9/11 end of socialist revolution 9/18 national day- one week of holidays

Lately we wake up to band practice somewhere seemingly outside our window. The other day while jogging I saw them marching near the bus station. This is all in preparation for the national day and the ensuing week of NO SCHOOL festivities. 

Last week someone knocked on our door- oftentimes we ignore it unless someone is expecting something, once a little boy asked Sylvain for some food, and no one really feels like running downstairs to open the door for a solicitor of some sort so it's only when the mood strikes us that anyone is moved to put aside what they're doing and answer it. So last week when Sylvain was moved by curiosity  to answer it there was a guy selling Chilean flags, we of course were not really interested in flags; but the man told Sylvain if we didn't hang them from our window on the national day we would incur a fine. We debated whether this was actually true, or a load of bull, and then Valentin came into the kitchen and joined the debate. No one was entirely convinced but an air of "could this really be true" lingered; eventually we checked online and in fact, it is no fiction $60 if you're caught without a flag.

To get from one place to the next in Valpo there are a few options. The ascensors are a traditional option and Sylvain likes to take them, especially after a trip to Super Lider, but more often than not I convince him that as long as our legs work, we will be walking home. There are two types of taxi's as well, the first is a traditional taxi, you hop in, give the driver directions and off you go. The other option is a collectivo taxi which waits by the curb until it's full and drops the off passengers one at a time. I've never taken one of these but when Sylvain and Valentin have been late for class they take them for a dollar or two. There are buses here that take people where they want to go, they're cheap, but slow, and oftentimes a collectivo is a better option. I haven't really seen any bikes except for once while I was waiting outside the university for Sylvain. A young student had a bike but as he mounted it he knocked the seat off with his leg, the seat was not attached to the bike itself, he just rested it where it was supposed to sit. 

I'm still trying to wrap my heads around why things are packaged the way they are. The manjar or dulce de leche comes in a bag- its caramel, and squeezing it out of a bag is a messy endeavor. You can also buy yoghurt in a bag as well as jam. Tomato sauce for pastas and whatnot come in cardboard boxes similar to juice boxes, but squeezing the last bit out is impossible; of course there's always the option of buying it in a bag too. Almost everything you can imagine comes in a bag or a box; some things have a little spout on them, like the mayonnaise and the ketchup which I think are a vast improvement over our squeeze bottles and jars, but without the spout your refrigerator and hands are destined to sticky skid marks from dripping bags.

Straight Talk

I've never actually been hit by a car before. Living in New York I was involved in more than a few driving do-overs, the first when a lorry truck tried to renegotiate it's spacial parameters into and over me, and most recently when trying to pull into bumper to bumper traffic I tried to assert myself a few inches into the driver in front of me. Still, 5 years of living in New York, and as a pedestrian, I've never even had a chance to shout obscenities at reckless New York drivers. Today though I unleashed a tirade of four-letter words I realized afterwards probably weren't all that familiar to the ladies who tried to run me down after rolling through a stop sign; but maybe the fact that I was straining to push the cars forward motion backwards- Superhero style and the hyper-active gesticulating at the stop sign she'd just driven by got my point across. Still I made a bit of a scene and even on a street with very little foot traffic I had earned myself an audience. It's one of those moments when time sort of stops and your head keeps repeating, a car is hitting me, a car is hitting me, but that doesn't compute because there is a stop sign and I was in the road before she got here, the car is still hitting me, doesn't she see me, I'm right here in front of her, why does she keep driving into me? After my denunciation of her driving I didn't wait around for a verbal aftermath, I kept running, she stared after me mouth ajar- I was sort of expecting her to yell at me- everyones initial reaction to situations like this is to place blame elsewhere; but I had beaten her to the punch here, because she continued to drive into me long after I had started shouting and pushing her car away from my legs.  So relax mom, clearly I am not dead, or severely injured, frankly I walked away more or less unscathed; though indignant and self-righteous to be sure. 

