Oh, Life with your colorful surprises

a mediocre samaritan

2011-09-28T06:52:00.000-07:00

We don't know what to do with a strong victim. We want victims to be pitiable -- their mistakes are in their past and they are vulnerable and limp. We love to pity them, to tell sob stories, and we want them to grovel in gratitude, accept each gift as a gem of generosity while their own wants and desires take sabbatical.

But a strong person who is down and out? Someone who is still in the process of making mistakes and who dares to make demands of their destiny? They are arrogant. Ungrateful. Need to learn a lesson the hard way. Because we fail to remember that amidst crisis and chaos, each of us is still human with our human flaws, which might even be magnified by extreme circumstances. And how terribly critical that we love because of and despite these flaws.

That always kind of bothered me about the story of the Good Samaritan. Our victim appears flawless. He was just minding his own business when out of nowhere these bad people attacked him and left him limp and helpless on the side of the road. And when the Samaritan finally stopped to help, he was probably spewing gratitude and humility.

Thats not the story I see in real life. I imagine the man was maybe provoking the robbers. Maybe he had been gambling with them earlier and didn't pay all that he owed. Maybe he was flaunting his new camel. Maybe he hit them back when they attacked. However it happened, he probably began to get bitter about all the people passing him by, treating him like roadkill. He may have even ventured to make a request of the kindly Samaritan when he stopped by. "Will you help me file a report against those guys?" "Hey, do you have a cell phone? I need to call my neice to tell her I won't be there tomorrow." "Listen, I've got these lotto tickets, can you check the numbers for me?"

I don't know, maybe he was limp and blameless, but that's unfair to expect every "victim" to be. Let's be good neighbors to the strong ones too.

ok.

2011-09-13T15:26:00.000-07:00

It is never ok to harm a child. Let me start this post with that statement.

But whether or not something is 'ok' is rarely really the question. At my job it's almost like living with our 'clients' -- to the extent that I have to put the words 'clients' in little '' marks. You want a holistic approach to issues of homelessness and poverty? Try becoming roommates with them. Ok, so we're not really roommates, and I actually have much better boundaries than that. But the point is that we're involved in our residents' lives a lot more than other agencies might be. And it's beautiful. And sometimes it's really ugly. Like when one of the kids comes into the office while I'm on shift to tell me that her mom uses her cell phone charger for giving her lashes on her arms and legs. Oh yeah, and that she wants to steal money from her mom's purse so she can go as far away as she can get in a taxi and never look back.

If I were sitting in class reading some article about child abuse, it wouldn't take me very long to get worked up to a rage, and make bold statements about "that's the problem with society today" in regards to people who hit other people (whether those people are small or big).

But when that person is sharing the house I work in, I find myself feeling much more sad than angry.

People don't hit their kids (or other people) because they're mad or because they have an anger problem. In my experience (brief as it is), people hit their kids because they're frustrated and don't know what else to do. They work day in and day out filling out paperwork, signing here, initialing there, waiting behind this yellow line, please holding on the phone for hours on end, calling back during business hours... ALL DAY. And then their kids come home from school and they STILL need more. They need to be played with. They need individual time. They need family time. They need space to vent. They need someone to listen to them. They need someone to listen to. They need someone to read with. They need forgiveness. They need to learn from life. They just need and need and need. And you're giving and giving and giving and they're insatiable and then the ungrateful little twit chooses to play with his transformers instead of clean up his pile of school stuff from the floor like you asked him to 10 minutes ago and he whines when you tell him to carry his weight around here and that's it.

You slap them because that's the only way you can see to get their attention and because you need to move on with your life. You have much more important things to worry about than whether or not it's fair that their brother ate the last of the cereal or who broke the lead on whose pencil. You are taking care of everyone and nobody is taking care of you.

And that is why you hit your kids.

That conversation with the mom who was hitting her kids was among the more humbling experiences in my life. The Posada rules explicitly state that there is to be no hitting at all, but approaching this mother of a whole litter of kids who has fled domestic violence, homelessness, and hunger to tell her how to better discipline her kids was a little bit daunting.

She was crying out for help -- quite literally. What do I do? Catie, help me. Everything in my life is out of my control.

Yeah.

I'm not saying it's ok, but I'm just saying.

Home?

2011-08-17T17:59:00.000-07:00

I went to Mobile Loaves and Fishes earlier this week to hear the founder talk about his vision and the wisdom he has picked up along his life-long career path with this group. Although much of their work is bringing sustenance and basic necessities to people living on the streets, their core mission is to end the root causes of homelessness. And what are the root causes of homelessness?

I went to school for social work, so we talked about these kinds of things quite a bit. Unfair housing policies, racial discrimination, disability, lack of affordable housing, barriers to work, lack of a living wage... These have all been cited as causes of homelessness, and with good reason. But the perspective I heard this past week looks a little deeper and does what we don't want to do, which is stop pointing fingers at the external "them", and instead points a little closer to the self.

To think about homelessness, he says, we must first think about what a home is. More than a building, it is a place of belonging and purpose. He had a whole list of 7 characteristics of a home or something, but I can't remember them. But basically it comes down to Family, and the rapid dissmination of Family. In an ideal world, people take care of people, just like families do. If my brother were to suddenly lose his job and everything he had, neither I nor my parents would think twice about taking him and his wife into our homes, giving him what he needed, and helping him become more stable. Why is it, then, that there are hundreds of thousands of people and families who experience a similar situation but have nowhere to go but to the streets or to a crowded shelter?

When talking about welfare or poverty or homelessness, the word burden always seems to come up. We talk about not wanting to be a burden on our family, or people being a burden on the government/tax payers, and we don't take people into our homes because it would be such a burden to have to see to a stranger's needs in addition to our own. And why not? I know I wouldn't want to be a burden on my family if all of a sudden I was totally incapacitated, and I certainly wouldn't want a stranger to have to pay for my existence. I want to be independent, self-sufficient, and responsible for my own wellbeing or suffering. That's what I've been brought up to value.

But somewhere deep down beneath the rugged individualistic exterior of modern Americans lies the profound understanding that we are inevitably and intricately connected to our fellow human beings. We need each other.

Yeah, of course we need each other. Everyone knows we need family and we need community to have a shared sense of purpose, blah blah blah... We can all spout it off. But do we really believe it?

The women that come into the shelter I'm working at are there because they have nobody. Often times their families are still in Mexico or whichever other country they came from, and they find themselves isolated in a new and hostile place with nobody that will treat them like family should. When they're hungry, they had better work for the money to put food in their mouths. When they're lonely, they are given charity. What I love about Posada Esperanza is that we don't just give our residents a tangible shelter, we are really dedicated to promoting social support and empowerment. These ladies often become each other's family, and even though as far as most of us would see they have next to nothing, they have so much to give one another. We welcome them like a family would.

But we can only take so many. There are far more lonely people than there is shelter for in wonderful non-profits like Posada. The symptoms we're seeing at present will only continue to be exasterbated as long as we continue treating our brothers and sisters as if they were not family. I have this really shiny optimistic idea that in every community exists the perfect ratio of need to resource, and that it is just a matter of the pieces finding one another. If I am only looking at my need or at my resources, I will never know the missing piece that might be living right next door. Our community is our family.

This whole idea has shaken me up on so many levels -- more than I can really go into. What does this mean for the church? And for me, as a daughter/sister who has uprooted to a new city? To my immediate 'family' of friends here in Austin who are all transitory and unrooted? I know that I am afraid of making roots -- that choosing to settle in one place/on one thing means I am rejecting so many others. But I am more convinced than ever that roots are truly and really good.

Trying on poverty

2011-08-01T20:18:00.000-07:00

AmeriCorps is the domestic version of Peace Corps, with the idea that you give a year of your life to the service of those in need in America. Corps members are placed in a variety of already existing agencies that are serving their communities, and AmeriCorps supports them by a) providing a worker b) giving that worker professional development c) forming and supporting a team of Corps members in clusters of related placements. It's very much designed to be a learning experience, and I sort of feel like I'm embarking into a 5th year of school -- a victory lap that takes me out of the classroom entirely and offers a small sample of what it is like to be a working woman earning working wages. A very small sample, mind you.

While a part of me is grumbling and griping about the unbalanced values that such a pay scale represents (my peers who graduated with engineering or business degrees can reasonably expect salaries at least 6x the amount of mine for this year), there is another part of me that recognizes the valuable learning experience written into such a system. I am working with people who are very poor, people for whom the question isn't whether they can afford to go on vacation this Christmas break, but rather whether they can afford to pay for rent and air conditioning this summer. This low pay puts me that much closer to understanding the position that these people with whom I will be working operate from daily.

I haven't written in this blog since I was out of the country (or rather, recently returned, I suppose), but I feel the need to make some sort of record of this experience, more so for myself to reflect on the experience and through the ghost of this text hold my future self accountable to the insight and growth that will come of this year. My previous entries were written with an audience in mind, and always with the compelling desire to elicit feedback from that audience. This is a bit different, although I certainly don't discourage feedback.

The plight of the poor today is a sneaky punishment; it is the curse of waiting. The residents at my job are all actively pursuing stability in those sacred realms of employment, housing, legal issues, and food security, but this activity doesn't quite look like you might expect. They have to wait on papers to arrive. They wait for the bus to arrive. They wait for a phone call. They wait their turn in line. They wait to save up enough money. They wait until they have someone to take care of their kids. They wait until they find work. They wait until the next paycheck. They wait for the benefits to arrive. The wait for data entry errors to be corrected in the system. They wait to be admitted into this place where I work where we help them with all this waiting.

I will be eligible for Food Stamps (or, as they're called these days, SNAP benefits) with this job, so today after work I drove to the library to print out an application -- because I'm lucky enough to have a car that takes me places when I want it to. I went inside and had to ask about seven dozen questions to figure out how to get on the electronic que for a computer. At home my wait is only as long as it takes for my laptop to start up once it's opened (a duration that has been known to draw curses from pursed lips on more than a few occasions), but at the library the four computers (which you're allowed to use for a whopping 15 minutes) cost a mere 15 or 20 minute wait while your fellow patrons watch and re-watch the "Sexy Abz Workout" video on YouTube. The internet is slow. The sign tells you you get 15 minutes, but by the time you're logged on the small yellow box in the bottom corner tells you you have 12 minutes remaining before you will be logged off and all your work erased. Sparing the rest of the details, it takes me almost an hour and $2.50 and then finally I'm on my way home with my 12 pages of printed SNAP application.

As if to drive home the point, I had to wait through 3 cycles at the traffic light just outside the library before I could turn left and be on my way home.

I've lost count of the number of times I've heard reference to the laziness of the poor, upon whose dimpled shoulders our country's wellbeing rests. They just sit around all day. What do people do when they don't have work? Their poor kids are just so bored. Couldn't they do something productive instead of just lounge around? They don't have a job because they're irresponsible and always late. If they're so poor then why are they so overweight?

The list goes on.

There's something that can't be understood about the experience of any person just by peering into their lives from one's own distant steeple. In the same way that it would be false to assume that the wealthy are happy because they can buy ease and comfort, it is false to assume that the poor are dysfunctional or lazy. (It is equally false to assume that they must either be fully broken or fully altruistic. It is often the most visibly unfortunate who are denied the right to make mistakes and to be flawed. But let's not get carried away on yet another rabbit chase.)

Actually, speaking of rabbit chases, I see one that looks especially worth following.

When strangers peer into my life, they seem to find a particular word tattoed across my existence, and its relentless repeition has started to make me nauseous. "You're so noble." Noble, really?

An excerpt from dictionary.com :
"of, belonging to, or constituting a hereditary class that has special social or political status in a country or state; of or pertaining to the aristocracy."

First of all, social workers are most certainly not members of a special social or political class within American aristocracy. Rather, we're called noble for our willingness to work low paying, thankless jobs and to advocate for the rights and wellbeing of the people we work with. Being a compassionate worker who cares more about people than about money makes us a special breed of humans -- or so I'm told. But noble? I'm just following the only thing that I know to be true and good and to which I can devote my time and efforts.

Enough on that. And enough for today. I'll ramble more another day.

Home again, home again, jiggidy jig.

2009-08-03T12:48:00.000-07:00

I'm home, in East Texas where it's not certain whether the air is thicker with humidity or with mosquitos, where coffee drips from Mr. Coffee machines, and where the night air smells like falling in love. I wake up thinking I'm in Chile, start speaking in Spanish without realizing it, and continually forget that I can flush my toilet paper. And now I'm going to try to write a condensed run-down of the last leg of our trip.

In my last post I said we were going to Copacabana to spend the night. Well, that didn't end up happening. We got to the border after 3 hours in a bus, only to find out that Americans have to pay a $135 reciprocity fee each to cross the border, which was at least 4 times the amount of money we would have spent between the two of us to spend the night there. We stood our ground and argued in hopes that they might just let us slide under the radar, and the officer did offer us a shady deal where we would each only pay $50 each, but it was still too much, so with our heads hung low we walked back to the Peruvian side of the border, bought some potato chips and oreos, and waited pitifully for the bus to take us back to Puno. By this point we had already become bored with Puno, as there is really very little to do there other than depart for Lake Titicaca, which we had already done. But our mishap with Bolivia left us with another day and a half to kill in Puno. We found a cheaper hotel closer to the center, explored a little, and did everything we could think of to kill time, including watching The Patriot and Evan Almighty on tv. I am normally totally opposed to drowning out the real world in TV, but we were so numbed by our boredom that all we wanted was to forget the cold, forget Peru, and forget money. So we did. A full night's sleep helped restore our optimism the next day, and we happily spent the day wandering, exploring, talking about everything and nothing, buying silly hats, drinking coffee, and so forth.

the following night we borded the bus from Puno to Tacna, supposedly a 11 hour bus ride. However, when I woke up at 3am, the bus was not moving and there was ice on the windows. We were on top of a mountain, stuck in the snow. All the peruvians on the bus were prepared for the cold and had blankets draped over them, but Molly and I just had our coats. We tried spooning for warmth in the bus seats, but that was for the most part a failure. When the sun started to come out men began to get out in the snow to try to free the bus wheels. We would move a few meters, get stuck again, and then sit still for a while. They did not turn the heater on in the bus. This went on for nearly 6 hours before we finally gained momentum and started descending. In the end, the 11 hour bus ride turned into a 19 hour bus ride, putting us in Tacna without time to buy souveneirs like we had planned, or to eat -- which we hadn't really done in a while seeing as how we were trapped on a bus. So instead of eating or shopping we hurriedly paid way too much money (all the money we had left, in fact) for a taxi to the airport. However, when we got to the airport at 6:15 for our supposedly 7:40 flight, there was NOBODY there except for one security guard. "You here for the flight that leaves tomorrow morning?" he asked us. "Why no, we're here for the flight that leaves in an hour in a half" we told him. Turns out, there were no flights that day at all. You see, I thought I had bought tickets for the night of the 27th, but somehow I actually bought them for the morning of the 28th. We were 13 hours early for our flight, with no money, and no way to get any money. We were stuck. The security guard told us there was a flight at 1:30am for Santiago that we could maybe get on, so we crossed our fingers and waited. To kill time we bathed in the bathroom sinks, brushed up on our swing dance moves, experimented with new hair styles, and other such silliness that can only be done when one is alone in an empty airport. Thanks to God we were able to get on the 1:30am flight, so at last we were on our way home. Back at the Santiago airport we had to wait 3 hours for a bus to take us to the bus terminal so we could go to Valpo, so we finally got there at 8:30am.

Arriving in Valpo was one of the wordlessly best moments I have ever experienced in my life. The sunshine, the smells, the dogs -- it all smelled like home. After all our mishaps, francisco's smiling face and everything else about Valpo that makes it home quenched all our thirst, satisfied our hunger, and even temporarily made us forget our sleepiness. It was a perfect day, my skin tingling under the hot sun and the cool ocean air. We dumped our things in Francisco's room (which he had so kindly donated for our unpacking, packing, and sleeping purposes) and had a cup of coffee, and I nearly cried for happiness. I was home. I was with my family. We hugged MariaPaz, her mom, her dad, her dog.

We spent the next day or two doing all our "lasts" -- buying last gifts, taking last pictures, visiting friends for the last time... Wednesday night we had a despedida (going away party) with several of the friends we met here. I was kind of worried that it would be lame, since several of our friends couldn't make it, but at the last minute the guys from the tuna decided to come, and it was beautiful to see these friends from different places that we had met over the past 6 months all together, laughing and singing and sharing together. Fracisco's family offered to let the tunos stay at their house, so we all stayed up until 4:30am, not wanting this "last" to end. Thursday Molly and MariaPaz and I went for one last walk through Valpo, and finally we loaded our massive suitcases into the car and headed for Santiago. Francisco, Karenth, Jeisy, Marco, Julio, and Pipe all came to wave goodbye as we disappeared into the airport. We walked slowly, pulling the moment out as long as possible. I thought I was ready to leave until it came time to actually leave. But we had to, and next thing I knew we were on the airplane, surrounded by Texans. It was almost more than I could take -- the english, the texas twang, the burnt orange t-shirts... I wasn't expecting to be immersed in Texas so quickly. Then 1o hours later, there I was, we walked into the wall of humidity that waited for us outside the plane, and then into the arms of our loved ones.

So that's how it went down. We're out of South America, not quite sure when I'll be back, although I am certain it will be soon. It's hard to adjust to being here, but I am happy. Summers in Nacogdoches always fill me with an almost tangible excitement for the magic that can fill even the nothingness, like fireflies ascending into the black above.

Thank you for those of you who stayed with me all these months, it has been a great comfort to know that I was not traveling alone. For those who have followed and not commented, now is your chance to do so. ;)

Besitos y abrazos a todos,
Catie

Transportation strike and floating islands

2009-07-25T04:54:00.000-07:00

This will be brief.

We ended up spending 4 days instead of 2 in Cuzco due to the transportation system being on strike. It really sucked for one day, then God sent us some Chilean friends at the hostel to hang out with and play Power Uno with, which was fantastic. Wednesday we visited some more ruins and then rode horses, watched a weird native dance show, then got our things ready to leave. The bus from Cuzco to Puno was delayed for 2 hours because 18 of the seats had been sold twice, first to Peruvians then to foreigners, and the Peruvians were the ones who weren´t being let on. They were outside the bus yelling, hitting the doors, pointing fingers, and waving their tickets in the air for nearly two hours, and the person whose fault it was was nowhere to be found. So the foreigners on the bus griped about the Peruvians, the Peruvians griped about the foreigners, and eventually it was resolved and we all made it to Puno, albeit 2 hours late.

Puno and Lake Titicaca are very very cold, due to the high altitude and the fact that the water keeps things chilly. We killed some time at a hotel in Puno before departing at 9am in our tour boat for the famous floating islands. It was weird to be in a tour, since we are so used to doing everything on our own, trying to be the least touristy tourists possible. But in this case we had to be tourists, we had to listen to our guide give overly-animated explanations of everything, take pictures from our cushy seats in the boat. And it was good. The floating islands were really cool, very interesting. Amazing to think that people live on islands made of reeds, that their daily life happens there. From there we went to Amantaní, a non-floating island where we spent that night. We stayed with host families because there are no hotels on this island. I can´t really write in much detail about all we did there due to time limitations... but it was awesome and weird and cold and delicious.

The next day we boated over to the island Taquile, which was also beautiful and slightly less exciting, mostly because we were tired from traveling. Made it back to Puno that afternoon, and had a lovely evening of doing very little. That included me going to bed at 9pm.

**side note -- some sheep just walked past the window outside, bleeting and baah-ing vehemently.**

Today we´re going to Copacabana (which is on the Bolivian side of Lake Titicaca), hopefully to hang out on Isla del Sol and Isla de la Luna, and we´ll spend the night there. Sunday afternoon back to Puno, kill time there, then overnight bus to Tacna. In the afternoon we take a taxi from Tacna to Arica, and at 7:40 fly from Arica to Santiago, then hopefully catch the last bus from Santiago to Valparaiso. Then FINALLY, we´ll be in Chile, in Francisco´s house, snuggled up with Maria Paz, eating empanadas de manzana. Yessssssssssssssssss.....

We´re ready to be back.. tired from traveling, but doing all we can to enjoy every minute of this part of the trip. Today in Bolivia and Peru. 2 days to Chile. 7 days to Texas.

bah

2009-07-20T10:52:00.000-07:00

just a short update...

we´re leaving Cuzco today, thank God. It´s touristville and wearing me out. I feel like everything is a ploy to rip me off and charge me too much for something because my skin is white. We bought "tourist passes" that are supposed to get us into all the cool sites, but they it only includes a few, most of which are too far away or not worth seeing. We did use the pass to see some ruins and one (lame) muesum... Hopefully today we´re going to hike to some other ruins on top of a mountain. It´s beautiful here, but i don´t like this overwhelming feeling of touristy-ness. To be honest, I´m homesick for Chile. I think we both are. I want to be in Maria Paz´s house, making Pisco Sour, watching movies, laughing at everything and at nothing. We actually tried to see if we could move our flight to Santiago up to 3 or 4 days earlier, but we can´t. So we´re pushing through, hanging on to hope that God has a plan for this... there´s a reason we´re here for 7 more days... Not sure what it is yet. But I´m glad we´re getting out of Cuzco.

Tonight we´ll take an overnight bus to Puno, and after arriving at 6am we´ll take a boat to visit 3 of the famous floating islands on Lake Titicaca, spending the night on the third one with a family in their house, where they will cook us "typical" dinner and breakfast, and we´ll get to hang out at some kind of festival or celebration or dance party or something. I think it will be sweet. We went ahead and planned this all out with a tourist agency, so we dont have to think about making plans for the next couple of days, they´re already done and paid for. ($50 usd for the 9 hour bus to puno, the boat rides to all islands, lunch, dinner, breakfast, and the boat ride back to the mainland the next day. ) From there we´ll chill around Lake Titicaca for a while, or maybe head over to La Paz. Not sure. Please pray for our plans... that our homesickness won´t blind us to what´s in store for this week.

That´s all for now. I´m going to try to find some ice cream to make me feel better.

Cuzco, Peru

2009-07-18T08:11:00.000-07:00

Cabana was amazing, restorative, and requires way more thought and care in writing about it than i have time or patience for right now. But just know it was perfect in every way.
Friday afternoon we had bought tickets for the 3 o´clock combi to Puquio, but didn´t get around to leaving until about 40 minutes later because that time was spent trying to get everyone to fit, but mostly arguing about whose fault it was that we were trying to fit 22 instead of the customary 18 passengers in the 15-passenger van. Finally some sort of agreement was reached, and we took off, myself plastered against the window by a dozing old man and Molly sitting precariously on half of her butt in the front of the bus. Then along the way we picked up one more old man from the side of the road. The trip was long, and there was no chance of changing positions, but the scenery was more than enough to distract me from all of that. we dipped in and out of valley after valley, passing ancient chacras and roaming llamas with colorful tags hanging from curious ears. We arrived in Puquio after dark, with very little certainty that we would find a bus to Cuzco, but full of hope. The lady at the bus station told me the first 4 were all full, and all that was left were the cama style tickets (bed) that cost 130 soles (about $43). This is outrageously expensive for Peru, and I didn´t like her attitude, so we headed out hoping that there might be other options. Around the corner, on the less pretty side of the street, was the bus terminal that peruvians leave from. They had tickets for 40 soles each (about $13), which was much better. just as we were about to pay, the electricity went out and stayed out until after we left. But Peruvians are always ready, and pulled out their little candles to light up everything form the bus terminal desk to the chicha vendors on the street to the restaurant down the street where we got some bread and cheese and tea.
As soon as we started loading onto the bus we knew it would be a different kind of adventure -- people were crowding the entrance, pushing and shoving to get to the door, to sell tea or bread to the passengers, to try to sell tickets, to try to get on for cheap... then as we found our way to our seats we were pushed and shoved from side to side, overwhelmed by the smell of urine. A man came walking down the aisle after a little while looking for excuses to kick or talk down to the people on the bus, whether for carrying alcohol on with them, for smelling like llamas, or other things that i didnt understand. After an unfortunate incident with the bathroom on board, we took our sleepy pills, hugged our valuables close, and eventually fell asleep between the snakey curves of the mountainous roads. i woke around 5, just in time to watch the sunrise over the andes outside the window, which was beautiful. we started descending into Cuzco around 7, and it was nothing like what i expected. not that i´m really sure what it is i was expecting... I think the only image i had of Cuzco was from the Motorcycle Diaries when that little boy is taking them on a tour if the city, telling the stories behiind the massive rocks laid so perfectly by the Inkas hundreds of years ago. i´m not sure what to make of Cuzco yet... it´s beautiful in a very unique way, and we´ve so far only been in the touristy section. Our hotel is about $7 each a night, which is a little more than I wanted to pay, but the hostel owner is incredibly sweet, as are her two dogs and cat that wander around the patio making friends with the guests. We´ve been wanding around a bit, looking for places less touristy that wont completely rip us off... You can rest assured that anything catered to gringos (clean, tidy, prices nicely marked, lots of space, no garbage on the floor) will charge you double for anything -- food, stuff....
Sooo... not really sure what we´re doing here. Not going to do Machu Picchu this trip for several reasons (but that just means i´ll have to come back some day) and we´re trying to travel really cheaply... which is hard to do here. Hopefully some camping in the Sacred Valley is in our future, and visits to other ruins that are closer by and cheaper. Then maybe on to Lake Titicaca, although I´ve heard its freakishly cold there.
Thats about it... spent too much time interneting already. Ready to go explore some more. Love to all, keep your comments coming.

