool. Only when we finally found the bikes and wine shop we found that it was locked up and no one was there to tend it. This was extremely frustrating because we had been riding for 20 extra minutes having not been able to find the shop due to the fact that the maps they gave us were completely useless as none of the streets were marked, add the 95 degree heat on bikes that were about to collapse beneath us and the fact that I had bought two bottles of wine that we were meant to collect at the end of the bike tour. We decided to just cut our loses and go back home, we could be sitting their for hours and frankly on our last day in Mendoza we didn't want to spend it in the middle of nowhere waiting for someone to show up with my wine.

We headed back to our original hostel to pick up our bags and paid our bill, our new hostel wasn't far but we couldn't find it and even though it was essentially on the highway next to the bus station when we asked people they either told us they didn't know, or pointed us in what we knew to be the wrong direction. Finally we found it, only after I nearly had a hissy fit with the 95 degree 4pm sun burning down on me and my backpack digging into my shoulders while I felt my dress soak with perspiration against my back. I don't mind if people don't know directions, but if you don't know, don't give me wrong directions. What added insult to injury was the state of our new hostel. It's gross, gross on it's own, but in comparison to where we had stayed the last two nights, a real downer. I don't think our original hostel, Hostel Lao did much out of the ordinary to be both comfortable and a nice place to stay, the hammocks in the back were a nice touch but you realize how inviting comfortable and nice are when the alternative is depressing and dreary.

France, you suck!

I've spent most of this week looking for a life in France. I have a French boyfriend whom with I want to spend my future with but France is making it really hard. On most days you will find me waxing lyrical about French food, I love it all: the pomme frites, the bouillabaisse, the bleu cheese, and the pain au chocolat, I love the Socialism, the healthcare, the museums in Paris, the movies, the french speaking, the PACS, the intellectualism, the small cars even the quirks are lovable, but it is impossible to move to France without being French, and it is impossible to be a teacher in France without being French.

I love teaching, I love reading about it, I love doing it, I love thinking about it, I love the hours, I love the kids, I love the teaching community, I love the problems in the educational system because it makes you want to fight for change, I love it all. I want to teach new teachers what I've learned I want to help shape them into teachers of tomorrow and encourage the same passion I have for it in them, and if they don't have it I have no problem telling them to find another job because I only want students to have teachers who want to be there, who love to be there.

I have researched every possible avenue I can imagine to try and find acceptance as a teacher in France, I have considered getting a few extra English credits so I can teach English instead of art, I have considered getting my PhD in France so I can teach university, I have considered going back to school for art therapy in France, I have considered international schools, public schools and I have found that no matter how I approach it, the answer is always the same, you can't teach in France if you're not French. The only teaching post I could find was an assistantship teaching position that makes me sad for me, it allows you to be an English teaching assistant in wherever the government decides they want you, and you get paid just a bit less than what it would cost for you to live without eating or going to a movie for the 7 months of your contract. On the bright side, I am a shoe in for this position, my life for the last 9 years basically ticks all the necessary requirement boxes twice- experience living abroad, check, experience traveling abroad, check, French language proficiency, check, teaching experience, check. So, sure, I can be some French woman who barely speaks English helper.

In trying to find answers to my query I found this blog by an Australian woman who did a PhD in France and has similar issues when she wanted to stay on and teach at the University level, I'll put it in the links section. In one of her blogs she wrote a joke she had heard and I lifted it to put here. Having also lived in England and traveled to Germany and Italy it rings true.

Which reminds me of the old joke about Europe.
Q: What is European heaven?
A: The Germans look after administration, the English are the policemen, the French do the cooking and the Italians are the lovers.
Q: And what is European hell?
A: The English do the cooking, the Germans are the lovers, the Italians are the policemen and... the French look after administration.

Champion Boxer... I am not

I played a lot of sports in school and some, like tennis and jogging I've continued to do in my adult life. I'm not good at sports though because I do not have quick reflexes. So when I asked Sylvain to take me boxing I wasn't really expecting quality. I didn't get it either. My thoughts about boxing before I met Sylvain was that it was sort of rough, and full contact- the only fight I'd ever seen was between Tyson and Holyfield when he bit his ear off. When I met Sylvain I thought, so you like boxing, that's nice, I hope you don't break your nose anymore or mess up your face, but his body albeit thin, is perfection. I don't mean that in a sexual way- but his abs are defined and his arms are manly neither of which falling into the category or muscle head roidinator. Until yesterday I had no idea how one got to be that way- now I do- boxing has earned my complete and utter respect.