Yesterday's heightened anxiety has been quieted with a resolve to embrace uncertainty. Recently a friend has been writing me about her agitation with her husband's friendship with his ex's, I've never had this problem because jealousy isn't really my thing; yet I realized that in the advice I'd given- "The jealousy thing- total waste of your time and energy" there was a nugget of truth for my own anxieties concerning where next for Sylvain and I, after all, I have no way of influencing where he gets an internship or whether I will be able to join him or not. At this point I feel like everyone in the room is on the same page concerning the facts regarding our bank account details and career growth opportunities. Plans cannot be made for the future at this juncture, so we shall all sit back, relax and live in the moment.  

At lunch I taught Sylvain how to make teriyaki sauce, and now he thinks I'm a genius. He told me the first time he had had teriyaki was at Subway in Canada (mdr- mort de rire- die of laughing- similar to our LOL but with a stronger emphasis considering the death element). He had figured teriyaki was a traditional Native American dish. Um, no. 

Control Freak

Sylvain has had to do powerpoint presentations in two of his classes in the last two days the latest one was on a French company called Publicis - they do phenomenal adverts and marketing campaigns. With his laptop power adapter going to an early grave he has had to use my laptop- it being a Mac he has needed some help adjusting from a PC. Me being a creative type, I have largely taken over his powerpoint projects, they're in Spanish so I haven't added any material but believe me the teacher in me is coming out "well have you added a page about their philosophy/approach- what about the awards they've won? What about their team, who are they recruiting, from what fields!" I'm gently, sometimes not so gently pulling my laptop away from his so I can do the research myself, adding hyperlinks, graphics and trying to figure out how to insert a video. What is my problem? I totally want to be making these powerpoints. I'm taking over. It's a scary side of me, I'd rather not explore. I hope his professors start giving him assignments with less creativity involved. Sylvain told me about Publicis a while ago, when I was asking him about his upcoming internship and what he wanted to do. I have since become a huge fan of their work, they are super creative and I have always been gigantically jealous of the creative minds/teams that create work like theirs, I'm starting to think advertising and graphic design would have been really interesting fields to have studied; but then I could say that about a lot of things from the gauntlet of creative fields I've taken classes in. As with design, and interior design, I've always found it exciting to have a sort of math equation- you need to come up with a certain product that works on an aesthetic level but it also has a certain amount of parameters to it; the final product being functional. Its why I've always found design so much more exciting and accessible than when I was a painter- when I was painting I didn't know where the hell to start, or what to do. With advertising, interior or graphic design you have a client, and they give you your assignment. Relief. 

In keeping with the control freak theme of today's post, I might mention that Sylvain's upcoming internship is giving me an ulcer. I mean not really, but he keeps talking about China, and I don't want to go to China anymore than I want to go back to NYC. Realistically he won't end up in China, France maybe, but right now the focus is on Spanish speaking countries- Mexico, Peru, Buenos Aires and Spain too. I want to stay in South America, live cheap, teach, explore, hike and continue to learn Spanish. Generally to get into an MBA program in the states you need to have several years of work experience under your belt, in France you don't need anything but money (it's the only schooling in France that costs money, and frankly Sylvain doesn't have any, so he has taken on significant loans), and in France, working before you finish school is a social stigma. So Sylvain has no work experience and I have no idea how he would manage to snag an internship in the states, in these economic times, unless there were a business looking for someone who has been around the world and could speak a few languages. Sylvain and I agree he would be the perfect expat restaurant owner like his friend Phillipe at the Filou de Montpellier. It would suit him to a T. He loves being an expat, he has no "real" aspirations for swimming in pools of money, like me he is happy with the equivalent of a teachers salary and like me, the perks are ideal- for me its my summers off, for him having the month of the slow season to go home or travel, being able to be your own boss and the various social aspects of restaurant life (not to mention the food). I'm really struggling to imagine him really doing anything but this, and so as he looks for his internship I'm worried he'll be unhappy, let's face it, interns brew coffee, run errands and make copies, 6 months of doing unpaid grunt work is no fun for anyone.

In this photo: Welcome to McDonalds may I take your order?

Songs in the Key of a Quiet Afternoon

My ex-boyfriend (current friend and climbing partner) gave me Songs in the Key of Life when we first started dating. It remains one of both of our favorite albums. Today though I've been listening to Kate Bush, I got into Kate Bush my first year of college and she remains a favorite on quiet afternoons. So her songs today feel like Songs in the Key of Quiet Afternoons.