2009-07-15T10:52:00.000-07:00

blogger is letting me down. see facebook for real blogs.

in this episode: octopus, R2D2, and shady bus ticket deals

2009-07-11T08:45:00.000-07:00

My first blog from Peru.

I left Santiago on a plane yesterday morning and arrived 3 short hours later in Arica, the northernmost city in Chile. It was amazing, like out of a dream. The tan sand and the pale blue sky approach each other towards the infinity of the horizon, only distrubed by the black rocks of the coast to one side. I expected R2D2 to come out from behind a rock at any moment. We took a taxi from there to cross the border, the driver was very helpful in telling us what to do and what not to do. Crossing the border was kind of a joke -- we filled out some paper, put our backpacks through a scanner (although i´m quite certain they didnt even look at the scren as they went through) then went on our way. In the place where we changed our chilean pesos to peruvian soles I felt all the warnings i´ve heard about how dangerous Peru is for the past month whirling through my mind, magnified by dozens of pairs of eyes focused on my gringa-ness. i just knew that at any minute i would be pickpocketed or assaulted or something. but none of these things happened. When we went to buy the bus tickets, the man standing outside the office said he could cut us a deal, and not quite sure what we were agreeing to we got the tickets. we got them for 30 soles less than we had thought, which he reminded us to thank him for with a propina (tip) later. only slightly shady. so we went exploring and to find food in the centro, stopping at a small restaurant recommended by our taxi driver. we ordered something whose name we didnt recognize, hoping for our taste buds to be welcomed to the typical flavors of Peru. Turns out we ordered some kind of seafood soup with octopus. The waiter asked if that´s really what we wanted, and in the spirit of adventures we shrugged our shoulders and said "sure". much to our delight, it was delicious, and we had a good laugh at the ridiculousness of us eating octopus in Peru. The waiter was eager to answer our questions about Peru, explaining the statues and fountains out in the plaza, even throwing in a bit of Peruvian history.

Back at the bus station we had bit of a scare when we thought Molly had lost her wallet (complete with all her money, credit cards, and bus ticket), but we realized after much cursing and almost-tears that it was, in fact, wedged between her butt and backpack. See molly´s blog for a more detailed description. http://blogitademollita.blogspot.com

the 13 hour bus ride was not bad at all, except that my ears have still not popped and the adjustment to pressure is causing them to hurt. but no tummy problems, the octopus went down well. we have been blessed already with several people who are looking out for us... The taxi driver, the guy sitting in front of us on the bus who we chatted with, the lady behind us on the bus who loaned us her sweater to use as a blanket as we slept, and the woman in Nasca who helped get us to the centro and point us in the direction of a hostel. God is looking after us, and my stomach is filled with butterflies and re-remembering this sensation Chile was the unknown, when we didn´t know what "alfajores" were, or couldnt understand the chliean accent. Now several people here have asked if we ourselves are Chilean. I´m loving this country, and am excited to get to know it more. AAAAAND i´m excited that tomorrow we´re going to see KIM!!!! it will be a sweet reunion.

so, for now we´re going in search of some food and adventure, then resting up before another day of travel tomorrow.
please comment to let me know we´re not traveling alone!!! i love bringing you guys along with me everywhere i go.

much much love,
catie

on the road again, and in the air

2009-07-09T13:03:00.000-07:00

the churning stomach, the scattered brain, the sleepless nights. it's travel time again.

no matter how much i travel, each time my departure is preceeded by an interlude of anxiousness that takes various forms. this week has flown by, filled with final preparations and the first of a large collection of goodbyes. molly's family arrived last saturday, so our preliminary goodbyes have been accompanied by a whirwind of hello's for them. Francisco was in town all last week up until tuesday, so we were cramming in as much Fancy Francy time as we could -- going out for coffee, cooking, sleeping over to watch movies all night. molly and i have truly become members of his family, and i couldn't be happier to count myself as a sister and daughter to these wonderful people. it really is an amazingly wonderful thing to have all the families i have -- my parents, my host mom here in chile, francisco's family, molly's family, maya's family, and the list goes on. i am truly very loved. **contented sigh**

yesterday i went to a nearby beach town to meet up with a couple of the men-in-tights friends for the day to say our final goodbyes. We played with star fish and other curious sea creatures in the tide pools until the grand finale played by the sun in its glorious descent into the ocean. We walked along the rocky beach, steered by the beating winds, until the last hue of orange faded into a deep navy abyss. by the time the stars were filling the sky we had walked to the next town down the road, and laid on the edge of a cliff by the ocean to look at the stars, sharing stories about the imaginary games we used to play as little kids. it was perfect and relaxing and for a few hours my anxiousness subsided into peaceful bliss. we ate pie and talked about everything -- but mostly about God and about Love -- until the wee hours of the night, and I felt as if I were hanging out with old friends rather than with two guys I had only spent time with 5 or 6 times and all in the past couple of months.

so here's the plan, or at least, the vague idea we have as to what we might be doing for the next 3 weeks.

*Friday - fly from Santiago to Arica (the northernmost city in Chile) and take a taxi from there to Tacna, the border city on the Peru side. Then hopefully find a bus to Nazca.
* hang out in Nazca for a day or two or however long seems right
*take some combis and busses and who knows what else through the mountains until we arrive in Cabana with KIMMELA!!!!
*hang out, laugh a lot, love life, love Kim.
*mozy on over in the direction of Cuzco
*maybe go to Lake Titicaca?
*maybe go to La Paz?
*keep on loving life
*make it back to Arica on July 27, fly from there back to Santiago
*hang out in Valpo with MariaPaz for a couple of days, have a despedida with all our friends
*july 30 our plane leaves Santiago in the night, arrive in Dallas early the next morning, July 31.
*hug my family.
*eat mexican food.

i'll be in nac for a week or so, then austin, maybe dallas, maybe nac again... who knows. i'm all chilean when it comes to making plans, it would seem.

and there you have it: a very scattered and only minorly interesting last blog before I leave Chile and head into Peru. Keep us in your prayers for traveling safety, protection from bichos, that we would be attentive to what God's itinerary is for us, and for new adventures. i will have much more limited access to all modes of communication, but it is so refreshing when traveling to read messages from home when i do get a chance to do so. so please, comment away.

questions

2009-06-25T19:48:00.001-07:00

i'm going to give a semi-chronological update on what's been going down the past week or so. it's been a while since i've done that.

last week was the most intense week of schoolage i've experienced quite possibly ever. thursday i spent literally ALL day doing school things -- from waking up early to study before going to class to take a test, until staying up until 2am working on a paper that night. i think i started to go crazy. does hugging the kettle make me crazy? or just cold from moving very little from my tiny desk...
i had to get away. i had to not do school things. i needed... you guessed it, nature.
so friday night we were going to go to church before heading out of town, but it turns out that everyone except molly, myself, and two other guys got the memo that church had been cancelled on account of the rain. no church because of the rain? yep, you heard me right. they're serious about staying dry here. i mean, the poorly designed streets turn into rapidly rushing rivers with the rain, meaning getting on a micro involves wading through frigid, muddy puddles. all that to say, since there wasn't any church, we went walking in the rain with the two other guys who had been left out of the memo. turns out they were exceedingly interesting, and for the following several hours we talked about everything from linguistic psychology to jesus-changed-my-life stories, we munched on slightly soggy cookies while seated on the beach in the rain, and all-in-all enjoyed aimless wandering in the seemingly ceaseless rain.

we already had our bus tickets for the 10:30 bus to santiago, so we arrived around midnight and stayed at our friend's house that night. Saturday was spent mostly galavanting all across Santiago before we finally made it to our destination, Cajon de Maipo. It is a small town in the foothills of the Andes, where snow-peaked mountain tops line the horizon. we thought we had a cabin reserved, but it turned out to be a swanky hotel. most gloriously of all, it had a heater!!! winter as arrived in full force here, but chileans don't really do heaters, so i hadn't really been warm in a very long time. needless to say, molly and i cranked up the heat in our room almost as high as it would go....
once we had been thoroughly heated all the way through, we ventured back out into the damp cold to have an asado (bbq) in the dark. i can't possibly imagine why we were the only people there cooking out in the cold, damp darkness......... anyhow, we shared conversation, peanuts, and chunks of meat that we ate with our bare hands straight off the fire, then retreated back to the heated room. the friends who we went with are in a tuna, which is an organism far too complicated for me to fully explain here -- largely because i don't fully understand them. but in summary, it's a several-hundred-year-old tradition of university students who play music and travel together to earn money to help pay for their living expenses while they're living. and they usually wear funny rennaisance costumes. yes, it's the men in tights from february!!! (for those faithful readers out there who have been keeping up with this blog all along) once back in the room they serenaded us with all manner of music and merriment for hours upon end.

but the real reason we had come was for the stars... so put on as many layers of clothes as we had with us, and ventured out into the night, following the gravel path into the darkness. miraculously the clouds from the rain that had hoovered for the past two days disappeared especially for our star-gazing pleasure, and from our position on top of a tin roofed building the view was spectacular to say the least. we saw one shooting star after another, and the only other sound besides that of our own voices was the distant roaring of the nearby river.
we talked about God, about Jesus, about the church, about community, about friendship, about chivalry, about respect... We talked until the cold seeped into our bones, and finally we went back. finally around 5am we went to sleep, for the first time in a while that i fell asleep with my arm outside the blanket. the heater was glorious.

sunday we woke up, had a wonderful breakfast of fresh-baked bread with cheeeeeese, then went exploring down in the river. later we walked into the town, had some empanadas and french fries, played with some puppies, danced in the middle of the main plaza, and headed back. unfortunately both molly and I had homework that had to be done, forcing us to leave our friends.

this week has been less intense with school things, although i had one test and a paper to turn in. now all i have left for next week is one essay and two tests and then on wednesday i'll be DONE! Praise God that a guy from my literature class offered to be my partner for the big final paper for that class, which meant I contributed my half of the content to the paper but he was able to fix it to be spanish that actually makes sense. i can't imagine how it would have been if i had tried to do this paper without him.... i am so so so thankful.

yesterday molly and i went to a cafe after classes to cleanse our minds of academic things, discussing instead some soul issues that had recently come up. you see, we've been going to this bible study-ish thing on tuesday afternoons in a small group of 5 girls. this week we were going through some supposedly basic questions about the Christian faith, which turned out to be really difficult for me to answer. i've been going through a process of letting my faith out of the box i had spent my whole life constructing for it. i needed this time to see God outside of the church, outside of religion for that matter. i experienced Him in a much bigger way than I have ever been capable of experiencing Him before, but now, back in the context of a church, these questions are hard for me to answer. What does salvation mean? how does Jesus's death equate my eternal salvation? What am I being saved from? deep down I know these things through the holy spirit.... but i don't know how to answer those questions with words. i mean, i could give you an answer, but i dont know the answers, cachai? So molly and I sat on a couch in the cafe asking questions, looking for answers in the bible, daring to ask. but now, do we dare to recieve the answers? i'm a big fan of wondering... there's something utterly beautiful in a question, but there also comes a time for answers, and i think that scares me more than the questions.

so there's the past week.... the end is in sight, and i'm very ready to be through with school things. not so sure i'm ready to be through with chile, but school can be over any time now. (although another thing God has shown me recently is how to actually be thankful for trials... like being glad that i have to work hard and think hard for school. i dont want things to always be easy, and i want to be challenged) francisco is coming into town this weekend, which is exciting. we're going to hang out at his house all weekend and cook things and stay up late talking and watching movies... it's going to be awesome.

taking a break

2009-06-16T18:58:00.001-07:00

writing this blog is going against all rationality, but i have to do it. i have to write things that express myself instead of plastic words weighted down with academia. i have to remember that my life is much bigger than that which will (hopefully) soon fill these 10 or more pages, single spaced, size 12 font of my essay.

last week molly and I saw the Russian Ballet perform selected solos/duets from 10 of their greatest ballets, including, of course, Swan Lake, Sleeping Beauty, Giselle, and Don Quixote. Our gallery tickets put us up in the slaves' quarters, where columns or other balconies blocked the view from most seats, so we nestled down on the ground in front of a nice man who didn't mind giving up his right to cross his legs in order for us to see the 8.000 pesos worth of ballet we paid to see. and it was magical. in all my 15 years of ballet i never managed to lock my corporal self into that mysterious realm of expression where color, emotion, and heat take the form of movement, but when I see it I can feel it surge through my body. My thrills and griefs streched out to the tips of their outstreched arms, pulsing in tensed back muscles, tip tapping in the wooden toe shoes on the black stage. One couple danced the perfect harmony of two becoming one, each one anticipating every curve of the other's body, breathing as if one creature. when they danced, I had to remind myself to breathe, and as the curtain before them I found myself open-mouthed with brows raised.

in short, it was amazing. then afterwards we drank hot chocolate in our favorite cafe, solitas, because everyone else in this country was watching the futbol game. (we won, by the way)

a weekend again with our new friend, Maria Paz. she is Francisco's little sister who we have gotten to know in Francisco's absence, and I feel quite certain that leaving her in July is going to break my heart into at least a thousand pieces.

i have 2 tests, a presentation, and an essay to do this week, the pressure of which is on the verge of bursting my well of tears. in this dreary grey cold all I want is to hibernate and for the cumbersome reality of school and grades to dissipate into the fog or drown in the waters of the much-anticipated rains. but, armed with a few remaining dark chocolate M&Ms and a patience that could only be God-given, I know I'll make it through. And when I do, oh what a glorious day that will be.

Now i will get back to academia. Your comments are a refreshing elixir, keep 'em comin'!

Beep beep beep

2009-06-10T10:36:00.000-07:00

As my blogs get shorter, the line for the microwaves gets longer.

June 7

2009-06-07T18:03:00.000-07:00

I am fairly certain that my calendar is lying to me. Every time I have consulted it today, sitting menacingly in the bottom right corner of my screen, it tells me that today is June 7, but that would mean that my time here is nearing its end far sooner than seems possible. Perhaps I should report the problem to Windows -- just imagine all the problems that would arise if masses of Windows users were walking around living in a day not yet marked by the present, disillusioned in an eternal future.

imagery

2009-05-30T11:00:00.001-07:00

The power of an image. We will all nod our heads in vague agreement, but we stop there, afraid of what it means to recognize something that is truly powerful. We tilt our heads and bite our lower lips when set before some photograph or painting that creates a vocabulary of its own to describe a split second in our sloppy human condition. And nobody disagrees with the outrageous injustice that advertising as an elusively Big-Brother-esque institution does for society (another word that we spout off when the rot in our heart lies to have us believe that bemoaning existence might make it go away). The indigenous peoples of the Americas occupied an entire concept of the universe centered in the image, relaying what we try to call ‘absolute truth’ through these images that remain open to interpretation, recognizing that each viewer might see a different version of the same story. Memory was a beautifully chaotic performance of dance, music, and images, or perhaps some colorful knots on a string or plated silver adorned by a youth. Westerners arrived with their written word and obsession with precision, and they feared these people of the image. They prohibited their images and incarcerated their memory in languages that were never made for such a realm of mystery and imagination. They burned their pages and punished their dances, forcing upon them images of a glorified virgin mother and verbal submission to the invisible powers behind the rising sun. They took their culture captive and injected it full of that disease called Progress, then complained at the inconvenience that its limp body lying on the floor caused for their efficient gluttony. But they did not eliminate the image, and dance has not been stilled. The poison of that western hatred mutated these forms of expression, these once-glorious ways of being, into a murderous fiction. I walk through the streets or glance at a television through a window, and see this land’s fictitious identity lying through its teeth to a captive audience. “We are white, we have blonde hair and straight teeth,” she says. “We have sculpted bodies and smile as we bow to the gods of consumerism,” he chuckles. I have seen in my own country the damage that idealized figures in advertising and pop culture have caused to a world craving a God to worship, but what amazes me even more here in Latin America is that these images are borrowed not only from an invented reality, but from an invented reality of another world. In the same way that indigenous spirituality was slowly strangled by the cult of Christianity, the Latin American image of self is held hostage by a European ideal. They are exhausted from trying to find God in the gold-plated cathedrals where the plaster eyes of a dead virgin and the soft hands of a plump bishop seem only to laugh at their pain, those houses built in God’s name with bricks borrowed from the devil. Since they do not find God here, they turn to these lying images, these blonde beauties who assure them that they will never be allowed the luxury of beauty. Their sleek dark hair and softly rounded noses deem them uncivilized; they enslave themselves to the images and the lords of consumerism who mockingly offer indulgences. “Perhaps,” they tell them, “if you buy into these things, and if you can lose who you really are in a cup of pisco, then perhaps you will become who I want you to be.” Speak English, mimic a world apart. The evil spirit that inhabited the invading Europeans thought it expelled the image, but it merely turned it into a lie.

...feel free to not read this one

2009-05-25T10:42:00.001-07:00

A long pause, now a deep sigh, and the symphony starts again.

My parents came to visit last week, breaking a long record of not leaving North America. Can I write that again? My parents flew to Chile to visit me for a week. That´s pretty sweet. It was a week of chaotic togetherness, fueled by an inhuman amount of desserts and miles of steps across the sidewalks of Viña and Valparaiso. We saw sights, tasted foods, met friends, bickered, changed plans, changed them again, and took a crap ton of pictures. In this moment I can´t conjure up any sort of list of what we did, those memories have already taken their place as a permenant warm-fuzzy for me to retreat to when words fall short and reality is a cold concrete bench. In fact, I am a bit brain dead right now, so I´m not sure why I thought it would be a good idea to write a blog. I just took a major exam and, now that it´s finished, need to start studying for the next major exam I have... which is tomorrow at 11:45. I´m consumed with school right now, which is a nasty feeling. But it´s a different kind of consumption, I´m remaining calm, feelin´groovy. I have too many things to be thankful for to let any peas in the mattress ruin my party. I happen to be part of the best family there is -- not just my birth family, my host family, or all the other families here and in the States who have adopted me -- God´s family. I´m typing-then-erasing here trying to make this not sound like the same cheezy sermon, but words really just haven´t been my forte here lately. But you get the idea.

On a compltely unrelated note, I have developed a bunch of gardening ambitions while I´m here that I hope will be actualized when I get back in the states. I´m really excited to grow things like Broccoli and Tomatoes and Squash and Tulips. I also think it would be cool to have chickens someday so I can have fresh eggs. I don´t think my apartment complex would allow that.

On the exciting tendency to Change

2009-05-06T10:21:00.000-07:00

This past weekend marked the halfway point for my time in Chile, and I find myself eagerly facing the second half as a newly turned page. The first three months were about -- among other things -- learning who I am through experimenting with who I could be. We hitch hiked, we made friends with strangers at hostels, we went to bars and discoteques. I learned how to dress myself up to go out on the weekends, and then how to enjoy a friday night spent in pajamas with a good movie. Within and around all of these little things I learned grew the theme of faith -- a faith that I have spent years talking about but am only just now learning how to live. We were able to try on so many different things that we could be, and now we're taking the wisdom we gained there and stepping into life as who we are with a new confidence and passion.

In many ways the first half was a selfish time, about figuring things out for ourselves, learning, living off of mercy and grace, boldly making mistakes in order to boldly make good decisions. As we traveled through Chile in February and then later as we navegated the social playing field in search of new friends, our needs and our growth were the centerpieces. And it was beautiful. I saw God in so many ways that I would have never thought possible; He is in me no matter what I do, and those moments of true vision or true happiness are God personified. My prayers changed, and often stopped involving words. The faith that I put in Him wasn't a blind faith in a false happy ending, but rather a faith that this greater entity who creates, unites, and distinguishes us all is that which we call Love.
I finally got to stretch my limbs, which had been twitching, cramped up in a plastic tub, starving for adventure to run through their veins. I got to see how my ideals shape up in reality, and to love them for what they are because -- not in spite -- of how they differ from what I could have imagined. Plans fall through, choices turn out to be bad, judgements come back to bite you, but at the end of the day there was always that hot cup of coffee.
Not only coffee, but my best friend. She was always there, never more than a kilometer away from me, sensitive to my heartaches and soulaches (for both heart and soul can ache for pain and for joy). I can't wrap my mind around the fact that not everyone in the world has a best friend in the way that I have Molly. This trip would have been something entirely different had I been without her, and not a day goes by that I don't give thanks for her being here not only in the sense of her physical presence in the same country, but in her being there for me.

And now, the new page.

The second half started all-too appropriately with our new friends, Francisco and Karenth. Perhaps the meaning of truly knowing a country is knowing friends there. And not only these friends, with whom we cook, camp, party, and explore, but a new group of friends who we got to know for the first time over plastic cups of soup on a chilly night. They are the friends whose mattresses are cardboard boxes and whose roof is the starry sky. Monday night we went on our first outing with Hogar de Cristo's nocturnal route, giving out food and sharing in conversation with people living on the streets of Vina del Mar, a city known for its high-rise resort-style apartment buildings and clean, well groomed streets. We don't go because of any kind of necessity, as the meals could certainly be handed out without the help of clumsy gringas, but rather we go to know and to be known. To hear stories. To see life with the lenses off. A man by the name of Ulysses at our first stop told me about his wife leaving him because of the alcohol, but that all he wants from life is to be able to see his great-grandchildren, and that some nugget of wisdom he learned from life will be passed down through his bloodline. He invited me to meet his friends in their home, a mildewey mattress tucked in an alley.
"Here, we're all family" he tells me, "whatever we have we share, even if it means we all only get a little. And we take care of each other. People need that. We're never alone, you know?"

We converse with people living under tarps, people with shopping carts, people in wheel chairs, people who were drunk, people who were in their 30s, people who worked, people who begged, as diverse as the grains of sand in the ocean. The girl who was with us, who has done this route for several years now, was explaining to us their situations.
"Most of them have problems with alcohol. Most of them will never make it off the streets; they will die there. But you don't judge them for that. They've chosen this life, we just do what we can to help them and to make sure they're loved." Nobody has been mistaken enough not to deserve being loved.

I've also started getting to know Ivan, the man who lives on the corner by my house. For two months I passed him every day, wondering at the contents of his shopping cart and avoiding his glance, trying not to see what his face revealed -- that he is a normal person, and no more than 35 years old. But then this new paged was turned, and God told me that it was time to start looking outwards, and I saw him for the first time. I looked him in the face. At first I couldn't bring myself to stop and help him when he was sick on the sidewalk one morning, I was afraid of being that which I know I am made to be, but now that's changing. Yesterday he told me his parents and his wife are all dead and in Heaven, and that he doesn't know why God left him here by himself. But he just loves every day and someday he'll be up there with them. We talked about Jesus, and how he was all about loving people. Ivan knows all about people being afraid to love. They walk by him by the hundreds, day by day, just like I did, looking away. But that doesn't stop him. He's there on that corner every day, without fail, waving at cars as they pass by, singing down the middle of the road when the weather's nice, or even if it's not. He knows a lot about love, and I have a lot to learn from him.

I imagine that now, after 3 months, I've lost several readers. I can't expect my adventures to keep being as exciting to the stationary reader as they are to me. So, I salute you, brave reader, for sticking through to the end -- er, middle. I'd love a comment to know you're sticking with me. But you already knew that.

Days of the Week

2009-04-27T15:41:00.000-07:00

Me encantan los domingos. Siempre para mi los domingos seran el sonido de hojas bajo pasos lentos, porque en los domingos los hombres con sus escobas y recogedores dejan que esas gemas de otoño tengan un dia de descanso. En los domingos camino con lentitud, porque los destinos de los domingos siempre me esperan y el sol parece fundirle la hora, y porque a veces mi destino es sencillamente andar.

Tambien me encantan los jueves. Los profesores de ese dia conocen la belleza de lo inutil, y despues, con una manzana saltando de mano a mano, camino en una direccion sin ruta especifica. Los perros me invitan a jugar en los parques, o el sol me invita a bañar en su calor, flotando encima de un mar de hojas verdes y suaves. En los jueves recuerdo, cada semana, ver a las caras viandantes, y siempre busco las hojas de domingos que se esconden en una esquina olorosa o en frente del edificio azul. Los jueves son preñados de posibilidad susurrando detras de un sol poniendo.