We started with jumping rope- I was excited because as a kid I loved jumping rope- and in my memories of jumping rope everyday at recess is a memory that I was good at it (this suggestion cannot be collaborated). At 29, I am no longer the recess champion, apparently, my coordination retired with elementary school. Still I felt, warmed up. Next round, the bag, which meant putting on the gloves- Sylvain wrapped our roommates hand wraps around my hands and fingers which frankly were putrid smelling and only a couple months old still damp from their last training, and then the gloves. We went to the mirror and he told me how to punch first the left then the right, I sucked, I never brought my hand back quick enough to protect my face from imaginary punches being thrown at me. And I was too slow and awkward. After looking foolish trying to punch at nothing for a while we went to the bag and at least with a target it felt a little more real, but it was hard to get the right stance and the right distance for a feel good punch, and trying to move around the bag was a footwork nightmare. I realized just how much training goes into preparing for the ring- it's like dancing and punching at the same time and I imagine your body has to get so familiar with the movements that it doesn't have to think about them, it just reacts... I knew then just what a hopeless failure I would be at boxing, I'd be happy to learn how to dance with some semblance of grace and appearance of lightness on my feet, but adding punching and ducking and my system would crash.

Sylvain took me in the ring so I could have a go at him, here's where I realized I'd also have to be a technical artists with the fitness of a, I don't know, a really fit person. It felt good to be that physical though. To waste yourself in physical determination and effort. Sylvain probably landed more punches than I did which was really sad because of course he wasn't trying to hit me. Boxers protect their faces by holding their gloves up against their forehead- but they must be touching their forehead or when you take a punch you end up punching yourself with your own gloves instead of your gloves acting as a cushion against the blow- I could not get the hang of this until taking a handful of punches. I gave it a go but my punches were so slow Sylvain could see them coming and easily moved out of the way, my weak jabs landing nowhere and me looking like a golfer who just took a massive swing at their ball and missed.

When we finished I unwrapped my hands and for the rest of our workout and until I got home and bathed I could not stand to have my hands anywhere near my face as they had unhappily adopted the stench of the hand wraps. I learned a few things yesterday, boxing stinks or at least hand wraps and gloves do, if you're going to box, start young so you can learn the footwork and dancing before your too old and tired to bother and frankly training is pretty non contact so you don't have to worry about getting injured in the same way a kid who wants to play football might, and if you need to expend a few extra calories, boxing's your sport.

Cerro la Campana

I woke up around 8:30 and figured I'd get my stuff together for the big hiking trip. Not that it's such a big hike, but I've been talking about going for so long, the momentum was sufficiently high. I left around 9:40 got the Metro to Limache and when I exited the station someone asked me where I was headed- he informed me to take the bus #45 which was not the directions I'd been given which were to take the bus #1, but in the end, every bus that pulled up in front of the station I got in and asked if they went to Cerro la Campana, all of them told me to take bus #45 except bus #45 which told me to take bus #1. So finally bus #1 came and an hour later he dropped me off. There were two different routes to take, I took one that got me there, but let's just say wasn't much of a route, and I popped up out of nowhere on a scavaging school group who informed me Cerro la Campana was CERRADO- closed, because of a strike. So, yeah. It took me two hours and change to get to this mountain, and no dice. I decided to walk back down and head back to Limache station and after about an hour of walking I got the bus the rest of the way, and then the Metro.

I stopped at Portales and went to the beach and figured I'd walk back the last two Metro stops on the beach and boardwalk. That gave me an hour to walk back and an hour at the beach. It was a decent plan B I figured.

The strike here is also affecting the city's garbage collection. Garbage all over the streets and stray dogs, use your imagination...

Supersizing Christmas

Yesterday we went to the beach Vina and then as per usual Sylvain was hungry so we walked to Renaca and went to McDonald's. I had fries and he had a supersized meal which was much smaller than an American super sizing- it was on par with whatever regular would be, and afterwards Sylvain was still hungry...