The weather here is beautiful in the morning, and so I try to go jogging just before or after 10am. I can get in about 30 minutes jogging from our flat to just past Sylvain's University where the shopping plaza of Paris and Jumbo are located back to where the bottom of our uphill climb starts, its gotta be about 3 miles or just under. It's really flat and mostly pavement which is not good for my weak arches, but I miss my daily jogs. Today I headed out for more work making photocopies and posting my fliers, I finished around 1 and headed back home the sun was strong enough to make me take my light jacket off, but I stopped for a coffee and did some prelim sketches for the design I plan to paint in our room (I'm doing a sort of 3-D geometric wallpaper design) so I headed back home around 2pm. Around 4pm here the wind builds up to an angry attack; it has been like this all week and it is chilling both inside and out. Last night we went out in the evening when Sylvain got home from school to Cafe Vinilo and had a glass of wine and another plate of tapas- this time half rounds with a sort of eggplant tapenade topped with sun-dried tomatoes and creme anglais; yum. Our two block walk home was bone chilling and I shivered for the next 2 hours. 

Sunday we have been invited to the home of a Smithie who has a second residence in Quilpue. She lives and teaches in Santiago with her Chilean husband and 2 young children. I sent her a cold call email before leaving New York, along with the 3 other Smithies living in Chile. She responded immediately; apparently she has a parallel story- she was teaching elementary school in New York, took a leave of absence and moved to Vina del Mar (right next door to Valpo). She ended up meeting her husband and I guess she'll fill in the rest of the details this weekend. 

Sylvain's laptop is struggling. He's been using mine for a Spanish powerpoint he's presenting tonight on some Virgin Mary Holiday they celebrate here Dec 8th. There is some problem with his power cord, when he plugs it in the light doesn't turn on and doesn't charge, so there must be some faulty connection. This is a bit of a pain, you can buy replacements on Amazon, but what if it's a bigger issue than buying a new cord- and could he find a cord here and test it, he has and ACER laptop which I thought was probably a French brand because I'm only really familiar with Dell, HP and Mac, but it seems after a little online research that ACER's are available in the states. 

Everyday it seems, wind, drafts, laptop problems and dirty kitchens, I'm grateful I did this. I don't miss New York at all, it sounds dramatic, but I feel like I escaped. I was festering, uncertain where to go, when to move, and the stagnancy was doing my head in. I went to New York because I loved visiting and it seemed like a great way to get away from Boston, a perfect opportunity to get my MA in Art Education and an adventure of it's own. Over the years I imagined leaving, I plotted my departure for San Fran and then aborted that plan; on slow days at work I would waste hours looking at apartments on Craigslist in cities other than my own, wistfully imaging cheaper rent, outdoor space and more room. Ask anyone and they'll tell you I loved London best, it wasn't their charming accents nor the fish and chips, it was the living abroad. Naturally curious and independent, the experience suited me, and I find here, whether Valpo has ideal weather, or whether the city itself is well-suited to me (which I find it is), the experience again of living abroad is what I find most thrilling. I love the challenge of learning Spanish, of assimilating, of never feeling completely settled, of being an expat, discovering cultural differences; everyday offers new experiences. I'm lucky this opportunity came to fruition but even more lucky I'm not the type of person to let it pass by. 