Pine Trees

2009-04-22T18:52:00.000-07:00

Dear God,

Thank you for listening to my prayers, even when I forget to address them to you. Also, thank you for being wise even in my stupidity. I think you're great.

See you soon,

Catie

Last friday Molly and I had made plans to visit Pablo Neruda's other house that's here in Valpo, but the night before our friend Francisco invited us to an outing in the country, so we eagerly ditched our plans for city-ing in exchange for wide open spaces, beach, pine trees, and bonding time with this Francisco character, who we've come to realize lately is a really awesome guy and a great friend. As tends to be the case with chileans, we didn't really know what we were doing, but we hopped in the car and scanned the radio for some classic rock ballads to belt out our open windows as we kicked the city dust and grime off our heels. On the other side of a tunnel (that was too lengthy to hold your breath all the way through) we found ourselves immediately in the midst of nature-y goodness and pine trees. did i just say pine trees? yes, that's right. Just like east Texas. We zig-zagged down the side of a sheer cliff into the sleepy town of Laguna Verde, then bumped along the red dirt road leading to a cabin that Francisco's family has. My senses were overwhelmed with reminders of home -- the way the sunlight bounces off of the golden coating of red dirt on everything, the smell of fallen pine needles, the taste of clean air mixed with warm sunshine, even the smell of cow poop contributed its bit to the sensation.
The cabana looks out onto a vast valley of hills upon hills of pine trees pouring down into a skinny puddle after which Laguna Verde is named, and not too far out to the west you can see the ocean -- that is, the mysterious glow of ocean mist that one can see of the ocean from a distance. After the short tour of the cabana and a few necessary photo-opps, we hopped back in the car for the next destination.
Next thing we knew we were in some sort of "educational farm"(?) so we walked around and hung out with some bunnies, bigs, donkeys, and turkeys. it was a good time.
Finally we parked the car on a cliff, got out our things, and headed down the rocky slope to the beach. The pebbly sand massaged my feet and in between my toes as we explored the rocky crevices, played a table-less version of ping pong, took silly pictures, and dozed in the solar radiation. The frigid ocean water tickled our toes and sent us running and giggling, then we enjoyed a truly delicious picnic of ham'n'cheese sammiches.
Molly got a brief driving lesson in Francisco's manual 4x4, which was entertaining if not productive. We drove a little ways further to a big cliff with a light tower where the ocean wind was enough to knock us off our feet. Francisco even brought us coffee and sweets to snack on the the setting sunlight. Standing on the jagged, rocky cliff with my arms spread wide, I felt like I was standing on the edge of the earth. The surreal blue ocean waves faded slowly into tangible light that hid the horizon, giving the impression that perhaps Heaven's gates were just a bit further. Molly reminded us of Lewis's beautiful imagery in one of the Chronicles of Narnia, where the children are sailing on an ocean of light, where lillies grow up from the invisible depths to dance on the brilliant surface.

Anyhow, we headed back as the sun was disappearing into this brilliant white endlessness, sighing contentedly at our decision to ditch our previous plans.

Saturday was the big Despedida de David before his departure for NY on tuesday, so Molly and I headed over to his house early to have a quick once with him and his sister and cousins before everyone arrived. Mostly, Molly and I feel awkward at large gatherings of people, especially when they're in Latin America. We didn't really know most of the people there, so we sat awkwardly to ourselves hoping that our pina coladas might loosen our tongues enough to not feel awkward. It seems that everyone has to have at least one instance of drinking too much in order to realize that they don't want to do it again (or perhaps that they do?), and I'm just glad that I was in the house of a friend where I could be brought safely to a bed with Molly to sleep it off and not worry about being around non-trustworthy people. Our friends Marco and Francisco made sure we didn't make fools of ourselves, and our friend Karenth brought us in to her bedroom to sleep in her bed when it was time for us to retire. And hopefully it will never happen again.
David is a very good friend and we were sad to see him off (his despedida extended into monday and tuesday in the afternoons), but now he's in New York getting settled in before starting graphic design school. We will miss him dearly, but, if all goes well, Molly and I will be visiting him within a year.

Wednesday I had a test in my literature class, which was more difficult than anything academic I have ever done before. The night before my host mom had her prayer meeting here at the apartment, and they prayed for me in my test. It had been so long since someone prayed directly and intentionally for me, and I was amazed at how much more relaxed it made me feel. After that I was able to spend 5 solid hours studying the material before going to bed. The test was 4 essay questions (all in spanish, mind you), over material that I only vaguely understood. I can only hope that my professor will have mercy on my little extranjera brain and not completely fail me.

So, there's the past week. Uncensored (and unedited) for your reading enjoyment. But, you know, my writing is not free. It costs you ONE COMMENT. Now pay up, friend!

babies, busses, and blisters

2009-04-17T06:39:00.000-07:00

time flies between blogs, and crawls when i sit down to spell out events, emotions, and images in these poor excuses for words. first i'll go for the concrete stuff.

last thursday i went with my host mom to her daughter's house in Valpo for once and to meet her neighbor's new born baby. her house is a perfect example of valparaiso quirkiness -- built into the side of the same cerro (hill) as one of Pablo Neruda's houses, its precarious concrete walkway leads to a worn old door snuggled between tin walls. Inside the living room boasts creaky wood floors and high ceilings, the kitchen shares a concrete wall (and some dirt that periodically creeps in through the cracks) with the steep street outside. the stairwell to the second floor is vague as to whether it is indoors or out, and in the dark humid air you almost have to smell your way up the steep stairs to the upstairs bedrooms. it is small and without heating or cooling, but it is rich in character. i appreciate so deeply being reminded here how little we can actually get by on, and how extravagant i often allow myself to believe my "needs" to be.

her neighbors were equally charming, with their beaming, new-mom-and-dad smiles lighting up the whole room. they are both musicians, and the dad earns his living by playing his guitar and singing on the micros (minibusses) every day. the mom has a permenant smile on her face and an optimism that is almost as tangible as her sleek, black hair. we drank deeply on conversation and REAL coffee (not nescafe) until the night chill let us know it was time to part ways. in valparaiso at night the city lights immitate the stars in the upside-down dome of the sprawling cerros, twinkling with an orangey glow that floats on the allusive niebla.

friday i woke up entirely too early to catch a bus to santiago with nearly the entire congregation of my host mom's church (there were 18 people) for a country-wide Familia con Proposito easter celebration. we were corralled into the 3rd floor room by hugs and besitos, and promptly we began what would be about an hour and a half of solid praise music. it was sweet to remember what it feels like to be lifted up in collective song to be snuggled up close to our Lord's bosom. there was also a really long sermon, which i had a really hard time paying full attention to because i was falling asleep -- and because it was a lot of spanish coming at me very fast. later we broke up into smaller groups to pray for the country, its leaders, its people, and its churches. as glad as i was to be in christian community and as much as it was so refreshing in so many ways, i was also weirded out by many aspects of it, as has been the case lately with religion in general. i couldn't tell when they were speaking in tongues or just speaking really fast spanish, and when a woman started telling us to pray for the homosexuals -- 'Because we love them, we love everybody, but pray that their ways will be corrected' -- and i cringed. my stomach did a few flips, and i closed my ears to lift up a prayer for our poor human interpretation of Love, of right and wrong, and of morality in general. i wanted to leave the room, but i was glued to my seat by discomfort and unpreparedness. in my two years of liberal sheltering at st. eds i sometimes forget that other ways of thinking exist.

anyhow, besides this discomfort and a general sense that religion is a very strange thing and most definitely not the only way to reach out to God, the day was very enjoyable. the people were exceedingly nice, and i was able to relax in pleasant conversation with a girl who had just gotten back from studying english in Florida for 3 months.

saturday molly and i slept in, and the afternoon eagerly fled these city streets for some much-needed soul rejuvenation in nature. we left vina significantly later than we had planned, and ended up arriving at the park after it had already closed, but we wandered into the camping area anyhow and ended up sharing the last spot with another couple that had wandered in after hours. we lazily conversed over wine and sandwiches, and soon discovered a shared enthusiams for the Beatles -- which is hard to come by here in Chile. Molly and I excused ourselves to go see a break in the trees so we could see the stars. Stargazing is my therapy of choice; it reminds me to stop, to feel small, but at the same time big. And, as always, Orion was there waiting for us. We snuggled close in our one-man tent against the night's chill, and in the morning quickly packed up our things and headed up the mountain. actually, it's called a cerro, or hill, but in our own defense we have decided to refer to el cerro de La Campana as a mountain. it is large and steep, and i really feel that a 4 1/2 hour ascent deems it worthy of the title Mountain. after the first hour we were asking ourselves why we keep thinking that climbing up steep things is a good idea, at hour two the nearing peak gave us a small spark of hope, at hour 3 i was ready to give up, and at hour 4 we were mere meters from the peak. ultimately we didn't make it to the actual top because we had to turn back in time to get out backpacks from the ranger station before it closed, but the view was equally spectacular and we ate it up eagerly along with our sandwiches of questionable meat product and delicious cheese. after the 3 hour descent i was ready to fall over and sleep for a month straight, but instead we wandered down the dirt road until we found our bus and rested for the two hour ride home.

classes have been going pretty well, although overwhelming. i'm really frustrated that i can't fully understand everything we talk about in my literature class, because it is really interesting. during lecture i definitely catch the gist of what is said, but it's not quite to the level of perfect comprehension and certainly not enough so to be able to participate in discussion. there is an impossible amount of reading for that class, but i think i've come to terms with the fact that i will not be able to actually read all of it, so i'm feeling less stressed out. Italian is by far my favorite class, even though my head feels like it wants to explode after every class with foreign language overload. i had a test in Theory of Translation this week, and it was awful. it will be a miriacle if i passed. we've been talking about Kafka in my art class, and it's fantastic. except, i couldn't help but ache for Kafka as a person after reading all of his dark, depressing short stories about how awful society is and about the lies we live in. it is fantastic literature, but i wonder if he ever knew joy in his life. did he see things that were beautiful, too? what did he have to hope for?

our dear friend David is leaving for New York to study graphic design in 4 days, so this week we are squeezing in as much hanging out as possible. on tuesday we had a taco feast at our friend Francisco's house -- Francisco used to be a chef. it was delicious, and we topped it off by watching Into the Wild (which brought me to tears and touched the raw part on my soul that recently exploded before my last entry....) , listening to "El Curanto", eating freshly made kuchen, and singing/dancing to michael jackson music videos. it was the perfect way to spend the day, and on the bus ride back home that night molly and i thanked God for hearing our prayers for real friends and for hanging out time that isn't necessarily "going out".

my soul is learning and growing every day, which hurts sometimes, and other times feels really good. it's learning how to approach every day as a new adventure and also what God's hope actually means. mostly it's very thankful, and it's gobbling up that fresh new that that i've been breathing in.

now, it's your turn.
COMMENT!!!!!

an explosion of sorts

2009-04-05T18:28:00.000-07:00

the more i travel, the more i learn about the world. the more i learn about the world, the more i want to rid myself of that numbing illness called normalcy, which would have me sit in a pew surrounded by my own excrements rather than breathing the fresh air of the world. i want the dirt of all seven continents to stain the creases in the bottoms of my feet, the faces of the people who i will never meet in the walls of a church (you know, those buildings that cost more than some people will make working every day their whole lives) or in the blank glow of the internet -- i want these faces to decorate the walls of my memory and paint the outlines of my ideas. i want to act, to stop pretending. i want to pave my own path and laugh at forms and plans and economic aspirations and personal gain. i want to live off of other people's hospitality so that i will one day be able to offer the same to restless travelers.

these past several days there has been very little stopping me from throwing everything i own that is of value into the ocean and leaving the university with all its plans and paperwork and walls in the dust. and yet, at the same time, so much is stopping me. my fears: there are many. uncertainty: everywhere. security: it's a lie, but i'm so attached to it. i am so afraid of waking up one day many years from now only to realize that my hopes and dreams have been reduced to childhood naivity that i choose to forget.

i realized that the reason i was feeling so down about being here is because of this curse of normalcy -- the stagnant waters around me were making me nauseous and i forgot the power of the ocean, of movement. but then i remembered -- or rather, was reminded -- of who i am by the one who made me. i am made for great things, for adventure, for big love. and this love is fluid, always moving without beginning or end.

it all started with a tiny spark of inspiration that told me i wanted to go to bolivia. why bolivia? i didn't know, but i began reseraching. with 60% of the population currently living in poverty, this country has struggled under dictators, human rights infringements, and all manner of cruelty for as long as the history books can remeber. the most current president is the first to be of indiegnous descent, despite the fact that over half the population is indigenous, and another 30% is meztizo. a large portion of the population speaks the native quechua language, although most speak at least some spanish. the more i read about this country and about some of the nonprofits established there that are fighting for the rights of impoverished communities and family farms, the more confused i became as to why i have been walking on the paved road where the thorny paths are ever so conveniently hidden from view. even as i partake in this chilean adventure that started two months ago, i am so protected. everything is laid out before me, and it's all egocentric. my classes, my host family, my going out experience, my safety, my cultural experience, my my my... the same thing can happen regardless of what country i am in, and it is not merely a desire to go to bolivia that haunts me. i'm looking out again, and seeing the adventure of giving and of loving. i am so antsy to participate! i don't want to prepare any more, i want to DO. i want to cast off "plans" (they never follow through anyhow) and security, and DO. all these emotions and desires and realizations came like a flood, pinning me up against the compassionate shoulder of my best friend until all my tears had been squeezed out (mixed in with some snot, of course) and at last i took the first breath of fresh air that i've tasted for quite some time.

i don't have a solution, but that's not the point. i dont know why i'm still here -- whether it's because the Lord has more growth planned before tossing me out into the wild or because i am tethered by my own fears -- or where i am to go next. but i do have fresh air in my lungs, which gives me hope that i have not forgotten and have not been forgotten. and i am more certain than ever that this passion that sometimes explodes in various forms (tears, dancing, laughter, hugs...) is from the Lord and therefore will NOT waste away to nothing.

i am made for great things.
there are countless adventures not yet written.

so for now i'm breathing in deep. being thankful. watching for what's next.

and now for the other side of the hill...

2009-04-01T10:36:00.000-07:00

Before traveling abroad, they go to great lengths to warn you about the inevitable crash-and-burn stage that follows the first month or so (the honeymoon period) abroad. I think it´s happening now, at least to some degree. I am frustrated by the lack of improvement in my Spanish, by my inability to make freinds with people at our univeristy, at the hours I waste in my room on the computer because I can´t figure out what to do with myself and can´t pull myself together to study, at the Literature class I signed up for that I recently found out will not include anything by Marquez, Neruda, or Allende -- why even call it latinoamericano literature without these guys??? Molly and I have come off of our week of carreteando with head colds and an insatiable sleepiness, and I am equally exhausted by the effort it takes to build up new friendships, and instead simply crave my apartment in Austin where I could always rope one of the roomates into playing a game or watching a movie, or walk over to good ole 321 for some N64 or old musicals. This morning I got up freakishly early to wait in line outside the Registro Civil to get my official chilean ID. Good news - chileans are very friendly and within a few minutes I was chatting it up with the people on either side of me in line. Bad news - my spanish sucks. I´m so tired of every other word that comes out of my mouth being "huh?" or "no entiendo". After four years of studying it, a month and a half in Spain, and two months now in Chile shouldn´t I speak better than that by now??? Chances are, it´s actually better than I realize, but my devilish perfectionism is coming out to play with my emotions.

Now I have to go to the literature class class, which I think I´m going to drop because I´m a coward, and taking Gringos101 sounds a lot more attractive right now than drowning in a sea of too much reading and not enough understanding.

beh.

I promise things are better than I´m making them sound... blogger just happened to catch me in a down mood.

An excercise in dramatic story telling

2009-03-28T15:32:00.000-07:00

holy crap, i just got robbed.
(literary technique #2371, catch the reader's attention with a flashy opening. CHECK)

It had been a week filled with fun, friends, and fiestas. (literary techniques #174 and #895, alliteration, flashback. CHECK) In celebration of Semana Novata Molly and I went out every night this week -- from Tuesday to tonight. Tuesday we went to an asado with our friends we met in the bus last week, then accompanied them to a massive beach party with live music. Wednesday we finally managed to get into Huevo, Thursday we went straight from class in the morning to a MASSIVE party -- when i say massive, I mean 20,000 people -- on a beach north of town. I still don't fully understand the appeal of these large beach parties, seeing as how the same sitting around sipping on beverages and playing instruments in a circle with friends could happen anywhere. It was fine though, with the exception of the hour Molly and I spent waiting in line for a bathroom. We came home, ate, napped, then went out again to Huevo, where we made friends with a trio of bomberos and their friend, Katy -- who is studying social work here in Valpo. Dancing with them was very refreshing because they were just a silly group of friends -- like my friends back home. Friday (yesterday) we slept in, thought we were going to leave for Santiago that afternoon, but that ended up not happening so we had friends over to my house to watch a movie and eat homemade kuchen instead. It was truly lovely. We saw our friends Francisco and Marco, who we hadn't seen in a while, and it was nice to have the feeling of seeing old friends who we had missed, even though we've only known them for such a brief while. They're great guys and we are very VERY blessed to be friends with them.

Today was a lazy day that I wasn't sure what to do with, since I had been planning on spending the day in Fantasilandia. I finally forced myself to get out of my pj's and go outside, and much to my surprise it was sunny and lovely out. (It's autumn here, and the chilled ocean air seeps under my skin so that my very bones are cold, even when it's only 50 degrees or so, and the sun seems to have begun its hibernation) So,I walked along the beach for a while, eventually picking a nice spot in the white sand to watch the waves and write in my journal. After 45 minutes or so, I thought I felt my purse move, so I turned around to look. It was strapped over my shoulder and resting on the ground at my side, and when I looked inside the camera was nowhere to be found. I hastily checked my pockets, my lap, my other pockets, my purse again, and it was gone. A couple was walking by behind me, and a nod and twitch of the eyebrow from an observing fisherman informed me that they had taken it. I ran up to them and asked if they saw someone take my camera -- although how I expected them to respond, I'm not sure. "Oh yeah, I have it in my pocket. Do you want it back? My bad." No, on the contrary he told me some little kid took it and that he tried to warn me, but the kid put a knife to his throat so he couldn't. He pointed me in the direction that the kid supposedly ran, and in my state of shock I kind of believed him for a minute. Until I saw the fisherman again, and he walked towards me and told me that it had been the man I was talking to who took the camera, and that he put it in the sand. Four carabineros (policemen) were approaching on horseback, so we rushed towards them in hopes that they might have better luck. They trotted after the theif, and I watched as they searched his bag, his pockets, and his girlfriend. Nothing. I kept giving him dirty looks, hoping that perhaps they might pierce his heart and make him confess, but it was to no avail. The carabineros attempted to look in the sand around the area where I had been sitting and where they had been walking, but found nothing, and the theif continued saying he was innocent. Some more carabineros came after a while with their sirens going, and one of them came to assess the situation, then explain to me what we could do. I could have filed some kind of appeal or something, but chances are it wouldn't go through until after I left anyhow, and I would very likely never get the camera back. I gave him my info, and he drove away with the guilty couple in the back of the van to take their information back at the station. Molly came and met me at the beach so we could dig around the sand for the missing camera, but we found nothing. There was simply too much sand. I finally accepted defeat, sighing with the comfort of knowing that it is, in fact, only a thing. God had his arm around my shoulders, walking me back to the pathway to dust myself off and keep on keepin' on. However, after walking for 10 minutes or so, we passed the guilty couple walking back from the other direction. I stopped and talked to them and he gave me the same old story, and I wished I was gutsy enough to shout "I KNOW YOU TOOK IT! I KNOW ITS IN THE SAND! DON'T LIE TO ME!!!" But instead I told him I was sorry. But instead of keeping on, Molly and I turned around the follwed them back, hoping to witness them dig the camera out of the sand. We had to run to keep up, while at the same time dodging behind small children and sunglasses huts so they wouldn't see us, and sure enough they turned off the path at the spot where it all happened. I hid out behind a grass-roofed hut, watching from around the corner as they kicked around in the sand. I'm not sure if they found it in the sand, got it from some people who were playing volleyball nearby, or if it wasn't there afterall -- I couldn't see well enough from my hide-out and, once again, I wasn't gutsy enough to appraoch them. After all, what would I say? Remember what happened last time I asked if he robbed me? All the same, it was a terrible feeling to watch them hop on a bus and ride away into the distance, knowing that they had just stolen my camera right from under my nose. Fortunately, the last pictures I had taken were of the word "LOVE" written in the sand. Maybe that will touch their hearts -- even if just a little bit. (literary techniqe #2873, hope of redemption following tragic ending)

So, thus ends the saga of the stolen camera.

Still, worse things could have happened, Nobody was hurt, and all the pictures (except, of course, the ones I had taken today) were already uploaded onto my computer. And God is good.

si po

2009-03-24T08:15:00.000-07:00

It´s amazing how quickly time is flying by... I keep putting off blogging because I think "oh, I just updated the other day..." Well, that was a week ago.

Here´s a brief update on what we´ve been doing since I last wrote:
We ended up putting off the trip to Santiago for this coming weekend so that another friend would be able to join us, and instead Molly and I took advantage of the weekend to carretear. Thursday night we tried for the second time to go to El Huevo, the biggest discoteque and most well known, but Molly forgot her ID and they wouldn´t let us in. Why you need an ID i´m still not sure, since the age thing really isn´t so much an issue here. Anyhow, we made friends with some people on the bus and ended up going out to get drinks and dance in some smaller establishments with them. Friday I met up with Jorge, a new friend from Mexico who I met in my Italian class, and we bought some food and he came to my house to cook delicious mexican food for my host mom and me. It was fantastic, and I´m pretty sure we´re going to make a regular habit out of cooking together -- i mean, him making me Mexican food.
I had heard that there was going to be some kind of free concert put on by our university, and since we didn´t have any plans until way later that night, Molly and I mozied on over to the open-air ampitheatre where the concert was to take place, stopping for a brief while to watch a band of break dancers practicing and teaching each other new moves in the main plaza. We wandered around and randomly picked a seat, which happened to be just in front of a guy I had met my first week of classes at the University. He speaks english really well and had helped me figure out where the heck I was supposed to be. So, fate brought us together again and we enjoyed absolutely amazing music and comfortable, friendly conversation. I am so glad we went to this concert -- it was amazing. A symphony from a university in Germany had come for a week to exchange music with the music students here at La Catolica. In this concert both the german and chilean symphonies played together, filling the starry night with such music that i felt it must have been coming up from the furthest depths of the earth rather than from human bodies. After this group performed, they had a quick break and then the PUCV jazz band took over, playing jazzed-up classic chilean ballads, which the audience responded to enthusiastically, often bursting out singing the chorus.
The concert ended, leaving just enough time to walk home, eat dinner, and change clothes to go out with our friends David and Benjamin. It is common practice for universities to throw parties for its students in a club or discoteque, and Benjamin´s university was doing just that at a discoteque literally just 2 blocks from where Molly and i live. So, we got in free and danced the night away. I feel like it was a big break through for Molly and I both to be able to really appreciate "going out" in all its glory. I think it was mostly because we went with friends -- I don´t know what we would do without David. He tells us the good places to go, dances with us in a completely non-sketchy way, and kept an eye on us when people we didn´t know tried to dance with us -- like a protective brother. When we finally left around 4am he and Benjamin walked us each home.
Saturday we slept in, mozied around Valpo a bit, and spent the evening being lazy.
Sunday was the ultimate in lazy days -- I got up for church, but afterwards I got directly back in my pajamas and stayed in bed for almost the entire rest of the day -- including when Molly came over to watch The Nightmare Before Christmas on my laptop and later when my host mom served us dinner in bed on trays, including brownies.

So, that was the weekend. This week is Semana Novata, which is kind of like a welcome week for freshmen. All classes after 2:00 are cancelled (and aparently several before that time, too) every day this week, and there are live music performances, parties, movies, exhibits, and so forth going on at all hours all week. Yesterday I came out of the main building to find a funk band performing on a stage set up in the middle of the street. Most of the international students are gone traveling this week, which means we only have each other and our chilean friends to hang out with -- which is great. Today Molly and i are going to an asado (bar-b-q) at a friend´s apartment, and Friday we´re finally going to Santiago to visit friends there, see the city a little bit, and then spend the day Saturday in Fantasilandia.