With family in Wisconsin and friends in NYC I have taken some pleasure in the fact that while they're cold, I'm at the beach. Unfortunately, tis the season, and as I think about those back home celebrating Thanksgiving, and NYC at Christmastime, I'm sad that the only reminder I have that Jesus is coming are grocery store brand Christmas ornaments and decorations sold at Lider. I miss walking into stores and hearing Christmas music, shopping for presents, and getting a tree. For some reason I miss hot chocolate- which I don't really drink but feels seasonally appropriate.

Valpo Eats

I'm sitting here reading the NYT and what do I come across? An article entitled "Tastes of Newly Fashionable Valparaiso Chile"

The restaurants she writes about are:

Poblenou

Pasta e Vino

Cafe Vinilo

La Concepcion

SaborColor

Delicatessen Emporio

Le Filou de Montpellier

We went to Delicatessen Emporio - literally last night and as mentioned in the article we shared the ginger and coconut infused creme brulee. Last week on date night we ended up going to a Thai place, but we first went to Pasta e Vino where they wouldn't seat us (despite an empty restaurant) because we didn't have a reservation- we want to try it before we leave - even with that icy reception. We are friends with Phillipe from Le Filou, he is like a neighbor, we see him almost everyday, Sylvain and Phillipe will share a smoke with our friend Vincent who just left a waiting tables there to become a city tour guide (we hear tips at Le Filou are good right now and this might have been premature- but we both know, when you're done serving, your done serving). Cafe Vinilo is another place we're locals at, we mostly take a coffee or get a glass of wine, but they have really good food too- we've just had the tapas, but they were delicious. All of these places except for Le Filou are overpriced and you won't see many (any?) locals. Our dinner at Delicatessen (where we were the only dinners until just before we left when another couple came in) was around $70, we had dinner (not American portions mind you) a bottle of wine and shared a dessert- needless to say we don't eat out often- we can't afford to. And personally I have a difficult time reconciling the fact I could get a better meal in NYC (the food is good here- a 6 or 7, lets say- but I'm never raving) for the same or a little less- but the truth is, we can't stay in every night, and sometimes you pay for the fact you're getting out and sharing a meal with someone you enjoy spending time with. The problem here lies in the fact that there is no in between- it's either Manhattan prices or McDonalds i.e. completos and a can of Coke.

Paperwork and going back to school...

I've been considering taking some English credits so I can get certified to teach English in addition to teaching Art. I think this will diversify my stock so to speak. It means taking about 3 English classes and I would likely have to take them online. UW Milwaukee and Empire State College in NYC offer online courses both of which I qualify for "in state" tuition which makes them slightly cheaper all things considered. I'm a little sketched out by Empire State and it's reputation, but it offers cheap credits and at this point it's what I need. On the other hand overpriced education has certainly gotten me jobs in the past... and come September a job, is what I need.

It would have been nice to have had the foresight to be taking those classes (or at least some of them) this semester- but I suppose these things happen for a reason... If we end up in Montreal I need to take a class about the history of education in Quebec in order for my certification to transfer. Since I love taking classes I'm very excited, but the financial burden right now could not come at a worse time and the need to get all of this "paperwork" stuff settled before hiring season begins is a little worrying.

This week I found out two of my former 14 year old student's are pregnant. I suppose as their teacher I should be mostly considered about the likelihood of their aborted education. But I'm more disappointed for the children they're bringing into this world and the cycle they are continuing. Their mothers are my age, and soon they will be grandparents...

Santiago's Pre-Columbian museo

Every time Sylvain and I get in a cab (this morning was no different), the driver asks us if we're brother and sister. It's starting to get weird- were we brother and sister in a past life or something? Sylvain and I are always holding hands so it's hard to imagine us giving off that sibling vibe- and we don't look alike either, he's skinny and has a likeness to Sean Penn, whereas I'm softer in body and features with redder hair.