Spanish yoga and mas abuelas

Finally made it to yoga class, so at least that was a success. Unfortunately I made it to yoga class for seniors. I kid you not, we spent 5 minutes opening our eyes as wide as we could and looking in each direction, right/left, up/down etc. we even held a finger in from of our faces and moved it back and forth starring at our digit. Not that I had the highest expectations in the world, and I do appreciate the fact that I ended up in the "adultos major" (older adult) class but I might mention that Life in Motion where I take- nay took yoga in New York had set the bar high. One of the things I really liked and now miss, about LIM was the fact that we started and ended each practice with chanting- my first class I found this a little strange, since by that point I had been practicing yoga for a few years on and off, and had never had chanting as part of the experience, but I soon found that it was a really great way to bookend your practice, and it sort of got everyone on the same page. Yoga, for me, is not a way to lose weight, or for exercise- stretching my limbs and getting (mentally) strong is certainly a part of it, but my purpose tends to fall more in an active meditation practice, and I love it. I also love that the last two weeks in New York I was working out at the gym a lot and lifting weights, so I was starting to be able to do really fun stuff; I've always been flexible, but rarely strong and I was hoping to continue where I left off. So imagine going to Spanish Yoga class, and discovering that all the yoga we were going to do that day, was going to be in the first 15 minutes of our 2 hour class. In hatha yoga you do a sort of routine, we did a sun salutation, downward dog and upward dog, for about 10 minutes and then we did a few push ups, sit ups, and then time for showers! I was totally confused, our yoga teacher, said I didn't have to take a shower, it was optional. Um, ok, well, I think today at least, I will opt out, since I didn't bring my shower sandals and all. I stayed on my mat and worked on crow pose, wondering if I went to the wall and did some head stands, if I would get in trouble, I likely wouldn't know what anyone was saying to me if I got shouted at, because so far all I really understood was cambio (change) and various body parts doing things to the left and the right, he kept telling us to do everything profundamente which I interpreted as profoundly but Sylvain told me later it meant deeply. Still I would probably be able to figure it out by the tone of their voice and any wild gesticulations that might accompany their anger. So I stayed on my mat and considered doing a wheel, but soon the ladies were back, and we did our corpse pose. Class over I figure- corpse pose is where you relax lying down on your back and empty your mind- after an hour + of difficult yoga practice, this feels great, but after 15 minutes of yoga warm up, and a shower, this felt all wrong. After corpse pose class did not end, we then had an HOUR of mind numbing stretching to get through- this would include the eye rolling section. Abuela next to me told me later that the  "mas fuerte" classes are in the afternoon, good to know.

After class I went to Jumbo, bought groceries and managed to find coconut milk- expensive but oh so worth it. I met Sylvain for lunch at his university and we ate at this place above the market that had cafeteria quality food for like $2 and change. The options were pescado frio and lasagna. The food was decent and there was a lot of it, but little would I know, I would soon be having my second lunch of the day in Spanish. When I got home the cleaning lady was over again- it didn't surprise me that she still had cleaning left to do, but she was cooking lunch again and we chatted about how I had just posted my new fliers around Sylvain's school as I was looking to get some extra tutoring work. She told me about a website and then invited me to eat with Sarah and her, I tried to tell her I had just eaten, fried fish no less, but she insisted I join them and I knew there would be no way of getting a way with having a "small" piece. So we ate and for the first hour, it was a great because I was speaking Spanish and understanding a lot of the conversation; by hour 2 I couldn't take anymore Spanish but was stuck because frankly I didn't really feel comfortable leaving my dish there, even though by this point I had come to understand that I wasn't going to be allowed to clean it. Hour two from what I could divine involved Sarah and Pauloma discussing the suckiness of Pauloma's baby daddy. I should mention that in Latin America, as Catholic as they are, marriage isn't really part of the story- it's not as in America where you have random baby daddies and baby mommas all over the place, they more or less hook up young and stay together, but either because it isn't deemed culturally or socially relevant or the cost of a wedding makes it impossible, you have more of the common law living situations. In this case Pauloma has been with this guy for 14 years, they have 3 kids and she has left him 5 times. Marriage certificate or not, we've all heard this story before, and they all more or less end the same... Sadly.

This photo is from the house across from ours; this cat is always sitting on the window sill looking in.