I fully intended for the what i´ve been up to part to be much shorter, and to spend more time on descriptions and less concrete things, but it´s alredy time for me to go to class again. Or, try to go to class, that is. I have a sneaking suspicion that this class might not actually happen -- like the other one I tried to go to this morning.

Oh, latin america.

Also, I´m serious about the comments. If you are reading these words right now, then you should comment. Just say "hi" or something, just so I know I´m not only writing for my mom (not that I wouldn´t still write even if it were just for my mom).

Chau chau!

Veinte vino en el viento a Viña

2009-03-18T09:36:00.000-07:00

Well, it seems that week 2 of classes here in Chile will not be much different from week 1, as already I have had cancelled classes, classes scheduled in 2 rooms at the same time but that ended up not happening in either, and professors who show up 45 minutes late for class. But, like I said, I kind of like it, and I kind of think I will miss the disorder when I return to Texas next semester.

Friday night we went out with a group of our friends to get drinks and go dancing, and FINALLY we had a good "going out" experience. We had non-shady friends to dance with, we actually liked the drinks we ordered, and we were the only gringos. Saturday night we opted to stay in and spend 2 hours watching Flight of the Conchords (or fotc, as we nerdily refer to them now) on Youtube. In the afternoon on saturday I went to once with the whole family -- grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins... The grandparents live in a swanky apartment in one of the high rise complexes with a fantastic view out over the city. Grampa (abuelito) is really nice and I can understand his spanish really well. He is the protector of the family, and comes every weekend to bring my host mom groceries and fix things around the house. Grandma (nonna) loves talking and nurturing and sweets. Over once we talked about everything from drama with my host sister´s now-ex-boyfriend, the economic crisis, madonna´s new boyfriend, and at one point they all felt the need to assure me that, despite Danni´s (host sister) and my host mom´s bad experiences with chilean men leaving them, they are not all bad. I think that most chileans get really excited about extranjeros coming, falling in love with a chilean, and staying here.

I still felt really uncomfortable at church sunday, which is really a shame. The bad part is that it is my own fault for making myself feel so out of place among a group of people who are so loving and kind to me. Sometimes I freeze up in large groups of people and refuse to do anything of my own accord, and instead wait for everyone else to introduce me to people, to show me where to go, and so forth. It felt like I came out of myself and saw me, frozen, and just wanted to scream at myself to let go and be a human being. But thank goodness that God is a friend when I can´t find it in myself to meet any.

Sunday I went with my host mom to buy some things for the birthday celebration, and I think she is now officially my mom-away-from-mom because for the first time she got on my nerves. It was that petty, silly annoyance that only moms can achieve, as we walked through the isles of the grocery store with her hand on the grocery cart and her list in the other hand.
"I don´t like hot dogs" I told her.
"You don´t like hot dogs? That´s what all the young people here eat. All the time. When they go out, when they get together. They love hot dogs."
"Yeah, I just don´t really like them. We could do pizza instead?"
"You really don´t like hot dogs? What about chicken hot dogs? Those are good."
"I mean, I´m just really not a fan."
"Well, pizza is pretty expensive. We´ll just get hot dogs. OK?"

I felt like I could be having this same kind of conversation with my real mom, annoyed at her for not listening to me, but loving her all the while.

Tuesday morning (the birthday) I woke up to the smell of bacon, and what should I find but Molly, cooking me pancakes, bacon, and eggs for the traditional breakfast in bed. She served me on a tray decorated with flowers and all things delicious and breakfasty, and we watched Flight of the Conchords that she downloaded from John Boiles´s computer in Austin. It was fantastic. I really do have the best best friend in the world. Later I went to class, then walked over to the open air produce market next to my school to buy ingredients to make homemade salsa. I think in total I spent no more than $2, and it made about a gallon of salsa. And it was freaking delicious. In the evening I went to the beach by myself to watch the sun set, until the night time chill chased me home, where I started getting things ready for the fiesta. We had fresh salsa, the infamous hot dogs, brownies, kuchen, and mimosas. Several of our chilean friends came, along with my host sister, molly´s host sister, and our friend Marcus from North Carolina. It was fantastic, and I really couldn´t have asked for anything more. I was just so happy to have friends here! Friday morning we´re going to catch a bus to Santiago to go to Fantasilandia (like 6 flags) for the day and then stay the night with our friend Marco.

Now I have 2 hours to kill before my next class...

Keep the comments coming, let me know you´re reading!
chau

Tranquil Chaos

2009-03-12T17:16:00.000-07:00

I have officially completed a week of classes.

Many of my classes turned out similar to the experience chronicled in my last entry, but I think I kind of like the chaos and confusion of life here in Chile. During our month of travels I was reading "In the House of the Spirits" by Isabel Allende (which, if you haven't already read, I STRONGLY suggest that you do), which takes place in Chile and spans its history from the days of the haciendas up until the revolution in the '70s. Many of the characters are inclined towards the supernatural, and often spend their times conversing with ghosts or adding on labyrinths to mansions. The overall sense of tranquil chaos that presides in the pages of her book is exactly what I have encountered here -- and I almost expect my daily life within the walls of my university or by the shores of the Pacific Ocean to begin to mirror a piece of fantastical fiction. So it is with this mindframe that I faced a week of classes being scheduled in rooms that dont exist, trying to understand how the libraries, photocopy offices, and secretaries all function together to get materials to students, and diving into the icy waters of that kind of loneliness that can only exist when you are amids a massive crowd of people. It's been an exhausting rollercoaster ride of really beautiful moments and "oh crap" moments, with a little bit of blase thrown in here and there. God has given me a few new friends, hope that my Spanish is - in fact - improving day by day, Molly hugs exactly in the moments when I need them the most, and those little reminders that I have learned to love so dearly that He is here and that I am His. For example, the sunset last night. I had some reading to do for school and I was tired of being in my room, so I walked down to the beach, sat in the sand, and proceeded to read out loud so my mouth could practice making words in Spanish and let my voice be lost in the sound of the crashing waves. There was something unspeakable in the beauty of the colors and in the feeling of damp sand on my toes that brought me back to reality of God's love, and suddenly I forgot all the thoughts of self-pity and fear that had been fermenting in my heart all day. Or today, after my attempts to make it to my art class proved to be a failure of truly epic proportions, as I was leaving the art building in defeat I passed by a trash can filled with last year's art projects. I proceeded to dig through said trash can and pick out some of the less bent drawings and tucked them under my arm to decorate my walls. I also bought Molly some lillies today, because they were too beautiful not to.

So, in a messy pile of word vomit, there's my week. Chaotic, beautiful, painful, fantastical, difficult, lonely, fiction-esque, and fast. My dreams have been confused and wordless as I transition to functioning in English to Spanish, but I hope that soon they will be filled with rolling Spanish.

I've been keeping up a steady routine of skyping, trying not to be overwhelmed by wanting to call every number in my phone to tell them I love them and that I am thinking of them here in Chile. I am amazed by the technology that allowed me to video chat with John Boiles from Chile to Cameroon -- free.

Birthday is coming up in a few days, and I'm not sure what the celebration will look like, but I'm hoping it will resemble a party with new friends and some homemade Kuchen. Some free birthday drinks might be fun too.

Anyhow, I'm going over to Molly's house tonight to watch a movie and snuggle. Keep the comments coming!!! Even just to say "hi" so I know I'm not just writing to the winds....

Ciao,
catita

p.s. - i strongly suggest that you go put a banana and about a half a cup of milk in the blender and then drink it. mmmmmmmmmmm, the deliciousness of simplicity....

First Day???

2009-03-09T11:59:00.000-07:00

Classes started today, and I was supposed to be going to Chilean and Hispanoamerican Literature, and Italian Language and Culture, but neither of those really worked out. It turns out I was registered for the wrong literature class, so I had the wrong room written down, but I didn´t realize this until I had waited outside of a physics class for 15 minutes. When I finally figured out what room I was, in fact, supposed to be in, the door was locked and, along with abour 4 other students, we knocked on the door for a while before realizing that it was locked and the professor, who was inside, had no intention of opening it.
I then had about 2 1/2 hours to kill, so I walked to the plaza, walked to the beach, walked to nowhere and back, and finally it was time for my next class. I climbed the 5 flights of stairs again (because the elevator can´t ever decide if it´s going up or down, so it rarely makes it down to the first floor) to find my Italian class, but the room was nowhere to be found. I asked some students standing by, and they said they were wondering the same thing. So I went to the secretary´s office, the secretary wasnt there, but the Italian professor was, and she said that the room indicated on our schedules does not exist, so we´re not having class today. My university seems to be fond of phantom rooms, as well as labyrinths, mysterious bathroom schedules, and hidden doors. So, after spending over 5 hours around the school, I have yet to attend one class.

Luckily, God is awesome, and he takes those dull moments of not knowing what to do with myself and puts little kernels of wisdom in my mind for me to chew on. Today he reminded me of a realization I had when I was traveling in Spain -- that for some reason when I travel I forget that I don´t have to fit in. When I´m at home in the States I am comfortable in the knowledge that I am not the norm, that I am not like many of the people my age. But suddenly when I am in a different country I feel like I need to wear the clothes, say the words, and go to the places that people my age are wearing, saying, and going. ¨Carreteando¨(chilean for partying) is really big here in Valpo, and I found my thoughts stumbling down the path of "oh, i´m going to have to learn how to like to go out, i need to get "going out" clothes..." and so forth. I realized today that it´s actually completely ok if I don´t go out, don´t buy "going out" clothes, and all those other things that people my age do. The funny thing is that I already learned these things, but God needed to remind me again today as I was watching the pounding waves against slimy, green rocks. God is pretty awesome. During the month that we were traveling I experienced what it´s really like to practice faith. We would just step off a bus in an unfamiliar place, knowing that God had a place to stay, friends, adventure, and a warm cup of coffee just waiting for us. But now, altough it makes absolutely no sense, it is harder to practice this kind of faith in the midst of plans, schedules, and knowing what to expect from day to day. He showed me that I have made the mistake of thinking that all these things related to living in Viña -- making friends, doing well in school, learning spanish, stepping out of my comfort zone -- are on my shoulders. The difference in our month of travel and now is that I felt like here I had to make it or break it all on my own. But he´s just as faithful here, and I´m reminding myself every morning that He´s taking care of things, He has a plan for every day, and He has new Spanish words, new friends, and new kernels of wisdom waiting for me every day.

So there you go, a little update on school and on my soul.
Please keep commenting, it means so much to me!!! And skype me if you ever have time... it´s great to be able to stay in contact with home!!!

love love love,
catie

Normal is a relative term...

2009-03-07T09:53:00.000-08:00

Now that our month of adventure is over, the events of this past week have not seemed especially blog-worthy, but they are adventures of a different variety, so I'll give it a go.

Orientation happened this week and, like orientation in the States, it mostly involved a lot of waiting... waiting to fill out papers, to take pictures, to sign up for things, to go on tours.... Registering for classes proved to be an utterly frustrating experience, not only because we are trying to figure out a completely different system of credits and hours, but because the study abroad program I am with has imposed some ludicrous restrictions on what classes we can and can't take. About half of the classes I wanted to take were off limits, which means I had to pull some strings, but I eventually got the classes I wanted. They seem like they will be really interesting. My classes are: Theory of Translation, Chilean and Hispanoamerican Literature, Man and the Social Doctrine of the Church, Human Experience in the Ideas and Art of the 20th Century, Living and Habitat, and Intro to Italian. And I don't have any on Fridays, which is awesome, and all of my classes will be taught in Spanish. I will have no choice but to really and truly learn the language, which is exactly what I wanted.

It was really strange to be around so many gringos (nearly 80% of my university's international students are from the US) and around so much English, and I'm really ready for school to start so I will actually start meeting Chileans and begin the painful process of having to speak/understand Spanish all day. In this strange limbo stage I'm in I often lose any concept of what language I am functioning in, and find myself responding to English with Spanish, thinking certain thoughts in Spanish and others in English, and many other odd combinations of language overlap. It's kind of sweet, though, to see how our thoughts are independent of language; that words are simply the canvas on which our ideas are expressed.
Wednesday night we met up at a bar with a few friends from school, but it turned into a group of about 20 gringos. Molly and I don't really know how to "go out" anyhow, not only because we cannot do so because of our age in the States, but because the concept of fun that we have grown accustomed to with our friends both in Nac and in our prospective cities is quite different than the universal image of what young people do to be social. Maybe we're just antisocial. Sitting among this large group of people, Molly and I found ourselves just talking to one another, suddenly aware that we were wearing frumpy sweaters to a club and that we didn't actually have any idea what we were ordering when we got drinks. The good news is that we are both secure enough to laugh it off and just make the most of it. We ended up having a good time, dancing later on, and most importantly just letting go. It was an extremely strange experience, and it will be interesting to see how our opinion of this whole "going out" thing evolves throughout the semester. I think it will be much better as we start meeting more Chileans who know the good places to go, but more importantly who we can get to know on a deeper level.

We did call up our friends from hitch hiking, who are from Valpo, and the three of them along with three of their friends met up with us just to walk along the beach at night and chat. It was really nice, and all of them were really fun to be around. Hopefully we will be spending more time with them. We also met up with Marco the next morning and he showed us around Valpo -- we went on the acensores and explored the twisted streets of the cerros around Pablo Neruda's house. He showed us one of his favorite cafes, called Colores Cafe, and took us to eat Chinese food. God blessed us SO much with all three of these guys; they are all complete gentlemen and really eager to show us around Vina and Valpo. Marco is like an older brother -- in fact, he even wears the same cologne as my real older brother.

My host mom is fantastic -- I am beyond a doubt exactly where God wants me. She is eternally happy, when she talks it is like a song, and she loves Jesus a whole lot. Several times over lunch or dinner we end up talking about the Church and God, and how awesome He is. She listenes to the Christian radio station all day, to which she often sings while she's cooking or cleaning. When I came home at 2am the other night I found her laughing hysterically at her computer, and we proceeded to spend the next 30 minutes or so watching funny videos of babies laughing. She tells me how much of a gift it is for her to have this time off working so she can do things around the house -- and she loves it. She loves being able to cook, clean, decorate, invite friends over, and just enjoy being in her home. She loves reality tv, dying her hair, and chocolate cake. Today she made me Chop Suy and fresh peach juice, and tomorrow we're going after church to hang our at her daughter's house for lunch, then at her parents' house for once (once is snack/tea/dinner substitute sometimes). Starting next week people from her church will be coming over to our house every tuesday for the sole purpose of prayer. When I sleep past my alarm she comes and knocks on my door to wake me up. In short, she is fantastic.

Last night molly spent the night after we went to see Slum Dog Millionaire (which was beyond amazing). At the movie theatre we saw a couple who we met in Ancud. They were staying in the same hostel in Ancud as us and went to the Pinguinera with us, then we saw the man several days later just walking in the streets in Castro, AND when I was in a photo center in Valparaiso getting my picture taken for my ID card there was a picture of them at their wedding on the wall. Valparaiso and Vina are big cities. What a small world we live in!!
It is really convenient (and miraculous) that Molly and I don't get tired of each other. The only thing that happens when we spend too much time together is that we run out of things to talk about, since we're experiencing everything together.

I've been skyping pretty regularly lately, which has been fantastic. I love being able to talk to friends back home, and for so cheap!!! If you don't already have it, download skype and add me!!! i'm catie.johnston on Skype.

Anyhow, I'm going over to Molly's house this afternoon to hang out with a bunch of her host sister's friends and eat hot dogs and watch horror movies. It should be interesting.

Keep the comments coming!

Besitos, abrazos, y mucho carino,
catita

Men in Tights!

2009-03-01T18:01:00.000-08:00

Tight tights!

It all started with a pair of earrings.

After several failed attempts in Futrono to visit an island with indigenous communities, we decided to leave earlier than we had originally planned, then realized that we would much rather spend the night on a bus back to Vina than in a hostel in Valdivia, as we had originally planned. "It would be one thing if we had friends here who we could go out with and see the town, but with just the two of us it will just be the same ole' same ole'" I said. **foreshadowing**

So, once in Valdivia, we bought our pasajes to Vina and headed out to walk along the river as we awaited the hour of our departure. We got to see wild sea lions who like to hang out near the fish markets -- one of them was dozing on the warm sand and from time to time growling to scare off a too-corageous dog who thought he was ten times bigger than he actually was. (did you know how big sea lions are? they're huge!!!) Bored with the sea lions and aware of the steady scalding of our blinding white skin, we mozied towards the center plaza to see what there was to see.

Molly was attracted by a pair of feather earrings, the likes of which she had been admiring for practically the entire trip thus far. The street vendor was very friendly and we chatted for a minute or two about the most beautiful parts of Chile. Molly bought the earrings (for the low price of 2,000 pesos = $3.50usd!) and, since we were already in the plaza and couldn't think of anything else to do, we headed towards a bench to sit down.

"Maybe we have friends in Valdivia," I said, "who we just haven't met yet. Maybe we'll sit down for a while and something will come our way." **foreshadowing** Little did I know that both of these statements would soon come true.

After we had been sitting there zoning out for a while, completely without plan, a troup of men in Renaissance attire carrying instruments rounded the corner and approached our perch. "Woah, look at them." we said. "I hope they'll come play a song for us," I said. "I bet they will. We'll give them money if they play us a song." They did come our way, but did not play a song. They came to take a seat and rest from the hot summer sun (hah! it was actually hot on a summer day in chile!) We scooted down a bit to make room for all four of them with all of their things and I struck up casual conversation with the on sitting next to me, whose name is Esteban (aka El Hombre Equis). Turns out our birthdays are one day apart, and we will both be turning 20. I don't wait long before asking why they are dressed as they are: black tights, short black poofy shorts, and velvety black jackets with poofy sleeves, decorated with regal looking sashes across their front. He explains to me that they are a group of students who are part of a larger organization that began back in the day when these clothes were actually in style (about 800 years ago). It originated as a group of students who had scholarships to pay for school but who could not afford to pay for lodging and food and so forth because as students, we all know, they were very poor. So they get together, dress up in their little black tights, and travel all over the area performing at events as well as on street corners and in restaurants to make money to pay for their travels and for their living expenses as students.

Anyhow, we chatted for a bit and they invited us to go grab a cerveza with them and, seeing as how we still had 2 hours to kill until our bus left, we accepted their invitation and started walking down the street escorted by a troup of men in tights.

Over a pitcher of cerveza we talked about modismos from Chile, about politics, about music, and so forth. We even taught them how to swing dance, much to the amusement of passers by. (Molly and I seem to have made a habit of doing dance demonstrations in public places with people who are almost strangers) As the hour for our departure was creeping nearer and nearer, I was trying to push it farther and farther from my mind. What a shame to have to leave our new friends after just a few hours. "Hey, why don't you guys stay another day in Valdivia and you can come around town with us" they offered in Spanish. Molly and I exchanged unsure glances. We already had our tickets home, we didn't have a place to stay, we didn't know these people, and we didn't really understand what it was they were doing tomorrow that we were going to follow them around for. But really, how many chances does a person get in a lifetime to spend the day with a band of traveling musicians wearing poofy short shorts and black tights? I couldn't say no to such an offer, so before we knew it the two younger guys were dashing off towards the bus station to try to sell our tickets back. When they couldn't sell them back and it was 15 minutes until the bus was supposed to leave we were already too invested in this rennaissance adventure to turn back, so we ate the tickets (not literally, of course) and began what would become one of the most unforgetable memories of my life.

Our stomachs were growling by this time, as it had been over 8 hours since we ate our meagre little sandwiches of meat and cheese, so they told us we would head to the store to get food to cook for dinner. However, before we could buy food, they had to earn the money to pay for the food, so we stopped in several bars and restaurants with them where they would perform a few songs, explain their attire and their pupose, El Guapo (Julio) would do a little jig with his little tambourine, and then he would pass it around and collect money.

I suppose I will go ahead and introduce the band of troubadours:

*Esteban/El Hombre Equis -- we have almost the same birthday. He is from La Serena and is a musical genius despite the fact that he developed some kind of disease in his hands so he can no longer play the contra bass as his concentration in the university, so he plays guitar and piano instead. His thumbs bend backwards way further than normal, which he told us is his super power like in X-Men. Hence, el Hombre Equis.

*Adrian/Hombre Sin Nombre -- We couldn't remember his name for the entire time we were hanging out with them (hence the nickname) until we got him to write it down before we said out goodbyes. He is the leader of the group and enjoys being in charge. He cooked us pasta with one sauce made from apples and tomatoe sauce, and the other using tuna and sour cream. and somehow they were both delicious (maybe because we were starving)

*Juan/JuanNoPants -- I think that out of all of them, Juan enjoyed the short shorts the most. He looked like he might be a creeper, but it turns out he's a really nice guy. He is studying to be an elementary school teacher, and he likes to dance, even when he's not good at it. He's got a very soft inside under his kind of rough looking outside.

*Julio/El Guapo -- El Guapo is the handsome one who they send into the restaurants to charm the owners with his dashing good looks to let them come in and play. For this reason he's always trotting off ahead and disappearing, soon to reappear with a thumbs up or thumbs down, his broad shoulders loaded down with an instrument case and sometimes a backpack too. While the others play stringed instrumets, he plays the tambourine. But not only does he play it, he does a crazy little jig with it that involves him jumping around, hitting it with his head, shoulders, knees and toes (no joke) with it. They also take advantage of his dashing good looks to make him ask for the money. Who could say no to that face? Basically, his job is to be guapo, and he does it very well. He also sings really well and plays stringed instruments very well.

Anyhow, we did this for several hours, despite the fact that they kept telling us that our next stop was the grocery store. Finally we got our bags from the bus station, bought some groceries, and after getting lost and walking in a huge circle, we made it to the hospedaje where they were staying, dumped our stuff, and waited for HombreSinNombre to cook us his magical concauction. It was delicious. Ah, the life of a musician. After dinner we sat around talking about music, getting them to play us our favorite songs, introducing them to Sufjan on the ipod, sipping on cheap wine with pepsi, and laughing at the ridiculocity of the day.

We finally parted company, and molly and I fell asleep in our shared double bed to the sounds of guitars in the other room. I really like that they play those guitars all day to make money, then to relax and have fun in the evenings they play those same guitars. Awesome.

In the morning (i mean, at noon when we woke up) I made us a delicious American breakfast of eggs and pancakes, they got their tights on (which, by the way, are called "panties" in spanish), and we headed out. They played in a few places around the main plaza, then we hopped on a bus to a little town called Niebla. Niebla means fog in spanish, and the entire town was, in fact, in a cold fog the entire time we were there. Thanks, Chile. Gotta love it. Anyhow, there was some kind of culture festival there (they always seem to be having cultural festivals everywhere here) with foods, traditional dances, music, and so forth. We enjoyed the festivities for a while, stopped by the beach where Molly and I almost froze because we were dressed in tank tops and shorts for the hot weather we had just left in Valdivia. The men in tights are true gentlemen, though, and El Guapo and JuanNoPants gave us their poofy-sleeved velvety jackets to keep warm as we walked up the highway to find a restaurant to play in. Chilean men are generally very chivalrous, and I still don't think Molly and I have really gotten used to them always offering to help us down from the bus or to serve us first at dinner or to always offer to carry our heavy backpacks despite the fact that they had their various bags and musical instruments to carry. We were quite a sight, and many people in cars passing by pointed, stared, laughed, and some even took pictures.

We went around to a few restaurants, one of which contained a woman who was incredibly drunk (even though it was 5 in the afternoon) who proceeded to dance all up on El Guapo. He just can't help that he's so stinking guapo.

...Another side note here, we taught the men in tights about the word "awkward", which doesn't really exist in Spanish. We showed them awkward turtle (as well as the variations: awkward turtle mitosis, awkward giraffe...) the day before, so as they were playing and the crazy drunk lady was singing and dancing with El Guapo in the middle of the restaurant they each at different times shot us side glances and quick awkward turtle hand gestures. It was awesome. ...

We finally left from the fog town and came back to Valdivia, where we got our bags from the hostel, had another dance lesson in the middle of the plaza (by then we had really gotten used to people staring at us all the time), met up with another man in tights who came to join them, then got some sandwich makin's at the store. We all sat together in the grass eating our sandwiches, reveling in the absurdity of the image of two american girls sitting on the ground among a troup of musicians wearing tights (panties) and short, poofy shorts. Molly and I bought an entire kuchen from the grocery store (it was like $4usd) and a package of plastic forks, so we all sat around eating at the kuchen with our hands and the occasional help of the forks. It was so awesome. Then we got our own private concert -- complete with the entire row of 5 men in tights doing the booty train while playing -- and Molly and I each had our turn to dance with El Guapo as the sun was retreating behind the horizon. Best moment of the trip might have been there on the lawn in Valdivia with our kuchen, our men in tights, and their music. Thanks God. He really does hear everything and He had a lot of fun answering those prayers that we didn't even know we said.