Sylvain's class was going to Santiago today to visit some agencies so I caught a ride and went to the Pre-Columbian Art Museum. Everyone speaks highly of it, but frankly I wasn't so impressed- I think what gets people excited is the fact that it's a modern museum, fresh, contemporary clean lines, layout and labels. However when you have the MET in your backyard, its hard to get excited about a mini-museum with a lot of clay vessels. Still, I've seen worse (Istanbul), and although it was overpriced, it should be considered a formidable museum for a place that clearly isn't NYC or London. I would have liked a stronger emphasis on textiles, which I think would have made it more than one-dimensional. And there was supposed to be a jewelry section but I never saw one- I hope I didn't overlook it.

On the bus today I asked Sylvain where the American was from but he didn't know, and when we met up later he told me he had asked and she was from Fond Du Lac about 30 minutes from where I grew up. Small world, but what was even stranger, was on the metro in Santiago I was standing across from a guy who had a workers shirt on. On one side the name Jim was embroidered (my dad's name) and on the other side with the pocket it said University of Wisconsin Green Bay... Random, but annoying, I was so distracted in noticing it, I missed my stop.

In various apartment news, our shower head busted when the water was turned off locally on Monday, I guess when it was turned back on the pressure ruptured the plastic. Our roommate is very upset and told us individually that the shower head was very expensive, $80. I have a huge shower head in my bathroom at my parents house similar to this one (I picked it out and I remembered it being pricey- by the way so not worth it- a big shower head doesn't make a special shower experience if you ask me- good water pressure does) and so without thinking about it I thought, yeah, that seems about right (except, duh, this one is plastic) and so Sylvain and I stopped at Easy - the Chilean version of Home Depot, and found the exact shower head we have at home for about $40. Also, Sarah's $3 generic brand shower wash fell off the overburdened shelf space and broke in the tub, we are also getting blamed for this (although neither of us were there to witness the tragedy). Insane...No one, I mean no one would bother breaking a bottle of shower wash- and it so obviously fell off the shelf, there are an insane amount of bottles vying for the same ledge space, it was only a matter of time before someone got thrown overboard...

Halloween kickboxing

I've sometimes wanted to enjoy adult Halloween but often I just end up at a party with a half ass last minute costume and bored. This Halloween was different because at Sylvain's boxing gym there was a kickboxing tournament and I've never seen anything like it so I was really excited to see what it would be like.

We went with Gabi who is now living in his step-father's apartment here in Valparaiso. There were lots of kids and young people and the area for spectatorship was filled by the time the fights began. The first two were girls, fighting what was called "light fighting" and the 2 girls from Sylvain's gym were way under-matched by two girls who looked to be about 14 wearing karate gear and were about as willing to throw a punch or get a kick in as they were probably willing to give up a Saturday at the mall. They just tucked away in the corner ropes and went into a defensive ball. Later I saw them taking a bunch of photos together smiling like teenagers do, and I thought, why did you even bother? When the boys started they were equally gun-shy; what was supposed to be kickboxing was more like scraping, there were skinny boys, and chubby boys and neither were very technical. The third round was a lot better, the guys fighting had visible muscles and were jazzed up, it was really interesting watching them fight, and the technical fighters (even if their level was about what I imagine good high school seniors in the states were fighting at) were exciting to watch.

The last round of the night was wrestling- WWF style- I had watched Hulk Hogan and Andre the Giant when I was a kid- I didn't have much interest in it, but I had seen The Wrestler which held serious water as a movie. This however, was ridiculous, their moves were silly, it was pumped for the drama and the entertainment value but it fell flat and we left.

Today we woke up and went to visit Pablo Neruda's other over-priced house which had a beautiful location but wasn't as interesting or nice as his house in Santiago. The coast here is stunning, over-powering and similar to the coast in California- to wake up every morning and see and feel the sea crashing into the rocky terrain below would inspire anyone to greatness in writing or any of the arts.

Afterwards we had a nice late lunch (everything is 3 or 4 courses here- I love it) and we discussed both who we would like to have dinner with in both the dead and alive categories. I said Buddha of course, and Sylvain said Jesus, and neither of us could think of anyone to eat dinner with so I decided I'd settle with someone I thought could make a really good dinner, and so French Chef Paul Bocuse who I take on recommendation from Sylvain, and Sylvain, having similar difficulty deciding on someone settled for Woody Allen- I figured we could make it a double date, because frankly I wouldn't mind having dinner with Woody either.