Alice from the Brady Bunch drops by

This morning I woke up around 8:30 to go to Yoga at 10, it would be my first time here in Valpo, and I had debated between going today on my own, or going tomorrow with Sylvain on his way to class. I felt like getting my week started out with yet another new experience in Valpo, but I had this uncertain feeling that the studio would be closed. So when it was, I wasn't too surprised or disappointed. The cleaning lady seemed to tell me tomorrow it would be open, but whatever she was telling me, was mostly gobbledy gook to my ears. There are times when I can have a very successful exchange in Spanish, and others when I don't understand any of what my interlocutor is saying to me. This was one of those mornings because afterwards I went to this store to buy some large envelopes as I needed to send my last Netflix DVD back to the states- I had planned on keeping my subscription so I could download videos here in Valpo, but they don't let you, so I cursed them and canceled my subscription- FYI hulu and my daily dose of The Daily Show are also under "access denied" status. Instead of asking for an envelope- an unfamiliar word for me, I had planned on asking for a paper for the post office- figuring that if in addition I showed the envelope the Netflix DVD came in she would get the picture; but I said ficha de correo, which means nothing- essentially "a date of post office" eventually she brought me a large padded manilla envelope and then we worked from there to just large enough white envelopes which cost $250, but I saw $2500 and tried to overpay by almost 5 dollars. It was not my day, but this place was strange, you got helped at a counter, behind which all the products live, then you had to go- without your item to the cashier, pay for it, and receive a receipt, which you then took to another desk where you picked up your bagged item. 

The Correo (post office) was another joke. I went in the other day and I literally walked up to the counter, which has never happened to me anywhere in America. Today there were 3 people in front of me, 3 old people. At most post offices there is an established queue, this one was roped off and you were meant to stand where the ropes ended. But this was not the case, all 3 old people were huddled up completely crowding the breathing space of old lady #4 trying to send a parcel somewhere to her granddaughter in Santiago probably. If I had had my camera with me, I would have taken a photo, if not a video to capture this scene, it was incredible. I have seen anxious customers hover, but this was unbelievable; not only because it was 3 people, but they were all short little pumpkin people. The parcel was taking a long time too, so it wasn't as if the line was moving much, finally the other desk became open and one of the biddies moved on, now there were just this old man and woman breathing down abuela's neck- literally keeping her warm with their body heat. They were touching her, if not gently jostling her- it didn't make any sense because you could tell the transaction wasn't even near over, abuela still had her crumpled money in her tiny fist. When grandpa moved on to the next window, the last old biddy figured her time was near and she literally moved in next abuela and put her hands on the counter next to her, as if they were sisters, together; but they weren't and when grandpa's transaction seemed to be going faster than abuela's she started moving around the girth of abuela to get to the other desk quick if it opened up first. It didn't and finally abuela's birthday parcel was sent and ready to arrive on Thursday. FYI it cost about $2 to send my Netflix DVD back to the states.

I came home and figured I'd just go for a jog, there is a lot going on in our neighborhood, and I wanted to check out what else I hadn't seen. Frankly there must be 20-30 hostels or bed and breakfast places within a half mile radius. I ran into a textile art place that was closed, but I will go back another time, and the Silver Jewelry place I saw my first night when Sylvain brought me to Pastis. The guy who makes the "joya" is Victor Hugo, self-taught and originally from Brasil, but has lived in Valpo for dozens of years. He works with lapis lazuli, amber etc, and has been to New York 4 times during the 90's. He was a handsome older man and we chatted for 10 minutes or so. His studio was right there in his house - he had turned a room in his small house into a studio/store, but it wasn't any bigger than some bathrooms I've been in, in the states.

When I got home I told Sylvain the kitchen was disgusting, and suggested he wash a few dishes. He figured, no, the cleaning lady was coming today. I said- but Sylvain, she doesn't come to wash our dishes and pick up after us- thats not the right attitude, she's not our slave- yup, I actually said that. But apparently I was wrong, because even Sarah who had had friends over last night, had a tray full of leftover food, and dirty dishes in the kitchen. It seemed to me like everyone but me had decided the last couple days that leaving their dirty dishes and food scraps out for the cleaning lady, was entirely appropriate. At first I just figured, well maybe she comes over and cleans for a few hours, and whatever she gets done, she gets done, but then I realized not only did she clean and wash everything in the kitchen and bathroom, but she made Sarah lunch... Well, apparently, she is paid well.

Here's a photo of the colorful shipping containers from the port when I visited the other day.