So, we said our goodbyes, got in a taxi, and rushed at the last moment to catch our bus back home.

There it was, the month of traveling that we had not only been planning for for half of a year, but which I had been anticipating and dreaming about since my sophomore year in high school. It is so strange for something that was preceeded by such anticipation to be coming to an end, to realize that what was once a scrambled collection of hopes and dreams is now just a memory. We were ready for the end of this chapter, though, and we were so relieved to be back in our host homes where unpacking our suitcases that have been stowed away all month was like Christmas morning after wearing the same 2 pairs of pants and 4 shirts for the past month (and only doing laundry 3 times!) It feels so good to be here, and already I feel like this is home. I am overwhelmed by school things, but it will be ok. In many ways I think that the normalcy of being a student here is going to be much harder than the constant flux of our time traveling. But God is good, and He is faithful ALL the time.

More will come soon about life in Vina, but this is already too long, and it will take a very brave soul to make it all the way to the end.

Besitos.

catita

PHOTOS

2009-03-01T15:37:00.001-08:00

Photobucket Album

Not much to say

2009-02-26T13:55:00.000-08:00

Things have been relatively uneventful since my last update, but I will update none the less.

We went camping just outside of the Parque Nacional Chiloé the night before last, which was all in all a very strange experience. We got off the bus without really having a clue what we were doing, where we were staying, and really anything about the place where we had been dropped off. We walked along the road for a while and inquired about some hostels, then ended up deciding to camp at a little place by the lake where we could enjoy hot showers (supposedly) and legal fires at our own camp site. After an unfortunate event that left molly $160 poorer and without a debit card, we decided a nice boat ride would be a good idea to cheer us up. Although there was a nice, cozy motorboat at the end of the dock just waiting to take people out on the lake, I thought it would be nice to take a row boat and enjoy the peace and quiet. "Do you know how to use the oars?" the man asked me in something that I assume must have been Spanish. "Of course I know how to use oars." "Are you sure you know how to use oars? Ok, here you go." And we were off. It turns out that the oars are really heavy and difficult to manage, and that I don´t actually have much of a clue as to what I´m doing. But somehow we managed to make a zig-zagged circle (not that that´s even geometrically posssible) before ditching our pride and bringing it back to the dock.
After our little excursion on the water, we thought one on land might fare better, so we headed out on a trail that indicated a playa (that means beach) on the other end. For the first 15 minutes I was certain that I must be dreaming, although I´m afriad my words won´t really be able to convey how surreal the entire situation was. We were walking on a sandy path through jagged shrubs and trees that looked as if they had come out of a Dr. Seuss book and stumbled awkwardly into reality. The sun was setting, making the mountains in the distance appear like a backdrop on a stage rather than massive piles of earth hundreds of miles away. Every now and then we would pass a pony -- no more than 4 feet tall -- nibbling on the scratchy grass, and every few minutes a group of Chilean people would pass us by with their arms loaded up with twigs, beer, or towels. We could hear the Pacific ocean roaring in the distance, and it seemed entirely appropriate for a unicorn to gallop up to us just in time to save us from a massive earth quake and the sky turning yellow as plants came alive and cows began to float up to the heavens. Fortunately the majority of the last sentence is fictional, although we wouldnt have been too terribly surprised if it actually happened. Needless to say, we got tired of this pseudo dream and decided to turn back. The night was excellent -- we had a glorious fire on which we cooked our little hot dogs and enjoyed a cold beer (or I did, anyhow) and then we laid on the peir listening to Sufjan and looking at the stars. When we came back to the site our neighbors invited us to come enjoy their fire, since ours was dying, and proceeded to offer us drinks, snacks, and several hours worth of fun conversation. The next morning they came over and invited us to join them for lunch, which was perfect since we had actually run out of food and only had half a container of nescafe and a jar of mermelada (jam). After lunch we re-ventured out on the dream path, which was much less dream-like in broad daylight, and made it to the beach of the Pacific Ocean. This beach was unlike any I´ve ever seen, and seemed profound in some wordless way. Molly had a good swim and we both enjoyed tossing our things in the sand and playing in the powerful waves like a pair of small children. It was awesome.

Anyhow, we made it back to Castro, caught a bus to Puerto Montt just as an intermediary stop (thank God -- it was the first place where we have really felt uncomfortable here in Chile. Some really shady guys were whistling and saying crude things at us as we were walking to get dinner. it was not so awesome) then the next morning got on another bus to another town where we caught another bus and now we´re in Futrono, trying to muster up one last hurrah for our last 3 days, although I am so tired from traveling that pretty much the only thing that sounds good right now (besides chinese food) is my own room back in Viña where I don´t have to figure out busses, hostels, or what to do with myself all the time. This month of traveling has been awesome and wonderful and all other similar adjectives, but all good things must come to an end and this one´s end is finally approaching. I will heave a huge sigh when I arrive at my house in Viña, put down my backpack, and settle into a nice conversation with my host mom.

One other thing that is worth commenting on, although it doesn´t really fall in any chronological placement, is that Molly and I have become so close that we actually think the same things a very large portion of the time. Probably 20 times or more in a day one of us says something and the other says "I was just thinking those exact words". Or sometimes we´ll say the same thing at the same time, maybe one of us saying it in Spanish and one in English. It´s so awesome it´s almost creepy.

Anyhow, I think that´s about it. I guess I had a lot to say for not having a lot to say. My appologize if it crossed the line into boring. Feel free to send me a cyber-slap.

But for now I just send you my love and these few words.
Ciao.

amigos!!!

2009-02-24T08:27:00.000-08:00

God hears our prayers -- all of them. And not just those that we begin saying Dear God with our hands folded, but those that we write in journals, those that we unknowingly think, and those that rise up from conversations with friends. He hears them all and He loves to answer them!

The night before last Molly and I were talking about how much we wished we could make some friends. We really hadn´t met anyone to hang out with since Pucon about 2 weeks ago, and really the people you meet traveling make the whole experience. So, the next morning (that´s yesterday) we got up with a vague plan to visit this look out point then catch a bus to Cucau, the town from which you enter the National Park of Chiloe. The look out point turned out to be really lame (with the exception of one especially funny moment that had to do with a dead end road, too much coffee for breakfast, and an unexpected vehicle) so we decided to head back to the highway to find a bus to take us to a nearby island that I had read was pretty cool. After walking for a while without seeing the bus we needed (or maybe we did, but we didnt know it was the one we wanted) we decided to give hitchiking a try again. After a quick prayer for safety we stuck out our thumbs, and literally within seconds a car pulled over and opened the door. We got in the car with three guys around our age who were going to Dalcahue, the departure city for the island we wanted to go to. After a couple of minutes of silence I figured I should try to start some conversation, so I asked where they were from. Turns out they are all from Valparaiso (the city where we will be studyding) and they are friends from scouts, gonig on vacation for a few weeks. We chatted all the way to Dalcahue, and when we got out we all kind of wandered around together, unsure if we should say our goodbyes or ask if they wanted to accompany us to the island. Before we could even ask them, they invited us to ride with them across the ferry to the island. Before we knew it, we were touring the whole island with our new friends, Esteban, Francisco, and Marco. We taught them english words (such as "shady", which has become our favorite english word to teach people. it is very useful. for example, "hitch hikers are usually very shady") and they taught us Chileanismos as we drove from town to town, taking pictures, getting out at the look out points, and checking out the various artesan markets. We ended up spending the whole day with them, letting them drive us around the island to see what there was to see -- which turned out to be the best thing that could have happened because it would have been much more lame and much less fun to try to do the same thing using the bus system. They were miraculously not shady, and very friendly. Also, it was very refreshing to be able to understand their spanish. The accent in Chiloe is especially difficult to understand, so we were starting to be discouraged and thinking that we could not, in fact, speak Spanish at all. However, we held an entire day´s worth of conversation with our new friends.
On the way back to Castro they were talking about going kayaking with their friend who is in the Navy stationed there, and we realized that if we joined them we wouldn´t make the last bus to Cucau. So we decided to stay another night. That´s the joy of not actually having plans and of knowing that God actually has our entire itinerary planned out for us already. So we told them we were going to find a hostel to stay in for one more night, and they mentioned that a bunch of people had just left from the house where they were staying. So we stopped by to ask the señora if there was room, and there was -- and it was cheaper and ten times more awesome (and included breakfast) than the place we had been staying. So we got our stuff, made ourselves comfortable in our room, and changed into kayaking clothes. We went kayaking (for free) with their friend, Marcello, out in the bay, and took a break on the beach on the other side to walk around and talk about life, sea lions, and funny words in Spanish. When we got back we ate stale cereal out of the back of their car and chatted -- another answer to a prayer, because Molly and I had been talking about how much we had been craving cereal. It was fantastic. We changed clothes and went out for dinner, then they drove us out to a look out point just outside of town where we could see the whole city twinkling in the reflection of the sea. It had the potential to be the ultimate in shady experiences -- going out into the dark with three guys we just met hitch hiking today -- but we could tell they are good guys and didn´t want to do anything bad. Plus our God is taking care of us and He let us know it was ok. It was beautiful, and afterwards we came back and played pool before retiring back to the house to chat over tea with the señora. Then Esteban got out his guitar and played beautiful, wonderful music on his guitar that was missing a string, then we taught them how to swing and two-step. It was the best day ever, and God answered so many prayers. Today they dropped us off in town where we said our goodbyes and made plans to get together in Valparaíso so they can show us the good places to go out and so we can get to know each other more.
So, here are just a few of the prayers God answered just in one day:
-making new friends
-cereal
-listening to/playing/singing along with a guitar
-give us a plan where we had none
-kayaking
-showing us that we can, in fact, speak Spanish
-eating real food
-having friends to hang out with back in Valparaíso

All of these are things that I journaled about or talked to Molly about or prayed about or just reflected on in the quiet moments.
PRAISE GOD!!!! He is awesome.

So now we are waiting for the bus to Cucau, where we will stay for a night or two, see the Park, then start making our way back up north and we start orientation on Monday. I can hardly believe that we only have 5 days of traveling left!!! It has been a great time and I´m excited to make the most of the last bit of time, but it will also be great to settle down with our host families and keep our clothes in a dresser instead of a backpack, to eat cereal and cold milk for breakfast, and to begin to establish patterns and friends in the place that we will call home for the next 5 months. And I am very excited to see the new ways that God shows me His mercy and grace and EXTRAVAGANT love.

p.s. - i have sent some post cards, and i am curious to see how long it takes to get there. so if you get one in the mail let me know.

also, i know i say it every time, but please comment! its so comforting just to know that people are reading this, even if you just say "hi".

love love love,
catie

photos link

2009-02-22T12:39:00.001-08:00

http://s676.photobucket.com/albums/vv129/chile09/

Some photos

2009-02-22T11:53:00.000-08:00

<< here i am with some of our puppy friends

here he is catching the sheep we ate

here we are eating our illegally cooked hotdogs

in Emma´s shop admiring her work

Cook rock formation at the beach in Quemchi

from puppy love to sheep slaughter

2009-02-21T12:29:00.000-08:00

I am sitting in an internet cafe in Castro, the capital of the island of Chiloe, surrounded by teenage boys playing some kind of dragon video game on the computers around me. And when i leave here I am going to the Festival Costumbrista, which is not only full of some of the best food, smells, and sights of the island, but that has attracted thousands of people from all around Chile and the world.
But first, a brief catch-up.

Quemchi was really relaxing, and right before we left we went for a brief walk on the beach where God stepped in once again to give us a little present just to remind us how much He loves us. Puppies. Yes, we were walking down the beach, picking wild blackberries as we went, when we came upon 11 tiny puppies running about on the rocky beach. Needless to say, we stopped for a good while to cuddle, play with, and take pictures of these perritos. The mom was glad for the break and took the opportunity to hang out with her dog friends a little ways up the beach. It was amazing. We decided that someone should name an alcoholic beverage after this experience: instead of sex on the beach, puppies on the beach. Even better.
Then we grabbed some lunch in a little restaurant, where a group of three guys from Santiago came in and promptly introduced themselves. We didn´t stay and chat long, because we had to catch a bus, but we saw them again later when we were waiting for the bus and they were coming out of the restaurant, and Claudio, the more talkative of the three, came up and told us he had a gift for us: two roses made out of napkins and a little piece of paper with his number on it. it was very funny.

We went from the sleepy town of Quemchi out to the country, to the house of a sweet lady named Emma for a taste of what day-to-day life means for her and her family. It really is amazing the amount of faith we are having to put in God in this trip -- we really didn´t know where we were going, what we were getting ourselves into, how we would get there, or anything. We just hopped on a bus with all our things and showed the bus driver the address and asked him to tell us when we should get off. And, praise God, we made it there on a long, dusty road, where Emma and her grandaughter were waiting for us with smiles and a pair of kisses to plant on each of our cheeks. She owns a small artesan shop, a bar-b-q pit type place, and a farm where they produce nearly all of what they consume and sell, from honey to marmelade to meat to the yarn she uses to make her blankets and shawls. When we got to the house she served us some bread that just came out of the oven, some tasty potato thing, and, of course, coffee. We have noticed that every time we get somewhere new God is there to welcome us with a cup of coffee in various forms -- sometimes with milk, sometimes with sugar, sometimes with fake milk, sometimes with nothing.... but whatever the case He´s always there to remind us He´s taking care of us. I think coffee has kind of come to symbolize that...
Later that evening Emma´s son drove us, his sister, and his neice into town to see the old church and to walk down a path by where the river spills into the ocean where he and his sisters used to play and pick blackberries when they were little. We had dinner at about 9:30 that night, which I expected to be something small due to the large snack that accompanied our coffee (here this kind of snack is called once, althoug I cant figure out why) but it soon became apparent that this was not the case. They led us up the hill in the frigid summer night to the fogon (the bbq place) where they proceeded to cook a massive amount of all kinds of meat over a big indoor bonfire. It was just meat in oil, maybe with some cilantro and salt, then we had a couple of potatoes to accompany it. It was so amazing -- words cannot describe. Mmm... to be a carnivore...
That night we snuggled up completely full in our beds while Oryan sparkled upside down from the magestic sky on the other side of the tin roof. In the morning we had more delicious homemade food -- including homemade plum jelly that is quite possibly the best thing i´ve ever put in my mouth -- and spent a long time just sitting around, watching the weather try to make up its mind between sunshine and rain. Because of the weather we really couldnt do much, so we spent a disproportionate part of the day watching disney chanel movies and sipping on coffee in the company of four generations of women in this family. Emma´s mother sat quietly watching life race on around her, Emma was constantly at the stove making marvellous things for us to eat, her daughters conversing and entertaining the youngest, Emma´s grandaughter, as she played with her hot pink My Little Pony on the floor. It was pretty sweet. Except for when it got to the point of excess, and our faces were slowly getting longer and longer as we entered that dangerous trance of television´s inactivity. Eventually we were able to go out with Rita, the youngest daughter who is in her 3rd year studying Social Work, to pick plums and apples in the back pasture. There is something terribly exciting about fruit trees to me. And the knowledge that these same plums might someday be turned into Emma´s magically delicious jelly. Then later they saddled up the horse so we could ride around for a little while. Then, when we asked if there was anything we could do to help, Emma told us we should go out to help them herd some sheep. Actually, we thought she said something about we should take a walk up the street to see crazy people playing soccer, but it turns out we were walking to the back pasture to herd sheep. The whole spanish-speaking thing is going great, as you can see. At any rate, we helped the family herd the sheep, then watched the husband tie one up and load it in a wheelbarrow and, smiling with his two-toothed smile, he told us it was lunch tomorrow. Then they invited us to watch them slaughter it. So we did. We watched them bleed it out, cut its head off, skin it, scoop out the guts, feed the livers and heart to the dogs, then hang it up in the shed. Then today we watched them skewer it all on a giant stick and cook it over a fire behind the fogon. Then we ate it for lunch today, and it was delicious. It was a very different experience, and I think it was good. I think that anyone who eats meat should be ok with seeing it go from animal to meat. Not the prettiest thing to see, but its part of life.
Anyhow, after that we had a small snacky dinner, watched a awful, tacky movie on tv, and went to sleep. We woke up this morning to more plum jelly and coffee, and after the aforementioned lunch we packed up our things and got on a bus to go. It was a really strange 3 days, a lot of which was spent having no clue what to do with ourselves. But I´m glad we went, and I´m also glad to be in a city now with grocery stores and internet cafes.

When we got to Castro we had reservations for a hostel we found online because everyone said that the whole town was full because of the festival. As we were standing outside of the bus station looking clueless (because we were), a woman approached and asked if we needed a hostel, and we said we had one but couldnt find it. She informed us that it was not near the center of town at all, and told us how to get there. "How much does your place cost?" we asked her. Turns out, its way closer, and way cheaper than the place where we had reservations. So she walked us down the street and showed us to our room, and we made ourselves a cup of hot, delicious, welcome coffee. Thanks, God. Even when we try to make plans He´s got something better going on. How awesome is that!

Also, on a side note, the song "If I see you in heaven" seems to be played everywhere here, and it just came on the radio, right after Hotel California. I felt like that was worth mentioning.

And yes, for all of you who have asked, I do plan on learning how to make Kuchen, and I will be more than happy to make it for you when I get back. Gotta share the kuchen love.

Fairy tales and Jesus

2009-02-19T07:38:00.000-08:00

God is so good!!! He has listened to our prayers and even just our normal conversations between me and Molly. Usually we don´t really know where we´re going to go at the beginning of the day. Like today, I have no idea where I´m going after I finish writing this blog. But God is so faithful and so good and is so excited to be taking us on this trip that I know He has somewhere awesome planned for us!

So in Ancud we just hung out, made friends with our guide, Franco, and tried to avoid the senora of our hostel who, although she was very friendly, developed a habit of screaming three inches from my face when she wanted to talk to us I guess because she thought it would make me understand Spanish better.
Yesterday morning we got up, enjoyed kuchen for breakfast, and then ventured out into the rain to find a bus to somewhere, although we weren´t sure where. Once we had all our things we boarded a bus to Quemchi, a small town that my travel book said was pretty nice, and headed out with a steaming hot milcao -- a fried wad of mashed potatoes with chicken in the middle -- in our hands. We got out of the bus and started walking, waiting for God to show us where He wanted us to stay. And of course, he did. We arrived at a perfectly hospitable little hospedaje facing the ocean where the senora welcomed us in and invited us to enjoy a cup of warm coffee by the fire. There were pictures of mountains and rivers with Psalms written under them decorating the walls everywhere. She suggested that we go visit a small island nearby, which turned out to be the answer to a whole bundle of prayers that Molly and I had lifted up to our Father. We ended up hitch hiking for half of the journey, which is a really normal thing to do in this area, and which was completely necessary in the never ending rain that weighted down our clothes.
The night before, over raspberry daquiries Molly and I had been recalling some of the imaginary games we would play as chileren -- like playing survival-in-the-wildreness games on top of Babe´s dog house in the Boiles´back yard or pretending to be orphans living only in the company of a bunch of animals -- and wishing that some day we would be able to abandon ourselves to imagination again. And God gave us the island.

I cannot describe its magic, or even what happened, because it is too awesome and big for words, but I am pretty sure I am going to write a children´s story about it that hopefully someday you can read.

God also knew how much I was missing my family, and so he brought them to visit me in my dream last night. I was there with my grandparents, uncles, aunts, cousins, parents, Tyler and Cody, (and even two little kittens!) and we were all just hanging out. Normally my dreams are very complicated, but this was just us hanging out, listening to Grandaddy make up songs on the piano and enjoying each other´s company. Thanks, God.

Anyhow, I have to go. we keep getting kicked off the computers, which is probably for the best because we need to go enjoy the fact that its not raining at the moment.

I posted pictures on facebook -- you should go check them out.
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2002065&id=1536330170&saved#/album.php?aid=2002065&id=1536330170&ref=mf

love love love......... and PLEASE keep the comments coming! its so great to feel connected to the other side of the equator and to know that we are not being forgotten in our absence.

Cachai´po, juevon?

2009-02-17T12:11:00.000-08:00

Day 2 in Ancud.

When we got here at about 9 last night we could not find the hostel we had reservations for, but that was because God wanted us to stay somewhere different. So we wandered until we came to a large, bright blue building and the owner welcomed us in and made us coffee. Yes, this is where we are supposed to be. We had coffee with real milk, I took a gloriously hot shower, then we went to bed. This morning we got up, ate Kuchen for breakfast (I could really get used to this whole eating Kuchen at least once a day thing. Its the most delicious food ever made) and loaded into a bus with another couple from the hostel to go to the Pinguinera Pinihuil -- a penguin colony nearby. After picking up a few more people and our guide, we began the bumpy drive along the coast, stopping preiodically for our guide, a second year law school student named Franco, to show us some kind of flower, berry, or rock formation that, according to legend, is home to burried treasure guarded by the Traucos. The penguin tour itself was not especially thrilling -- we loaded into a boat and tossed about on the waves for about 30 minutes, getting some excellent views of penguins hanging out on some big rocks. This is the only place in the world where these two kinds of penguins can ever be seen together. Come March, one breed migrates north and the other south, but every year they come together here and lay their eggs on the misty shores of Chiloe. It began to rain and the waves were getting larger, so we had to go back to the shore, but we used our extra time to grab some Empanadas de queso y loco at a restaurant right by the shore.
For those of you who speak spanish, you might be wondering, as were we, what an Empanada de loco might be. As it turns out, it is not crazy-flavored empanadas, but rather empanadas with mollsuks. At any rate, they were delicious, and all 9 of us on the tour sat together and told stories and jokes -- many of which revolved around mine and Molly´s inability to speak or understand Spanish. But everyone here reassures that our Spanish is very good, and have even gone so far as to say that our accents are good sound almost authentic.

On the ride back Franco taught us all kinds of new Chilote words -- it seems that this island not only has its own magic, but its own language. Later tonight we are going to go get drinks with our new friend Franco and hopefully learn more.

Even though we have not yet done much here and, to tell the truth we don´t really have a clue as to what we´re going to do, I can tell there is a sense of mystery and fantasy here on this giant island called Chiloe. The ominous mist that never fully leaves gives everything a sense of secrecy, as if trying to hide the whispers between all the plants, animals, and waters. Tiny flowers that look like fairies decorate the countryside everywhere, dancing between blackberry brambles and trees that bear a fruit similar to a blueberry. I feel like if I could hold my breath and be still enough, I would actually see a fairy tale unfolding before my very eyes. I can hardly wait to write more about the surprises that God is going to show us on this magic island.

Ciao.

p.s. - the title of this entry is the essence of chileanismos. It roughly translates to "do you get it, dude?" but the way it is said is that makes it a true chileanismo :D

Petrohue

2009-02-16T19:07:00.000-08:00

Yes, I am blogging twice in a day. God is so good to me and gave us a computer at the hostel we´re staying in tonight. God has been good to us in so many ways. But more on that in a moment.

After our sweet time in Frutillar we decided at the last minute to make a visit to another neighboring town called Petrohue, which we knew very little about and which was not in the slightest a part of our plan -- or whatever vague resemblance of a plan we´ve had. It became obvious later that God told us to go there. It´s pretty awesome how He can tell us to do things even when we don´t think we´re listening. So, we hopped on a bus and a few hours later found ourselves in the midst of a few buildings that make up the town of Petrohue within the borders of Parque Nacional Vicinte Perez Rosales. It was raining, as has been our customary welcome to each of our destination towns here in Chile. We considered waiting it out in a building, but when it became apparent that it was not going to let up we braved the pelting, cold rain to find a small motorboat to take us to the other side of the river where our hospedaje was located. This place was beautiful and perfect. We came in from the rain and it was warm and smelled of burning wood, and we dried off to enjoy a cup of hot coffee. The storm gave us ample time to sit and enjoy the scenery -- which included a massive volcano when the clouds cleared enough for us to see-- and we had some quality alone-with-God time. It was amazing. We decided to dine in the hostel -- mostly because the grocery store was closed and we had no food -- despite the fact that it was expensive by the standards we´ve been going by (about $9 each). Again, God blessed us by making this decision for us -- it was the most amazing meal I have ever consumed. Rainbow trout that the owner had caught in the river earlier that day, grilled to perfection so that it melted in our mouths. It was accompanied by rice, potatoes, salad, homemade bread, and a bottle of wine that some friends we made gave to us. It was perfect. Over dinner Molly and I ran through our day verbally and talked about all the things that made it the most perfect day ever -- from the rain to the food to the views to the new friends we had made. After dinner we chatted a while with new friends, then went to bed in our warm room (right above the kitchen, looking out oer the river and volcano) in our real mattresses. We laughed so many times just amazed at how good God has been to us. He is the best travel agent.

Anyhow, this morning we had an amazing homemade breakfast at the hospedaje then made our way to Chiloe, and now we are in Ancud in a hostel that feels and smells like a home. Its lovely and I need to go to sleep now. Tomorrow we see penguins.

It takes two to strawberry

2009-02-16T12:41:00.000-08:00

Frutillar. The verb form of strawberry. A fantastically quaint town on the shore of Lago Llanquihue. Land of the world´s best deserts.

After a thoroughly hum-drum time in Puerto Varas, we hopped on a bus to Frutillar in hopes of finding more excitement. This was the first time we arrived in a new town without hostel reservations beforeheand, but we found the most perfectly cozy hospedaje (which I dont even think had a name...the sign just said Hospedaje, which is basically like having a sign that says "Lodging") We dropped our things and went for a stroll in search of some lunch. In route we were stopped by a case full of appalingly delectable looking deserts, and decided that our appetite would be better spent on a massive hunk of chocolate cake than real food from a restaurant. So we proceeded to dive into what shall go down in history as the best chocolate cake ever.
We spent some time at the pier hoping that some lucious chilean boys would invite us to take a spin out on their boat, but when that didnt happen after half an hour or so we called it quits and retired back to the hostel to nap and recouperate. I should take this moment to describe ever so briefly the scenery in the town of "To Strawberry". The lower part of the town is the resort arrea, made up of a handfull of quaint old German houses lining the shore of the lake, and everything that wasnt a house/hospedaje was pretty much either an artesan market, restaurant, or bakery. The world´s brightest and most massive flowers sprinkle the coutryside, fighting for prominence in front of houses of architecture stunning in its simpliity and quaintness. On the other side of the lake is a massive volcano that watches over the sleepy little town and her sailboats when the clouds clear away.
Anyhow, as we passed our beloved desert stand for a second time we reailzed that we both had an urgent need for another one of its treasures: me a slice of Kuchen (google it...its delicious) and Molly a scoop of chocolate gelatto. Satisfied again, we went along on our way. After spending some time trying to create some sort of plan for the next day, we emerged to find the streets filled with thousands of people, many of whom were screaming before a stage of three hott 20-somethings singing a song that basically said "you taught me how to love you, how to touch you, how to kiss you, but now that its over the one last thing you have to teach me is how to forget you". They must be cousins of the backstreet boys. The finale of this unexpected valentines day festival was a parade of floating floats lit up in red and pink and an abundance of hearts. We sat on the beach eating yet another desert (apple pastry) in awe of this event.

The next morning we each had one last slice of Kuchen for breakfast and went on our way....

And unfortunately i have to leave this here....much more to come........ love and blessings to you all.

Pueto Varas

2009-02-13T07:14:00.000-08:00

Not too much has happened since my last post, although I´m aching to maintain some sort of contact with a place I call home -- whehter that be the United States, Texas, Nacogdoches, Austin, St Ed´s, Hope in the City..........

We left Pucon yesterday, which felt strikingly similar to leaving home. We had made many good friends who we will miss, and we had begun to know which fruit stands had the best plums and which panaderia had the freshest, softest bread. On our last afternoon our friend Gustavo took us up to a giant wooden statue of Jesus that overlooks a cemetery and the entire town. He has the best view of the bay and eveything that goes on in those streets below. We spent a good deal of time up there, talking and laughing and singing. Gustavo said he was amazed by our views about God. He had always assumed that all Estado Unidenses (united statesian? this doesnt really exist in english so i use spanish) were Christians and did the whole church thing. But he also said we were the first ones of our kind he had met in the thousands of people he has met in working and traveling in hostels. We talked about how church is so much more than a building, and took moments of silence to marvel at the beautiful sanctuary that God had built around us -- with walls made up of mountains and skies of the clearest blue. It was a sweet moment. Later that night we cooked together, which actually ended up being one of the most disgusting meals i´ve ever had, but we washed it down with some vino and everything was ok. The next morning we bought our bus tickets and hugged Gustavo goodbye at the station, wondering where our adventuring might land us next.

It turns out that a bus to Puerto Varas isn´t exactly a bus to Puerto Varas. We had tickets from Pucon to Temuco and from Temuco to Puerto Varas, but we missed our bus in Temuco and after much confusion and complete failure on our parts to understand and/or speak Spanish we bought another pair of tickets and waited for the next bus. 6 hours later we were dropped off on the side of the highway, with instructions to cross the footbridge over the highway and wait for a minibus to Puerto Varas. We had no idea where we were, and the only thing nearby was a Shell station as the sun settled in below the horizon. I said jokingly as we were walking across the foot bridge "The only thing that could perfect the hilarity of this situation would be rain"... and sure enough, only a few minutes later we were standing in the dark in the rain on the side of the highway hoping that a bus might come sweep us away. We decided that God was laughing at us so hard he started crying. After 20 minutes of standing in the rain to absolutely no avail, we crossed back over to the Shell station and put on our most pitiful wet puppy faces and asked the guy working there what in the world we were supposed to do. He told us we had to stand on the side of the highway and flag a bus down. That´s right, they don´t jus stop when they see someone waiting, you have to flag them down from the side of the highway. So we treked back across in the cold rain, laughing hysterically at every aspect of this ridiculous situation, and stood in a puddle with our hands waving wildly at any pair of headlights that we suspected might be a bus. Finally about 10 minutes later a small bus stopped and, although it was full, we boarded and piled up our soaking wet backpacks. (thank God for waterproofing!!!) A few minutes later we arrived in Puerto Varas just two blocks from our hostel (which I was so glad we had reservations for). Again, this hostel makes me appreciate Backpackers. We are staying in a shared dorm area, which is a large room with 12 beds and 2 bathrooms. We each get a locker that is about 3x2 feet in which to store our valuables.
We´re having a hard time knowing what to do with ourselves here. It is definitely a touristy town, and there are tons of older Canadian couples around town taking pictures of the flowers and sporting their fanny packs. Most of the options for things to do are expensive kayaking, rafting, or horseback riding trips. And since we havent made any friends here we are almost entirely left without a clue as to what we should do. I think Molly and I have both hit the funk part of the trip, and it is a miriacle that neither of us ended in tears after yesterday´s shinanigan. God has been taking great care of us and I am so grateful. I have faith that He´s got more in store for us, so for now we´ll just keep on keepin´on and keep our eyes opened for a new adventure.

camping y carne

2009-02-10T15:26:00.000-08:00

The past three days we have been in Parque Nacional Huerquehue, which is absolutely beautiful. We arrived on Sunday afternoon and set up camp with plenty of daylight left to take a dip in the lake, dry off, and sit on a log over the water to read my book for an hour or so. We had packed minimal food, not knowing exactly how to pack for a three day camping trip where we may or may not be able to make a fire and we definitely didnt have any pots or pans or anything with which to cook. Turns out fires are illegal in this park, but we secretly made a miniature one out of twigs for about 3 minutes -- just long enough to cook our hot dogs then stomp it out before anyone saw. Those were the most delicious hot dogs we had ever eaten.

After spending the night snuggled up in our one-man-tent, which is actually the perfect size for both of us, we mozied about until we worked up the energy to begin our trek, which we didn´t imagine would take more than 4 or 5 hours. Already exhausted from our attempt at the volcano two days earlier and a 2-hour attempt at a shorter trail the day before, we were panting after the first half-hour of uphill hiking. It continued to be uphill for the next 3 or 4 hours nonstop, and as I already discussed in my last blog we don´t do so well with the uphill. We were having to stop ver frequently and let people pass us. I dont understand how they all made it look so easy. I guess we´re just really badly out of shape -- or we´ve just been very spoiled by how flat Texas is. Anyhow, we made it to the waterfalls, the lakes, then faced the looooooong last leg of that day´s journey down the other side of the mountain into the river valley where our camp ground was to be.
Just when I thought I couldn´t walk any more, we saw the sign for Camping Renahue, the destination of our trek. Basically, it was an open area with one spicket and a sign. There was a couple there, German I think, who we asked about the area, expecting to find some sort of ranger or someone to check us in and whatnot. This was certainly not the case, so we dropped our bags and set up the tent. A sign indicated that there was fresh baked bread just 15 minutes away, which we assumed was part of the refugio that was shown on the map, so we decided to check it out. The other reason we wanted to check it out was because we had seen hoof prints on our way down the mountain, and hoped that perhaps we could ride horses for the steep climb back up the mountain in the morning, sparing our aching feet from that arduous part of the journey. The timing was all wrong, and we quickly realized that we would be coming back to the camp ground in the dark, armed only with my handy head lamp (thanks maya!!! i love that thing). But trek on we did, and finally - after walking in circles a few times and having to decide what we thought was a trail and what was not - we came upon a small building, which turned out to be a barn. A group of sheep stared us down as we neared, then began bleeting our arrival as we rounded the corner towards the house that was nestled behind them. I knew this couldnt be the hostel. This was either something out of a horror movie and we were about to be kidnaped never to be seen again (other than the German couple there was nobody around for miles) or something magical was about to happen. Once again under the mentality of "we might as well, we came this far" we walked through the garden to knock on the door. A short older lady was bent over a wood-burning stove, and turned to greet us. We could hardly understand a word she said, though we managed to gather that the Refugio on the map did not exist, this was her private house just beyond the park boundaries, and that she does, indeed, make fresh bread if we want to buy some or a cold beer. After much confusing rambling, which may or may not have resulted in any level of understanding on either side of the conversation, we bid her farewell and sought out the trail again. I wish we could have stayed with her for a while just to hear her story -- why she lives there, if she lives alone, what she does all day. It is obvious that she devotes a good deal of time in her garden, which was an orchestra of bright colors arranged perfectly in that wild-yet-planned fashion. The walk back to camp should have been one of the most frightening experiences in my life, but I kept singing praise songs in my head the whole way to remind myself that I have nothing to fear because my God is protecting me. And let me take this opportunity to pause and say how extravagant He has been with grace over this past week. So many situations that could have potentially been disasterous He has protected us, and then gone further by blessing us in so many ways we could have never even asked for. I have always felt most prayerful when I am in nature, and the entire hiking trip I felt as if I was in conversation with Him -- whether it was me begging for mercy on my throbbing feet or praising Him for His masterful artwork all around me. And He was and is faithful -- we got out of there alive and all the better for it. Praise God!!!!
Anyhow, we made our way back in the dark, which took us about 20 to 30 minutes, tripping over things and trying to share the one light between the two of us. We even managed to see a huge spider that was likely the Chilean version of a black widow. When we got back to camp we were all business because we both wanted to sleep so much. We made our little twig fire again and cooked our pitiful yet absolutely delicious hot dogs, wrote in the journals for a while, then snuggled up in our little tent.
We woke in the morning and got our things ready to go, and soon we were back on the trail going up instead of down this time. It was still painful and my little toes -- which by this point were literally just two giant blisters instead of two small toes -- were screaming at me to stop and just sit, but we pushed through with many grunted prayers. The trek back was mostly uneventful, and went faster than the day before. At one of the checkpoints we saw a spider called an Aracna Pollito, which was about 3 inches across but that apparently can grow to be more like 5 or 6 inches across. When we finally arrived at the park entrance around 3 in the afternoon I thought my feet were going to fall off, and after I sat down I never wanted to stand again. Ironically, we had to stand for the first 20 minutes of the bus ride back because everyone else rushed to get on before us when it finally arrived. South America doesn´t really have the same concept of order and fairness as we do in the states -- the fact that we were the second people to get there to wait for the bus meant nothing in getting us a seat. Oh well. Shortly after a few people got off, so were were able to take their seats.

When we got back to Pucon we were hoping to stay in Hostal Backpackers again for the night, but they were full so we found two beds at a hostel nearby. It really made me appreciate Backpackers, where we felt at home since the moment we got here. In fact, we spent more time at Backpackers last night than we did in our own hostel -- just hanging out with the friends we have made here. In fact, I am in Backpackers now because we decided to stay another night tonight. I will be sad to leave the friends we have made here.

We had asked one of those friends, Gustavo from Uruguay, to come get dinner with us last night. We were going to celebrate the fact that we could finally eat real food (instead of hot dogs, cheese, and fruit) by having an all-out feast. When we came to meet him to go out, he informed us that his boss, Claudio, wanted him to come to dinner with him. So, instead of splitting company, we all dined together. Claudio, Gustavo, Boris, me, Molly, and two women who also work at the hostel. Claudio is one of those men who just seemes to own everything he looks at. Walking to the restaurant he would cross diagonally at the instersections just to show that cars would stop for him in all directions. When we got to the restaurant, which he picked, he made it clear that his seat was the head of the table, and he promptly told us that it wasn´t necessary to look at the menus becaue he was going to order for all of us -- appetizer, drinks, and the meal. When the brought out the bread he forcefully tore off his portion, tossing the rest aside, then gnawing on it like a man. He is unmistakably the jefe around here. We had pisco sours to start, then the food arrived -- two platters piled high with meat. There were probably 4 or 5 different animals represented on each platter, accompanied only by a half of a tomato and a few potatoes. We all dug in, sawing off our hunks of meat then slapping them on our plate, washing it all down with the wine that Claudio ordered for us. It was the most perfect meal I could have asked for -- especially after 3 days of eating hardly more than bread for every meal. As the vino flowed so did our conversation, and we all listened and laughed along as Claudio told his stories of climbing the volcano over 1000 times, of flying over the farther point of the earth, and of the numerous people he has met over his years of working at the hostel. When he had a really good story that he wanted to make sure that Molly and I fully understood he would slow down and throw in random english words for emphasis. It was all fantastic, and really characterized much of our time here in Chile so far. The people are so welcoming and accomodating, and they just want to hang out and tell stories, and there should always be some vino involved.

Later on Molly and I hung out with Gustavo at the hostel for a while, then I went with Boris and another guy named Rami from the hostel to a club, which was a lot of fun. Again I got to experience the lack of order that is here -- there was no line to get in, simply a mass of people and whoever pushed the hardest to get to the front got in first. We danced for a while then came back to our respective homes around 3 in the morning. Besides the intense smell of cigarette smoke that followed me into my bed, it was a lot of fun.

Anyhow, this morning we checked out of that hostel and came back to Hostal Backpackers to re-check in here, and we´ve had a relaxing day of writing post cards, doing laundry, and being generally very lazy. Tomorrow we will leave and go probably to Puerto Varas, though we are still not sure. Sometimes it is really good not to know.
Praise God!

So the adventures begin...

2009-02-07T08:47:00.000-08:00

I can hardly believe that this is only day 3 here in Pucon -- I feel as though I have lived here for months already. The hostel we are staying in makes us feel so at home and the days are so long here that it is easy to forget.

Anyhow, I guess I will try to be chronoligal here, to keep things sane.

Thursday evening Molly and I caught the late afternoon minibus to Los Pozones, one of the many thermal baths in the area. Although we weren´t entirely sure there would be another bus to take us back that evening, we made our way down the slippery, muddy hill, taking in the smells of the steaming earth and the fresh rain, admiring the cascading greenery and panoramic view. There were about seven different baths, which consisted of natural rock pools anywhere from 12 feet t 30 feet across, steaming in the cool, after rain air, filled with people of all ages and walks of life. We undressed down to our swimsuits (which, of course, resulted in a few comments about gringas, no han vista al sol, mira que blanca es...) and got in. It was really amazing. It would have been worth the while even if we hadn´t gotten in the water, just to see the scenery. A roaring river ran alongside the pools, filling the air with its soothing music, and the rain sporadically dribbled down on us, cooling our faces while our submerged bodies soaked in the earth´s natural heat. After about an hour and a half we dashed into the cold air and tried to dry off as well as we could sharing one traveler´s towl that was about 10 by 24 inches. We made it, then climbed the muddy steps to the bus stop where a bus did in fact arrive shortly thereafter to carry us along the bumpy road to the place we´re calling home for these three days.

Friday we slept in, and it was glorious. The beds are equipped with layers upon layers of blankets, and the smell of wood and wet earth put me quickly to sleep and then gently soothed me awake in the morning. We explored the town a bit, visited the black volcanic sand beach, got lost for a while, then met outside the hostel to leave for the canopy tour. Molly and I and a girl named Laura, from Uruguay, who works at the hostel loaded up in the bus, picked up some Israili boys from another hostel, and headed out to the river. We have gotten to be friends with Laura -- she is patient with our slow spanish intake, and I love listening to her stories and explanations of things. Anyhow, we all jumped out of the van and suited up in our zipping gear, and hoped that we understood the important points of the directions they gave us all in Spanish. This was the best way to see the scenery I could have asked for -- a crew of really friendly guides zipped us from platform to platform through the lush greenery of the canopy, periodically over a gushing river or inbetween two very close trees. For about an hour we did this, zipping back and forth, swapping jokes and talking about where we were all from with the guides. It was a sweet experience. When we got to the end and we were chatting with everyone, they told us one of the guides was having a birthday party later that night, and we were invited. (This ended up being a failed endeavor, as we only knew the street name and nothing else. ) Later in the evening we braved the super market and then cooked some deliciously fattening potatoes for ourselves and our friend Laura with bacon and cheese -- except that cheddar cheese does not exist here. they only know of one kind of cheese here in chile, but luckily it is delicious.

Saturday we woke up at 3:45am, threw on several layers of highliter-yellow gear, and piled into a van with granola bars hanging out of our mouths to ride to the base of the Volcano Villarrica. The plan was to start climbing ridiculously early in order to watch the sunrise from the steaming crater of the still-active volcano. We started in the frigid early morning mist, and I can´t tell you if it was the stars above me or the altitude that took my breath away -- or maybe a combination of both. We could see millions of stars speckling the sky, unfamiliar constellations smiling down on us and urging me to keep on keepin on through the steep incine of loose gravel. I don´t know exactly what I expected, but apparently not that we would be walking up a slope the whole way. Within the first half hour Molly and I had fallen to the back of the group (along with the two other Americans on the trek) and before I knew it Molly was no more than a tiny twinkling light slowly making its way up the path below me, accompanied by the angelic light of Francisco, the patient guide who stayed with her as she threw up the granola bars from an hour earlier. As morning began to peep over the horizon, we neared a building that housed the end of a ski lift, where I waited with Molly and we continued up together with our faithful guide. Having left all of her energy in a puddle of vomit a few hundred feet below us, Molly was moving very slowly and it became apparent that we weren´t going to make it to the top. So, we went as far as we could in a stop-and-go fashion, then perched ourselves on some nice rocks for an hour or so, then slid down the ice on our butts like penguins as far as the ice went. My ego didn´t want me to write the truth, that we didn´t make it to the top, and we joked about stealing some of our friends´pictures from the crater so we could tell everyone we made it, but alas, my conscience got the better of me. So there it is, the story of the volcano that we only 1/3 of the way conquered. Fortunately, Francisco was muy muy guapo and willing to partake in choppy Spanish conversation with us, which made it much more enjoyable. Besides the fact that the views were absolutely incredible. As the clouds rolled in with the morning sun it began to look like we were at the beach, and that the clouds were the sea. It was absolutely phenomenal.
So, then we came back, took the best nap of our lives, got dressed up, and went out to take advantage of the free drink coupons that our hostel hands out to its guests at a bar called Mamas y Tapas. By the time we left, our table was decorated with two empty beer glasses, a coffee mug with the remains of Kahlua, a tall, empty white russian glass, and an empty pisco sour. We had quite a time, and made our way back to the hostel to eat a bit and chat with some Israli guys that are staying here. We had quite a night.

This morning we had to get up and pack up our things to check out by 10, and we will be leaving in about 30 minutes to Parque Nacional Huerquehue to camp for a few days. So, I won´t have any access to internet for a while, but keep the comments coming! i love hearing from you guys!!!!!!

love love,
catie

Pucon

2009-02-05T10:41:00.000-08:00

Hostels should exist everywhere ... This place is beautiful. the first thing that struck me was the smell -- it smells like Maya´s house. The open windows, the wood burning stove that warms the common area, and the natural wood walls that gently welcome me into their spaces. It is rainy today and cold, although this is not a bad thing. We have been pretty sedate, as we recover from the 12 hour bus ride it to get to here. We went for a walk around the town -- which reminds me of Crested Butte in colorado, because it is a small, cozy town that you can walk a circle around in probably about an hour, but along the main street are dozens of tourist operaters to take you to the volcano, or zip lining through the canopy, or rafting, or kayaking, or wind surfing, or camping, or to the thermal baths..... everything. it´s an awesome place, although i realize that i could easily spend too much money here. I´ve been haning out in the common area with a couple of brittish girls and some australian guys, although i mostly just listen to their conversation that seems to come from a completely different world. all these pop culture icons and movies and tv shows that i don´t watch... Gustavo is one of the hombres that works here, and he is a lot of fun to talk to. He welcomed us in when we arrived a solid 2 hours before check in time and offered us tea. He is a talker and a joker. He came here from Uruguay when he was traveling a year ago, stayed at this hostel for a while, then when he came back through about month ago he decided to stay here so now he´s working here for a while. it sounds like a fantastic life to me.
it´s pretty overwhelming to be in this place where we have no idea what we´re doing, much less how long we´re going to be here. in some ways a month seems very short, but in others it seems very very long, and i really can´t imagine what i will be doing every day for the next 23 days. Besides the fact that we have reservations here for the next two nights and that we want to end up in Chiloe in about 2 weeks, the only other thing I know is that God is with me and that He is good. This is what one might call an excercize of faith.

Anyhow, I don´t want to spend too much time on here. We´ll hopefully be heading out again soon to brave the rain to soak in some hot springs up by the mountains. Ay, de verdad me encanta este pais.

CHILE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2009-02-04T14:19:00.000-08:00

After almost missing our flight from Houston to Miami because we simply forgot to listen, the rest of our hours of flying went very smoothly. Although I have been a Christian for some time, this was the first time I prayed for a trip from my heart. I’m not sure if it’s sacrilegious to have a favorite prayer, but that one was definitely my favorite. As the plane’s wheels abandoned contact with the cement Molly and I were hand in hand, thanking God for this trip and for His mercy and asking for His protection and guidance. What a sweet feeling that the further and further we got from the ground upon which our entire lives are built, to feel more and more positive that we were going where I AM desires us to be! Anyhow, the flight passed as painlessly as 8 hours of being sedate can pass, and soon we found ourselves face to face with our own personal taxi driver holding a sign made just for us. Joel, the taxi driver, proceeded to carry as much of our luggage as we would let him, then describe to us on a small laminated map each valley, tunnel, and town we would be passing through en route to Vina del Mar. The best way I can think to describe Vina is as if the ocean spilled out a giant puddle of buildings that opposed gravity and spilled up the side of the mountains. We quickly arrived at my new home and my mama came out to greet me with a hug and a kiss, and the next thing I knew I was closing the door on Molly and Joel and entering a whirlpool of Espanol. I managed to comprehend which room was mine, where to put my things, and, after about seven explanations, how to lock the door. Then my mama promptly poured me a glass of water and sat me down at the dining room table to chat. The good news is that she loves to talk, so in a sense I was eased back into the Spanish speaking world by simply comprehending for a while before having to come up with many words of my own.
Chileans are a bit like Texans, in that they are exceedingly proud of their homeland. A friend who came to visit my mama told me that God created all the countries and then Chile, in which he combined all the best parts of his other creations. Then, to top it off, he snuggled them in safe and secure between the cordillera and the Pacific Ocean. “Ay, mija,” they both declared repeatedly, “te va a encantar este pais.” I did not doubt them for a second.
During lunch I asked my mama about what she does for a living, and for a moment I was afraid I had poked a sore that was better off undisturbed by the way she was saying she used to teach art to kindergarteners and used to have a boutique downtown. As it turns out, she had a stroke about a year and a half ago. Before her stroke she was the busybody of all busybodies, going to work at 8:30 in the morning and working until 10 at night between the four or five bus rides it took to dart her between her two jobs throughout the course of the day. She said she never had time for anything and all she could focus on was working hard to make things better for herself and her daughter. Then the stroke hit. She could not get out of bed for a year, nor could she write, speak, or feed herself. She told me that God was telling her to slow down. By the miracle of grace she relearned how to walk and perform other daily activities, building up to her taking a trip to a beach up north a week ago after finally getting approval from her doctor that she was well enough to escape the cage that her bed had become. As we devoured our lunch (which, by the way, was delicious) she explained to me how her life has changed since then, and how she realized that those things in life that we don’t like and that don’t even matter in the first place really are not worth the while. She enjoys her days now that she still hasn’t been able to go back to work, cooking meals for her family, getting actively involved in her church, going for walks by the beach, reading a book. This woman is wonderful.
After lunch Molly, her host sister, and I went to buy bus tickets to Pucon for tomorrow – an experience that reminded me that however much I may be able to impress people in the States with my Spanish, I always have a lot of room to grow. Then we went to the mall to buy cell phones we can use for calls within the country, then back to Molly’s house to play with ring tones as if we were fourteen-year-olds getting cell phones for the first time. I came back home, watched some extremely bizarre tv show with my mama, tried to take a nap, then decided it would be a better use of my time to watch the sunset from the beach with Molly. I don’t know if sunsets have this effect on anyone else – I can’t imagine them not – but they take my breath away. There is no way to describe the sentiment that makes my guts suddenly become weightless inside of me, or the peace that some slanted rays of light sing to me. This sunset was extra special.
Anyhow, later on i ate dinner with my mom, and we talked about God and how awesome he is, how it's awesome when you actually get to know Him and be in a relationship, and I told her about the Shack. It was sweet.
Anyhow, i have to rush because i am leaving soon...
today molly and i visited a feria artesenal, which was really cool even though we didnt buy anything. then to the beach, where i'm crossing my fingers that i didnt get burned.