French People

Last night we were invited to go watch the futbol match between Chile and Venezuela with a group of 5 French Sylvain knows who live together. Valentin, Sylvain and I left around 8:30 to meet them at their apartment and we would go together on what would become a bit of a wild goose chase to find a bar called Liberty. On the way to Hadrien's flat (the French add a silly H to the name commonly known as Adrien), there was talk of this idea that shaving your face saps some of your energy, and makes you weaker. Early on in our relationship we had a bit of a face off between the idea that going outside with a wet head will give you a cold. While my mother often told me the same thing growing up, I had read IN BOOKS, legitimate and veritable sources told me that colds come from VIRUSES and not wet heads outside in cold temps. This confrontation had to be settled; neither of us would accede our position. I have no tolerance whatsoever for foolish wives tales as such and if Sylvain were American I would most certainly write him off as a hopeless cause and avoid social interaction with him henceforth; but as he is from France, I find these matters- golden opportunities to stockpile being right, and his ignorance, quaint and cute; like the way he pronounces midget, widget. So I called my friend Char who is one of the smartest people I know, and also happens to be a doctor, married to a doctor. I asked her, she affirmed I would be the one with all the bragging rights on this issue, and to confirm, I made her get a second opinion from her husband. Today's modern medicine puts me up 1, France nil. 

So the other morning I tell Sylvain, kissing is out of the question until he shaves, lest my face become victim to a sandpaper attack. He insisted upon putting it off until the evening because he was going boxing and wanted his energy. Imagine my perplexity; excuse me, some explanation needed here novio. Apparently, against all sense common or otherwise, he believes along with his compatriot Valentin (who at this point might just be siding with France, rather than logic, it's too early to tell; the French are naturally suspicious people and I am still too foreign to start taking sides with) that shaving saps your energy, as your nerve endings are close to the skin and - well the rest is impossible to tell me because he can't explain in English. But of course. He promises to give me a more definitive answer after he speaks with his friend (who is a "real" doctor, and by "real" I mean student doctor) because obviously my resource is compromised, her being a friend of MINE, she would naturally have the same hesitation positioning herself with anyone but her compatriot and childhood best friend.

So today Sylvain woke up with a cold which worked out well because I had planned to make chicken soup today anyway. Around 3pm we went down the hill to call our families neither of whom were home to answer; and I also needed some carrots for the soup, which Lider didn't have so I ended up buying from a guy with produce in a truck outside our house. It's quiet in Valpo on Saturday and Sunday, which frankly works for me, I'm happy to tuck into a good book and cook. This whole cooking thing in Valpo is pissing me off a little more than I had anticipated. Imagine, carrots, the staple of any vegetable cooking and eating; imagine just not having them available. Cream! How do I cook French food, without cream! Does anyone know a substitute for cream? Should I get a cow and milk her? 

Last night we came home from the Futbol game a little early; I enjoy soccer, and the family who owns the place had just sat down to eat and were sneaking us samples of their mussels, fried fish, seafood soup and pisco sour frappes, but what can I say, 6 French teenagers just wasn't my crowd. I could probably handle two. Sylvain is always really accommodating and knew I was ready to go, he finished his beer and said his goodbyes. I'm sure to a gaggle of 19 year old French I am either a grandma, or totally uncool, but this is my burden to cast off and get over. On our walk home it was drizzling softly and we had a dog follow us up our hill and seemingly anticipated he was going to be joining us curled up at the foot of the bed this night. I absolutely love dogs (medium-large, in my opinion small dogs are worthless and for my money they'd be better off as cats) and it has been particularly hard on me having to leave my Manny in New York; and last night, it was particularly difficult putting this dogs "street" qualities aside, not to at least imagine allowing him to follow us inside on this unpleasant evening. I knew it would never fly, the streets are rife with dogs and this one was no different- dirty. Still. in order for us to get inside without him sneaking in between our legs I had to walk down the block with him nipping at my heels and then with my heart breaking at my cold-hearted fake-out, sprint back to our door before he could catch me and then slam the door in his little doggy face. 

This photo is from Plaza Sotomayor, the square I mentioned in a blog a few days ago. The Valpo's are really proud of this, they're Navy Building. It's also just a block or two from the Liberty Bar where we watched the futbol match.