Molly and I will soon be getting on a bus to Pucon, which is a sweet little town between an active volcano and a huge beautiful lake....we'll stay in Holsal Backpackers for the first two nighgts, and past that i have no idea...

more later i hope...

ciao

¡olé!

2008-06-27T01:57:00.000-07:00

For the first time in 24 years Spain is going to the finals of Eurocup -- we beat Russia 3-0 last night under the beating rain of Vienna and the eyes of millions of fans. Watching the game at a restaurant/bar here in Sevilla was less exciting than I had anticipated, but fun none the less. Afterwards we spent our final night in Sevilla at our favorite bar by the river, talking and reminiscing (i´m sure i just misspelled that). By the grace of God my roomate and I both dislike staying out late, so we came back home at the early hour of 2am. This morning I got up early to beat the intense mid-day heat so I could do my last bits of shopping. Now I´m just killing time...it´s too hot to walk around the city but too early to go back home. And perhaps I am avoiding packing, because I know that means I´m really leaving.

This trip has been unlike anything I´ve ever experienced -- the people, the places, and the experiences were nothing I could have anticipated and nothing I will ever experience again. To think that a month and a half ago I was walking into the Dallas airport with forced confidence to cover up my anxiousness for flying alone and then going to a new place to be surrounded entirely by people I didn´t know -- it is amazing. I look at the friends I have made and laugh at my vague recollections of first impressions. Was I really in Madrid and friendless not too long ago? And such judgements I passed even in the first minutes of laying my eyes on the group of lethargic ISA students in the Madrid airport taunt me now, reminding my of how much I don´t know. My roomate and I had a lengthy conversation last night during our 30-minute walk back home about "the game" that people (especially girls) our age play. This has been the first time that I have been surrounded by people who play the game -- I have been so blessed with my high school friends and new college friends, who are not interested in playing the game. It is a game of strategy, and I also see now that it is by no merit of my own that I do not participate in it. The strategy begins to be laid even in the first moments that we meet each other. The girls at the airport who could stand out and the guys who could play cool earned bonus points that rolled over to the whole trip. You also get points for every time people see you with an alcoholic beverage in your hand, and you get tripple points if the alcoholic beverage is accompanied by spaniards of the opposite sex. It is especially important to form alliances, connected by bonds of common dislike that is expressed under the table when the player in question is not present. And when there is not a person to discuss it is of utmost importance that you find something to complain about, and there is never a lack of such topics in a foreign country where "the unfamiliar" can be discussed as "the ridiculous". It is also of utmost importance that you practice your game face: for girls the lean-in group pose to fill the pages of facebook, and for guys the disinterested smile and leaned-back pose -- prefferably with a group of girls around you. It is a game and I´m not sure what the goal is or what the prize is for winning. Seeing the game being played on a concentrated, small scale of the 100 ISA students has renewed my appreciation for my friends, but also given me a new respect for people who I never before understood. Those who play the game are not bad people, and in fact there are amazing depths to be discovered if you are willing to ignore the game play.

Blah bla blah...this is turning into rambling.

Spain is amazing, this trip is amazing, and going home will be amazing. Fanta limón is also amazing, and I am amazingly sad that it does not exist in the United States.

ciao.

fin.

2008-06-26T05:14:00.000-07:00

Well, almost. Today is my last day of classes, and tomorrow night I get on an all-night bus to Madrid so that I can spend the day in airports and airplanes, and then soon be in the arms of my own family. I am sad to be leaving this place that has just started to feel like home, but I am even more excited about seeing my friends and family. The most beautiful scenery in the world is that of familiar faces.

Summer has swallowed up Sevilla, and she is burning in its insides. Yesterday´s high here was around 106 or 107 -- Saturday´s high is supposed to be 111. It is intense. I am excited about air conditioning! Speaking of heat, lots of people just walked in and they smell big time like b.o..

Obviously I don´t have much to say............

tonight is the big game -- russia vs. spain. If spain wins they go to the semifinals or finals or whatever it´s called. I´m going out with my friends to take part in the insanity of watching fútbol games in public. Apparently we have to get there like 1n hour early so it doesnt fill up. I´m so excited.

Thats it....i´m hot, and that´s making me tired.

But I was just starting to get comfortable here...

2008-06-25T08:08:00.000-07:00

Two more days...just two days.
I just finished the first of my two finals, and it was not bad. My spanish professor is amazing -- he is one of those people who loves what he does so much that he couldn´t do anything else if he tried. He was made to teach, and to contage his passion to each and every one of his students. (¡no me contagies!) When he talks to us about arabic art and architecture, I know it´s because he thinks it is fascinating and he wants us all to share in his fascination. That is what teaching is all about -- that is how every class should be. He gets so excited about teaching that he usually ends up spitting and sliding around on the marble floors as his gestures fight with his words for prominence.

Last night, as part of my conviction to take full advantage of my last week here, I met up with several girls to go find a small flamenco bar. It was a very neat place -- too cool for air conditioning, apparently. In the front room a small group of ragged musicians filled the worn, wodden walls with spain´s soundtrack. we pushed our way through the bodies of sweaty listeners to pass into the back room -- the flamenco room. I wish with all my might that I could put words to the enchantment of flamenco, but I cannot. Nobody can. I am often more enchanted by the faces of the musicians and dancers than their movements or music because it is so human. How obvious to say that their faces are human, but the expressions on their faces are not fabricated or made by a mold -- they are truly, raw human. Kim -- I wish you could have been there last night. As I sat there watching the movements of their bodies, hands, and feet, I saw your enraptured face and heard your squeal of delight. I have videos, but it´s just not the same. The smell of sweat lingered in the still air with that of sangría, which was flowing by the pitchers-full (although I stuck to water last night). Finally around 1:30, which is early by spanish standards, we made our way home.

This morning after a walk that, in the noon heat, felt like an eternity, I made it to the other side of town where the offices of Cáritas, a charity organization, are located. I went in hopes of attaining an interview, and I kind of got one. The woman I talked with came out of a meeting to answer my questions, so I had to keep it short, and she did the same with her responses. Despite the short answers, it was good. It is so great to hear about the acts of charity and love that people do all around the world. I´ve been studying history and government here, and sometimes it really makes me depressed and lose hope in mankind.

Not much else besides lots of heat, a test, and still counting down.

3...2...1...

2008-06-24T02:39:00.000-07:00

Not a whole lot to write about today other than the fact that I only have 3 more days in this country. Yesterday after classes I went to the river with several girl friends and a little bit of tinto de verano, and we spent hours sitting on the shores laughing and swapping stories. It was wonderful and relaxing. This has been such a unique experience in terms of getting to know people -- I never could have anticipated the way it has turned out.

I´m doing research now about social services offered in Spain; I have to write a 15-20 page paper between now and the beginning of August in order to complete my grade for the class I´m taking here.

This morning my host dad was in the kitchen when i went in for breakfast. It was so awkward. We avoided each other´s glances, and eventually he made some comment about the weather to whichI clumsily responded, and that was about it. Oh, to be back home in my own kitchen where I don´t dread the communication breaches that follow anyone but my roomate into the room!! Soon...soon. 3 days and then an eternity of traveling, and I´m there.

i sizzle, i scorch, and now i pass the torch...

2008-06-23T02:39:00.000-07:00

I am sunburned, but happy.

Saturday was our final ISA excursion, so we all met at 8:30 in the morning to ride to Cádiz, a beach town not far frm Sevilla. The bus ride was less than pleasant for me, and somewhat reminiscent of Forrest Gump. Having arrived late, I had no choice really of where to sit, and ended up in the back of the bus with the "in crowd" of our group. Hours before the first traces of sunburn, I felt the burn of being unwanted. The ride back, however, was much better. I sat with a new friend with whom I talked about God and poverty and traveling. We first stopped in Jerez, a city near Cádiz, to see a horse museum. I can see the confused look on your faces now as you read....a horse museum??? Fret not, dear reader, we all felt the same way -- especially in conjunction with our anticipation of the long-awaited beach. The stables of the museum (which contained real LIVE horses) reawakened my lifelong dreams to someday have horses of my own. I´m not sure how that works with also being a world traveler. I don´t think horses are especially fond of flying. Oh well -- all minor details. Anyhow, we drug our feet through the museum and finally made it to Cádiz, where a small group of us first climbed to the highest tower of the cathedral for a truly breathtaking view of the town, which is located on a small peninsula. Saphire blue water smiled at us from all sides, and the whitewashed walls of the monolopy-esque buildings reflected the majesty of the sun. The cool breeze refreshed our weary bodies (weary because we got lost in the winding streets for nearly 30 minutes before finding the right building) and I have never felt so certain in my life that if I truly wanted to I could fly. But instead of flying we descended the dream-like spiral of the tower, and then walked to the beaches.

Almost as numerous as the grains of sand that danced carelessly with the waves were the people laid out on that sand. Umbrellas, bikinis, and beach towels were part of the mosaic that Nature designed to be tan and blue. It was insane -- but awesome. We found a spare plot of sand to set our things down, and then dashed into the cool, clear waters. I forget that the ocean can be clear blue and the beaches soft white. Texans don´t have very good beaches to compare to. But here I could see my feet beneath me as they sunk into the muddy sand, and the perfect sized waves tossed us around enough to feel its movement a part of my own pulse without having to struggle to maintain contact with the air. I am always amazed at the increased bouyancy of salt water -- I felt a little like Bill Nye as I made remarks about this. I have yet to find a sensation more relaxing and freeing than to float atop ocean waves, all the faces around me erased except that of the Sun. If it weren´t for the salt water filling the tiny canals of my inner ear and the UV rays that I know were my invisible enemy, I could have laid like that for the whole day. I suppose I need not go on about the wonders of the beach, as most of my readers will have known them themselves, and so my words, pale in comparisson to the reality, are pitiful. I will comment, however, on the unwritten allowance for toplessness on European beaches. It was neither shocking nor disturbing, only strange. Again I wondered about the American stigma about nakedness, but not so much so that I was convinced to remove my own top. After a day at the beach, I was so exhausted that our attempts once back in Sevilla to go see some live music all but failed, and I happily came back home and to sleep.

Sunday morning I reluctantly woke up to go to the bus station and meet my friend, and we left for Ronda, a small town in the mountains famous for its gorges and bridges. We had no idea what we were getting ourselves into or what the day would bring, but that was half the fun. We wandered around the city a bit to get a feel for what there was, and before long we were met by the breath-taking view of the sheer cliffs of the gorge that splits the city in two. The famous bridge, called Puente Nuevo, was truly impressive, despite my previous conviction that no bridge can truly be impressive. It was so immensely tall, and the wonders that kneel at its feet so surreal, that we soon understood the bridge´s nickname "balcón de coños" (which roughly translates to "balcony of ´oh shit!´"). Anyhow, after admiring its beauty both natural and man-made, we found a path down into the gorge. Thinking that it would take us to a slightly lower point in order to take picutres, we followed it down along the crumbling walls of a once-standing fortress. All that remained of an arabic fortress from the 13th century was an unmistakably arabic archway, through which we passed, and followed the path that started to get narrower and narrower, and more overgrown with vines and wildflowers. By the time the vegetation had consumed us as we were in a tunnel of greenery rather than an open path, we came upon the remains of a 18th or 19th century electric company building. For hours we explored this world that, save the grafiti dated in recent years, felt like it had been untouched for a century. It was both eerie and exciting -- thrilling and chilling. We dodged waterfalls, pushed aside vines, and dared slipper slopes, always to be rewarded by another amazing view of a part of the city´s history that had been abandoned to the vines and branches of Time. Wild figs grew through the walls of the buildings or out of the sides of cliffs, and the gentle sound of trickling water let us forget the nearby city as we took on the role of explorers and adventurers. Finally, after my friend had a nerve-shaking slip and the sun, too, was slipping lower and lower, we decided to head back. Half way up the slope was a small, dilapidating old house, in which there lives a man who sells refreshments to tourists on their arduous journey uphill. We stopped in and, after finding out from a pair of musicians seated on a ledge of the cliff by the house that the owner was down the path, we headed down again, this time towards the bridge. We found ourselves at the very feet of the bridge, just meters away from the crystal-clear waters. We found the owner hacking away at some stray branches, and he stopped his work to show us the amazing view and tell us a little about what we saw. He walked back with us to the top, where we purchased some beverages and sat for a while to chat with the owner (whose name, we found out, was Antonio) and the two musicians, who were visitors -- one from Italy and the other from Venezuela. Once well-rested and armed with bellies full of Fanta limón, we completed the climb up. The rest of our visit in Ronda was uneventful, but not boring in the least. It is an amazingly historic and beautiful city, and we were reluctant to climb aboard the bus at 7:00 to go back to Sevilla. Exhausted yet again, I enjoyed a quiet evening consisting of little more than a shower, dinner, and sleep.

And now, is the beginning of the end. Except for a few exams and a presentation this trip is over. So........if anyone wants anything from Spain let me know now, for this is my last week of shopping. I´m still in love with this country, but at the same time eager to come home.

I have to relenquish my computer now to the hoovering students eager to check their facebooks.
:D

love love love

buddha

2008-06-20T09:09:00.000-07:00

This has to be brief; I have a presentation to prepare for monday -- all in Spanish.

Last night tons of people from our group went out to this place called Buddha Bar, which is actually a really cool place. It has three floors, the first is really chill and has a restaurant, the second floor has an indoor and outdoor bar with music in the inside bar; the third floor is an all-out discoteca. I had fun, but several times I stopped and looked around the solid mass of young human flesh around me and saw how completely ridiculous the whole thing is. I kind of felt like I found myself taking part in some tribal mating ritual. I just wanted to dance, and had to brush off the few vulture-like spanish guys who had other ideas. When it became so crowded that dancing was no longer possible and instead it was just a single mass of hormonal flesh pulsating with a beat that some might call music, I had to leave. It´s official -- I don´t like going out if that´s what "going out" means. It was fun for the most part, just not to be repeated.

So we didn´t get home until 4:30am and i didnt get to sleep until 5, which means today is a sleepy day. Not much else besides school, this project...oh, and my bocadillo today was a new kind and it was delicious. I was excited.

That´s it. I miss you all......I think about coming home more than I probably should, even though I´m enjoying my last week here.

7 days................

Fanning the flames

2008-06-19T03:06:00.000-07:00

After talking to my professor yesterday about how hot we are at night because we were told we can´t use the ceiling fan for long amounts of time, he convinced me to talk to Monolo -- the host family guy -- so he could talk with our mom. Apparently it´s in their contract that we have access to a fan (if not air conditioner). So I talked to Monolo, and he in turn called our host mom. She told him we are more than welcome to use the ceiling fan, she only wants us to turn it off when we leave the apartment. I was so confused -- had she lied to us? I could have sworn that she told us after leaving it on all night one night that we couldn´t leave it on for more than short amounts of time, and now she´s changing her tune??? Confused, we dreaded coming home. We made it home a little bit later than usual, and as soon as we walked into the kitchen she said (in spanish, of course) "When did I ever say you couldn´t use the ceiling fan?" I explained, told her that´s what I thought she was saying after we left it on all night. The problem is that I understand about 3/4 of the spanish that I hear, and the 1/4 that I didn´t hear afte the initial incident was the part where she said we had left the fan on the entire day before while we were at school and then the following night. Anyhow, it was a long series of misunderstandings and I was trying to explain what we thought she said and that we weren´t out to tattle on her (since we didn´t even have intentions of complaining -- it came up in casual conversation with the professor). It was terribly uncomfortable for both of us. Our host mom has developed a dislike for my roomate, Rachel, because of several misunderstandings and language gaps. So, during this whole encounter she would only address me -- she wouldn´t look at Rachel -- and she said that it was Rachel who tattled.
Finally things cooled down a little bit , i told her it´s ok and we just didn´t understand and everything´s fine now, and so we sat down to eat dinner. She picked up casual conversation, asking what we did, how classes were going, and things like that. Then she left the room and came back with a handheld fan that she handed to Rachel. It was either really funny or really spiteful -- I´m sticking with funny.

Anyhow, that was the most eventful part of my evening. I feel caught in a very awkward place, between a relationship of mutual misunderstanding and dislike with my roomate and host mom, and a desire on my part to have a good relationship with our mom and the rest of the family. My host sister got sick last night, and when i left this morning she was writhing on the couch with stomach pain. She had a rough night. I think I might write a letter to my host mom, since I can usually express myself better in written spanish than spoken. I can´t believe we have just over a week left here.

I realized yesterday that enough time has passed that home feels more like an imaginary place that I have created in my mind to comfort myself. It is not a real place -- I don´t really have wonderful friends with whom I can actually relax or family who loves me. They are all imaginary, and this is the only reality. The heat, the classes, the ancient streets, and the golden riverside. Fantasy stories are not so fantastical after all -- the airplane I will be getting on a week from Saturday is actually a portal into this alternate, imaginary universe, or maybe home is the real universe and I am in a dream/fantasy now. And I will travel in time -- my 13 hour trip home will really only take 6 and a half hours. Maybe today I will see a dragon or a fairy, or be visited by a prince.

sweaty armpits

2008-06-18T03:45:00.000-07:00

Yes, it is a hot day here in Sevilla. And unfortunately there is little to report and I used up my poetic prose on that last entry. Last night I did indeed to to the shores of the river again to bask in the shade and swap conversation and books with a friend. Later in the night I met up with several friends to go to a tapas bar that was established in 1670 -- that´s not something you can find in the states. I could imagine what the place looked like before the candels were replaced with florescent lights, for practically everything else was the same. I ate little fishes that still looked like fishes, but luckily their heads were cut off so I didn´t have to look into their eyes before eating them. After that I went with 3 other people to find the "free piña colada" place that someone told us about, but we were too late for the free entry and we weren´t about to pay 7euros for drinks that we found out later didn´t even taste good. Instead we found a quiet bar just feet from the water´s edge where we sipped on rum and pineapple juice and talked about whatever we found to have in common. The 40 minute walk back home took my final drops of energy, so that when we finally came into the apartment at nearly 3am I practically passed out on the pillow. We turned on the ceiling fan even though she told us not to. My professor thinks that our señora told us we can´t use the fan not because the motor will burn up but because she might be trying to cut corners to save money. It´s hard to remind myself that we are her customers, because they do make money off of letting us stay in their homes.

I also had to go to the U.S. consolate today to admit my own stupidity of losing my driver´s lisence in Morocco, just in case someone tried to steal my identity. In a moment of absolute carelessness I left my coin purse with my driver´s lisence, school ID, and 10 euro on a taxi. At least it wasn´t my passport or credit cards.

Yesterday morning I accidently found myself at a museum that was truly moving; I was riding around town on a rented bicycle to see what I could find and eventually came upon a place where people were walking in, so I followed. "Desculpame, señor, éste parece muy estupido, pero tengo que preguntar: ¿donde estoy?" I had found the museum of contemporary art, which had free entry on tuesdays (¡que suerte!) and one of their current displays was of Joseph Renau, an artist of the Spanish Civil War as well as WWII and the capitalism/consumerism of the 20s-70´s. His work was amazing -- I strongly suggest googling him to contemplate some of his works. Most of it was very political, although even his landscapes or portraits were unexplainably moving. Many of the messages of his works from the 60s and 70s were sharply applicable in today´s situation. More often than not politics make me very sad. Like yesterday, for example, in class after watching Pan´s Labyrinth when our professor brought up the debate over the use of torture by the U.S.. My eyes that were already moist from the movie began to fill again with sadness. I am appalled by the thought that in our country that we think of as so modern and so concerned with justice would lose itself in the idea of "the end justifies the means" to such an inhumane way. And it also makes me sad to see that religion has been such a political thing for so long. For this reason and more, this trip has made me dislike religion more and more while simultaneously making me love God more and more. Oh, the irony.

10 days and counting....

The Golden Age of Spain

2008-06-17T09:12:00.000-07:00

Five hundred years ago Spain was entering its golden age: one hundred years during which it was the richest country in the world thanks to their timely arrival in a "new" world whose ancient riches destined it to become the blood sacrifice to the empire across the ocean. The greed and laziness of the royalty and nobility ended finally in the squandering of the country´s riches so that all that was left was the shell of ornate buildings and a corrupt monarchy. But every day the same splendor of this century of riches rears its humbled head every evening on the shores of the Guadalquivir River, the same river from which Cristobal Columbo set sail for the lands with streets paved with gold. On the banks of this river grow countless trees whose age is the secret of the river, and every evening they invite the sideways, golden rays of sunset to illuminate their weary bark. These trees shed little yellow flowers, like small drops of golden blood, along the shores of the river, and when the sunlight gives into the seduction of the trees and caresses their yellow droppings with a gentleness that seem so powerful that it could shake the very foundations of the earth. And at this moment the Golden Age lives again, although unnoticed by many and no longer coveted by royalty. Instead circles of students with their cheap alcohol and cigarettes bask in the golden glory, and the kayaks that skim across the shimmery, gold surface of the river are the kings of this age that comes and goes with each day. And in this moment on these historical shores I sit, reading the spell-binding words of Márquez, seeing Sevilla in its greatest glory. And to those shores I go now, and for the magic of their intangible gold I abandon this machine until tomorrow, to share my riches with all of you at home who i love so much.

with all the little golden droppings of my heart,
catie

Maruecos

2008-06-16T02:38:00.000-07:00

Wow....how on earth can I transmit 4 days worth of adventure in these few minutes and with the limits of words? I will have to start this blog with the precursor that much will be left out, only for the reason that it is impossible to say everything.

Wednesday evening a friend and I bought a 55cent box of wine (than you, Europe) to take down to the river and relax before our voyage, and for over 3 hours we sat on the cigarette stub dotted grass by the river where a sleeping old man who appeared to be dead by the flies that droned around his unmoving head and a group of pot-smoking drum-circlers to the other side. I have never been a drinker, and to this day I boast never having been drunk. But I have seen the loosening effects of alcohol that mysteriously allow me to speak spanish more freely and to stop thinking about the constant judgement that I sometimes feel crushed by in this group of strangers. We sipped our cheap wine and talked about life until the sun was setting and we each had to dash away to dinner, me on my rented bicycle that earned me the indiscernable shouts and obsenities of a man on the sidewalk. In my anticipation I could not sleep that night, so I woke up at 2:30am from a sleep that never really started, then braved the narrow streets at that questionable hour.

I was not prepared for the amount of traveling that was going to occur on Thursday. For 14 hours we sat on the bus, ferry, or momentarily in the gas stations that we swarmed along the way for the use of their toilets and junk food. Sleep transformed itself from a comfortable retreat to a spiteful taunt, taking my heavy head in its hands and tossing it from side to side, occasionally ramming it into the window beyond which beautiful scenery dashed by unseen in the darkness of morning. The only sound that penetrated the calming music of my ipod was that of the snoring guy seated beside me. We arrived on African soil after the short ferry ride, and the change was amazing. At the border (where we were strictly prohibited from taking pictures) people were dashing across the hills with plastic sacs of their most precious items, while relentless stares guarded the area like laser rays. Donkeys carried hundreds of rolls of toilet paper, which is apparently one of several precious items that are cheaper on Spanish soil than on Moroccan. Shacks lined the road and in many of the windows hung the corpses of some unidentified animal that was part of the scenery yesterday, part of dinner tomorrow. Women and men had to wait in separate lines, although I don´t think the same rule applied to the donkeys.

The rest of the ride was a blurr -- I was awed by the scenery and I feel like I learned something about life and its meaning, but I can´t remember it now, at least not in words. At any rate, we arrived in Fes and checked into our hotel, which was, to use Molly´s word, shwanky. Two friends and I went for a short walk before dinner, which was started off by a hopeful moroccan man who tried to guide us to some of the shops in exchange for a tip. With a series of awkward excuses we removed ourselvse from his guidance and found a new route which met us with stares. Although all the women did not cover their heads, our bare, flowing hair felt like a lighthouse sending the beacon of foreigners to everyone withing a square mile. We ate dinner, and then they took us to the Medina for a show of dancers and musical performers. It was a different world -- never in my travels have i felt so completely our of the world I know. The building looked plain on the outside but was very similar to a palace on the inside. I cannot find words to describe it, there are none sufficient. There were belly dancers, drummers, a man who balanced a tray of a teaset on his head, some more belly dancers, and mint tea. It was amazing and now that I am back here in this place that I sometimes refer to as "home" it seems more like a dream than a not-so-distant reality.

Friday we toured the old part of the city, called the Medina, where unfamiliar smells and sights were relentless in reminding us that we weren´t in Kansas anymore. Also unexpected was the sales pitches that we were scheduled to attend, the first of which was at a carpet store. The man told us the stories behind the rugs, and then he gave us some life lessons about how rugs are good for "jiggy jiggy" because "beds squeak, rugs don´t" and also that they are a good life investment because they are worth more the older the get. When he was through talking Arabic men came our from the corners to target those of us who looked the most interested in exchanging some of our endless supply of American money for one of their carpets. Several kids bought some after about an hour of bargaining and see-sawing. They were beautiful rugs. Then we went to a traditional herbologist, who gave us a demonstration of the medicinal effects of his seeds, powders, and roots. There was a kind of seed that is good for sinuses and allergies, oils that heal back pain, roots that you put in your tea to serve as all natural viagra, and magic lipstick made from henna. He too, at the end of his presentation, made a sales pitch and before we knew it most of our group had bought at least one of his magical items. Then we went to a tannery where the stench of animal skin was almost as repulsive as the sight of the area where the skins, still bloody and fresh, were streched, washed, and eventually turned into pretty purses or jackets. It made me want to be a vegetarian. Afterwards we went back to the same building where we saw the dancers the night before to eat lunch, which was delicious. They eat cous cous with everything, and their version of salad is a huge plate of shredded carrots, beets, cabbage, cucumber, and potatoes drizzled with a mysterious white sauce. I think there was chicken somewhere in there. We soon returned to the bus and made our way to Meknes, the city where we would spend the next two nights. We had a short amount of free time, during which I walked around the city to people watch, and I was moved most by the sharp separation of men and women. Although there were always exceptions, many of the people we passed were grouped by gender. Men sat at cafés and we quickly noticed that unlike Spain, where people at cafés sit around the tables with the intention of socializing, in Morocco the men sat at the tables with all the chairs facing the road or sidewalk in order to watch people passing by, and their stares penetrated my uncovered head in a way that made me feel judged like i have never experienced before. I don´t know what they were thinking -- I cannot read the eyes of these people...it´s as though it´s not just our mouths that speak different languages but our eyes as well. I was refreshed to find a small park near our hotel where small clumps of people of every kind were relaxing under the shade of the small trees, and a mob of young boys played soccer in the hollow of what used to be a long, rectangular fountain. A few old women sat on a bench and allowed their wisdom of age to ooze into the air that was shared also by young couples sharing in the conversation of silent observation. I felt no judgment here, and I saw that even in a world that is so different that even their God has a different name, people are people. Several times I have recalled the Regina Spektor song that reminds me that people are just people and there´s no reason to be afraid. In my foreign environment I have begun to notice that I am afraid of people. I mask it with the excuse of shyness or the false martyrdom of chosen solitude, but two exist to whom I cannot lie: myself and God. (and sometimes I momentarily succede in lying to myself). But enough about that, back to Morocco.

Saturday was such a long day that by the end I felt like I had lived at least a few weeks in the 15 hours that I had been awake. In the morning we took a driving tour of some of the most impressive historical sites in Meknes, such as the stables that housed 4,000 horses in its day and the Medina. In the Medina of Meknes we took a quick walk through a market, which was the most repulsively marvelous part of the trip. Without knowing where i was going, I followed the group into the market where we first saw piles and rows of dried fruits, olives, and strange looking fruits and vegetables. Then we began to see more hanging corpses, which I had almost grown accustomed to, but not enough to keep me from having to limit the amount of time I let my eyes linger on them. Then it came -- the live chickens speckled with blood caged right beside the piles of freshly raw chicken meat, which was sold with the flies at no extra cost. And a giant cow head, its tongue hanging out and its lifeless eyes mostly closed, hung outside one of the booths where a young boy was peeling the skin off of some unidentifiable corpse no more than 2 feet from my queezy body. I wouldn´t let myself look at the booths with bunnies. The way out was lined again with vegetation and the occasional pet store, if you can call a crate filled with turtles or lizards a pet store. I really thought I would have to become vegetarian, until luch a few hours later was made of chicken and even the still-fresh images in my mind couldn´t convince me not to eat it.

After the market we drove about 15 minutes out of town to a site of Roman Ruins called Volubulis (spelling?) that was too impressive for words. I tried not to let myself be distracted by my fruitless attempts to linger in the sparce shade, and I managed to be thoroughly impressed by the vast expanse of piled stones that was once part of a grand empire of lavish living. Among the most memorable is the vomitorium, where the Romans would go after meals because they ate in such excess that they had to throw it up afterwards.

We returned to the city and had lunch in a really nice restaurant, after which the group split into those who wanted to attend the Arabic baths and those who didn´t. I was one of the brave few who did, and it was quite an experience. I didn´t know what to expect, except that i knew it would be shocking. We went first into the changing room, where the women who hid themselves beneath layers of cloth on the streets were amused by our hesitation to remove our clothes. We have such a messed up concept of nakedness and what is and isn´t appropriate. Anyhow, in the end about a third of our group was brave enough to strip down to nothing but underwear, as is customary, and we moved into the next room where we bathed ourselves first with buckets of water and soem kind of oil that was used as soap. This was fine, and then we went into the next room that filled our giggling chests with steam. Two old ladies came in wearing only their underwear and ordered us to sit on the floor so they could scrub us down. I haven´t been bathed for quite a long time, so I was very tense and awkward about this whole experience. The women had me lay on the heated floor with my head on her bare leg as she ruthlessly scrubbed me with what felt like a brillow pad, with no mercy on particular parts of my body. She would motion me to look at the pelets of dead skin that were curdling off the surface of my body, and then they chuckled in amusement at my disgust. Once I got over feeling terribly awkward about the whole experience of being bathed naked on the ground in the same room where 11 other topless strangers giggled nervously, it was actually a very enjoyable experiene. It was kind of like a massage, and the heat of the floor relaxed my muscles, and then when she was through i was amazed at the softness of my skin that had been reduced by a layer of dead skin and dirt. It was quite an experience, and I´m glad I did it. You have to just accept at some point that if you want to experience new cultures it is going to be awkward a lot of the times. And I´m ok with that.
After the bath my friend Chelsea and I caught a taxi to get rid of our 600 dirham in an hour-long speed shopping excursion in the Medina. Speed-shopping doesn´t work well in a system that requires bargaining, but we managed to spend the majority of our money on neat jewelry and other souveneirs that were more about the experience of the trip than the items themselves. We rushed back to the hotel to get there in time for dinner, and then relaxed until we were tired enough to rest for the long voyage of Sunday.

Sunday we got up and got on the bus for the long trip back, which somehow went by faster, probably due in large part to the disney sing-along that happened between me and my seat mate. I love when disney brings people together. At one of our stops I bought some strange meat dish with my remaining dirhams, and it tasted something like a hamburger. I didn´t allow myself the reality that not too long ago it was part of one of those smelly corpses hanging in the windows. I managed to survive the meal with only a few extra trips to the bathroom the following night.

It was strange to feel at home when we got back to Spain, and I realized that it doesn´t take very long to get used to anything. The 30 minute walk to my apartment was comforting in the warm evening breeze, and I ate my customary bread and pasta before unpacking and wandering off to sleep.

aah....i have been on the computer for 2 hours and writing for about an hour of that. and i have class in 30 minutes.

i hope you all enjoyed, and that you make it to the end! sorry it´s so long!!!!

Abrazos para todos,
Catita

This is going to have to hold you over for 5 days

2008-06-11T02:50:00.001-07:00

I leave tomorrow for Morocco. At 4:00am I will walk to our meeting point in eager anticipation of our arrival in a country that has been described to ous in terms of its danger and filth. I am armed for the voyage with two novels, several blank pages in my journal, and a roll of chocolate-filled cookies. I wish I could send my mind waves into this blog while I´m there -- I can only imagine the emotions and thoughts I will experience. Ahh, anticipation.
For today I have to corral my thoughts into the first 4,000 years of Spain´s history over which I will be tested in an hour and a half. Last night we had a "study session", which was unlike any I had ever been to. At 10:30pm anyone who wanted to met up in the main plaza and then we relocated to a well-known bar by the river to sip on sangria and beer while we studied. I feel pretty well prepared. It´s fairly easy to remember information when its so intriguing and mysterious. The only parts I have a hard time with are the more modern events, like the Civil War at the beginning of the 20th century; it had too much to do with the kind of politics that seem to control everything today, and which I often feel completely uncapable of understanding.

Yesterday i was homesick for the first time. I have missed home and friends and family and cats and my dog all along, but yesterday I felt the first pinches of homesickness in that invisible organ in the deepest depths of my self. I think homesickness for me comes from self-pity, which I am only able to keep away from in the honeymoon stage of being away because I am completely distracted by excitement and the adreneline of newness. Now that I am establishing patterns and a sense of normalcy homesickness has had the chance to plunge its fingers into my mind. Luckily the homesickness of this trip is nothing in comparisson to that which I have known in the not-too-distant past. I understand myself better, and I know that I am in the middle of an amazing experience that I will be talking about for the rest of my life. For all I know this bland middle could be the beginning of something awesome. I have a different kind of relationship with God now too, which has contributed to my being able to cope. I have stopped thinking of God in the way that He has been taught to me, and started thinking of Him in the way that He whispers inside of me. God no longer serves as an excuse to profess the lies that "i know everything will be better in the end", but rather as knowledge that pain and discomfort are as much of a blessing as times of comfort and happiness.

Never before in my life have I felt alienated by my disenchantment with the concept of getting drunk and partying. Now I feel like it has put up a wall beteween me and most people here because our concepts of "fun" are so completely different. I have met many people who I really like and who I like to spend time with, but I feel that there´s a part of me that has to go into hiding because it has no companion. I suppose I shouldn´t feel that any part of me is missing depending on who I am around, but I´m beginning to see that "independence" is not quite that I always thought it meant.

entre examenes

2008-06-10T06:13:00.000-07:00

Tengo mi primer examen hoy en cuarenta y cinco minutos, pero no estoy estudiando. Estudié esta mañana por dos horas y no tengo miedo del examen, aúnque será completamente en español y tendré que contestar las preguntas en forma de ensayos... está bien.

Quiero escribir una entrada de mi diario que escribí hace unos dias despues de andar por bicicleta por un hora. Espero que les guste

The golden glow of evening always makes me want to write or take pictures or perhaps just sit and watch the edges of daylight slither across the skin of the earth, as if to seduce it into the cool chambers of nightfall. Even the raggiest building or the plainest lamp post comes to life as though the fire on its surface came from within rather than from billions of miles away.n Those last golden drops of the day´s sun are like the nectar of honeysuckle -- sweet for its unique quality and for its scarcity. I have noticed that beauty tends to congregate at beginnings and ends. The sun dances a dance of a thousand colors at the opening and closing of each day; leaves require the most attention in the greenness of their birth and at their melancholy fall to the ground; the beginning of a trip merits months of anticipation and the end glows like a beacon of hope. The middle is often lost between its bookends. i am at the middle of my trip, and the sheen of its newness is wearing down into longing for its end. I think often of the people and comforta that await me, one of which is the satisfaction of looking back. Sometimes things are more beautiful from the end. That is not to say that my eyes have closed to the wonders and adventure that meet them with each rising sun, for i am still under the enchantment of this birthplace of fairy tales. i suppose the dimness of narmalcy and routine has moved my gaze from the sunrise to the sunset.

In the warm summer evening of Nacogdoches i will breathe in deeply the sweet fragrance of true friends. Days in Spain are spent with fellow travelers, but so often the only thing we have in common is the foreign ground beneath our feet. We excercize our senses together, but at the end of the day i am lonely. Although our eyes see many of the same things, they don´t see each other, not really, anyways. As I sleep in the carefully decorated bedroom that I share with my roomate I am lonely for the faces that see through me, and which whom life is a lively dance rather that the restricted movement of traveling with strangers. I do not want this to sound like complaints; the merits of this experience so greatly outnumber the demerits that it is quite easier to write about the latter. And many of the merits are small things -- like the tingling of my palms from riding a bike over cobblestone -- that easily are lost in the big things -- like visiting God´s subteranean sculptures in unas cuevas debajo de una montaña, filled with billows, columns, and spikes of rock and mineral formation. Even thinking about all the wonderful points of my day is sending my mind into a cyclone. For the moment i will just enjoy the sensation of digesting a lovingly-prepared meal to the sweet lullaby of crickets carried into my room on a cool summer night´s breeze.
MMmmmmmm.................

Three down, three to go.

2008-06-09T01:20:00.001-07:00

Ah, another week has begun. And what better way than to begin it with a reflection on the previous one?? This weekend we traveled as a massive group to Cordoba on Saturday to visit the mosque there, which was turned into a cathedral when the Christians took over and didn´t have enough money (because of all the wars they were fighting) to build their own cathedral, so they converted the already standing mosque into their own religious center. I have never studied architecture in the least, but I love learning little tidbits as I see it here. For example, the double arches of the mosque were built in such a way that the weight was distributed not down the columns but outwards toward the walls of the huge building. For that reason the columns on the outer perameters are no longer perfectly vertical -- the weight over the years has slowly pushed them outwards. Also, light for Muslims entered the building from the sides; there were big open doors or open walls around the edges of the building that allowed light to come in from west to east -- pointing in the direction of Mecca. The Christians bring their light in from above, from God. It´s amazing the significance of something that seems so small as the direction of light! The rest of the city was like a postcard. I spent some time wandering by myself (i´m quickly getting tired of being part of a huge group) and watched elderly couples hobble arm-in-arm down the ancient streets, geraniums bursting out of the windows of rows upon rows of whitewashed walls, which appeared like the only clouds against a sky of piercing blue. A small cat in a doorway let me scratch its head -- which for me is a sensation of home. It made me miss my cats. A gypsy woman with her two children emerged from a doorway by where we were standing at one point as we waited to enter a synagogue. First impression: she is so beautiful with her colrfully striped skirt and two beautiful baby girls grasping watever piece of her clothing or hair they can reach. Second impression: she is a seasoned begger -- she knows how to target the tourists and look pitiful just before lunch time, when our bocadillos are still in our bag but already in our minds for lunch. Third impression: she is miserable and desperate, pained at the dehumanization of having to beg for a meal in front of her two sweet little girls, having to pretend not to be offended by the thousands of dollars of tourist accessories -- from digital cameras to fancy walking shoes -- that blurr before her without the compassion to offer her food. Fourth impression: why???? I gave her my bocadillo and had ice cream for lunch instead.

Sautrday evening when we got back I had a hell of a time trying to find out information about the bus schedule for the next day. The United States is incredibly well-organized compared to this country. There were no schedules online, no one would answer the phone, and when I arrived at the station on Saturday nobody was in the information booth and the girl at the ticket stand didn´t know when they would be back. Finally someone showed up, only to inform me that I was at the wrong station. So, I rented a bicycle (which has become one of my favorite pastimes here) and rode to the station on the other side of town. Unfriendly faces met me at the information booth just long enough to inform me of the departure times for the bus to Aracena on Sunday. "Gracias" I responded through the most sincere smile I could muster. The bike ride back cooled my reddened face with the evening breeze and horizontal rays of setting sunlight.

Yesterday a few friends and I did indeed make it to the bus station and find the correct bus and pay the bus driver, and soon we were pulling out of the station quite unsure as to what the day might bring. The small town of Aracena is situated in the Sierra Morena, just north of Sevilla. On a sunday it seemed to be a town populated only by ancient white buildings and pig legs hanging in some of the windows. By some miriacle we managed to follow the scarce signs to what is known as the Grota de Maravillas -- the Goto of Marvels. It is a natural cave filled with the most surreal rock and mineral formations I have ever seen. We toured through the cave, ooh-ing and aah-ing as we went. It truly was spectacular. I managed to sneak some illegal pictures (they don´t let you take your own because they want you to pay 5 euros for the picture they take like at a theme park. or if not that then a post card. thank you, capitalism) so as soon as I figure out how to post pictures I will do so. Even so, they do not do it justice. I felt as though I was in an indiana jones movie, so I kept waiting for some creature to leap out from the crevices at me. After the tour was over, we surfaced into the hot, dry air of outside. My purpose for coming to this town was for the hiking trails through the mountains, so we did our best to follow the map (which left out some streets and didn´t show the names of several of them, although it´s impossible to find the street names half of the time anyhow) to the trail head. For about an hour and a half we tried to find the trail head. Finally we managed to go in the right direction, but it was so late and there was absolutely no shade, so we turned back after about 45 minutes on the actual trail. But it was not a lost day -- despite the detours we saw absolutely beautiful countryside and I was happy to find that the same is true of the country in any country: people are much nicer than in the cities. A truck full of people stopped to ask where we were going and assured us we were going in the right direction, then they offered us some water to salvage our parched lips. We also passed a caballero fully dressed in spanish traje. It was an amazing experience.

I could go on forever -- I have seen, felt, smelled, and thought so much that I can only begin to write it down. And I have a homework assignment to complete before my computer time runs out and then I have to study for the two exams I have this week. Much love to you all -- know that even in the enchantment of this place I miss home and all the people that make it home.

Hasta la pasta,
Catita

p.s. -- when i said i went to a Segolla exhibit last week, I meant Sorolla. oops.

tgif

2008-06-06T06:40:00.001-07:00

This will have to be short. I am using my internet time to look up information about traveling to Portugal. The beaches there are apparently amazing, and I´ve found several hostals for around 15 euros a night. Hopefully some friends and i will go 2 weekends from now and have some quality beach time. I´m pretty stoked.

I went to the Museo de Bellas Artes (museum of fine arts) today with some friends and our professor, since he cancelled class today. It was awesome. There was a Segolla exhibit, and it was free to get in. I feel like i don´t know enough about art to fully appreciate it, but it was pretty awesome based on my limited understanding. And in the course of the tour i found out that the same director who did Pan´s labyrinth is going to direct The Hobbit to come out within the next few years. I´m excited. But back to the museum, it was beautiful. The most interesting part to me is to compare the art styles and themes from different eras. For a long time all the depictions of Jesus as a baby look like a miniature adult, except that his body is disproportionate. I am amazed by the incredibly different interpretation of Jesus and his life story. He is depicted as a transcendant infant or a pasty, agonized dying man upon the cross. Always he is distinguished from the rest of the people, never as one of them. And he pains because of the people, not with him. Jesus is so distant to these people, and always has been. I see this place that is the epitomy of a religious nation, and yet I feel like it has missed the point. Jesus was no politican -- he was one of us. He ached with us and for us, and he epitomized the life that we were meant to live. We all wonder about the meaning of life, but it is before our veyr eyes. As americans we all know the stories, and they are filled with such truth. They are not truth themselves, but I see now more than ever that the real message that Jesus brought tells all. The problem is in interpretation.

That turned into a rant...and now i have to go look up bus fares to Portugal. Everything is so expensive here. it´s like it´s priced the same as dollar amounts, but then you have to multiply by 1.5 to convert to Euros. Eughk.

Love love love, and some more love.

The eyes of Texas are upon you

2008-06-05T01:45:00.000-07:00

Almost through with week #2 of classes -- it´s going both incredibly slowly and unimaginably fast both at the same time. I have an exam on Tuesday as well as Wednesday...aah!! Sometimes I forget that I´m here for school (bah...at least on paper). The good news is that the material is really really interesting. We´re learning a ton about Spanish history, and it is truly amazing. This is the land of fairy tales and of knights in shining armor and kings and everything. The Pyrenees mountains serve as a net of sorts to diferentiate Spain from the rest of Europe, while African and Arabic influnces funnel in through the south. I can´t even begin to count the number of times I´ve accidently stumbled upon an old castle or palace or royal garden or 500-year-old mosque or fortress tower.........

Last night we had another "intercambio" to have time to hang out with some Spanish students, although they all have final exams over the next couple of weeks, so we didn´t hang out very long. Afterwards my friend Chelsea and I went to an Arabic restaurant to get some dinner (although we ordered spaghetti...very NOT arabic). Our waiter knew right away that we were Americans, which is not very uncommon. I don´t know what it is, but Americans just absolutely stick out all the time. Anyhow, then he said "you are from Texas, no?" I don´t know how he knew it. We had only said perhaps one or two words, and neither of us have a Texan accent. When I asked him how he knew, he said it was in the eyes. I still can´t figure it out. Anyhow, the food was delicious and we even got a free dessert out of the deal, not to mention an oversized portion of spaghetti for the regular price. There was also some talk about him looking for a wife so he could start a family, but that´s when we changed the topic. jajaja.

I am trying to work out going hiking in some nearby mountains on Sunday. I love the city here, even though I am not a city person. It´s somehow different, I guess in part because everyone walks everywhere anyways. And bikes -- they have a public bike rental service that is really awesome and I hope it catches on in the states. You have to give your credit card number to a machine so that if the bike is lost it charges you 150 euro, and there´s a 10 euro starting fee and the first 30 minnutes are free and after that its like 1 euro per half hour. Anyhow, it ends up being really cheap and people use them all the time. Still, I want to escape busyness and crowds to find solace in the abyss of nature.

For now, I am going to walk over to some museums with a friend before going to classes. I miss you guys...I wish I could be sharing these experiences with my dearest friends. Every time I leave home I come to realize more and more how wonderful and amazing my friends and family are. So, thanks for being incredible!!!

hasta luego,
catia

sweet, sevillan sweat

2008-06-04T02:25:00.000-07:00

Yes, it´s finally hot here, although I use the term lightly. I have known much greater heat, and I know that Sevilla has (and will again soon) too. My host family´s house does not have air conditioning -- only open windows and ceiling fans. I´m actually looking forward to it. There´s something adventurous about falling asleep under a thin blanket of sweat with the buzz of insects in your ears. Well, I guess not everyone would think of this with fondness.

Yesterday two flamenco musicians came to do a "demonstration" of sorts, showing us different styles of flamenco and the rythms that make them distinct. I could have listened to them all day. I have never seen someone clap so passionately -- the basic rythms of flamenco are typically held with clapping and foot tapping, although a modern twist on flamenco is the introduction of the cajon from Africa and Latin America. The movement of the guitarist´s fingers was as much as dance as the feet of the dancers, and the percussionist´s hands seemed to know either other´s palms and the surface of the cajon like old friends. i have always admired improv musicians, in large part because i have never been able to become one myself. These guys were incredible. I fully intend to find more live flamenco to enchant me.

My dreams have been disturbing my real life lately. I wake up with the bitter taste of a meaningful dream on my tongue, and the dream continues to play in some distant room of my mind. I dream about people from my past, situations I have imagined before, and strange twists on the people of my present. They make me want to cry, not always because they are sad, but because in a place where everything is strange and new I cannot understand the fleetingness of these dreams that are equally strange. I have also been doing a lot of thinking in my dreams, pondering things that puzzle me during the day. I suppose it´s a convenient use of my time, since thinking can consume so much of it sometimes.

Supongo que debo escribir en español para practicar, pero es muy dificil. No queiro que haya gente que no pueda entender, entonces no voy a escribir cosas muy importantes en español. Es incredible la diferencia entre el español de los EEUU (mexico) y España. Cuando estaba en mexico entendi muchisimo, pero aqui si no pongo mucho atencion yo entiende mucho menor. El ecento es muy rico, y muchas personas comen sus s´s. El "lisp" tambien existe, pero es diferente que pensaba yo. Esta noche voy a un intercambio, donde estudiantes españoles quedan con nosotros para mostrarnos los lugares donde salen los españoles y para que nosotros podemos practicar español y ellos pueden practicar ingles. La ultima vez que teniamos un intercambio, paso muy bien. La comida fue incredible y despues fuimos a un bar para charlar. ¡¡¡Los españoles viven en los barres!!! Toman una cerveza antes de cenar, comen tapas antes del almuerzo, toman un cafe en la mañana y tambien en la tarde. Siempre hay gente en los barres, pero casi nunca hay borrachos, aunque sean americanos. Me choka que la mayoria de los estudiantes de ISA estan aqui porque es legal tomar alcohol. Pues, no es la unica razon, pero toma un gran parte. A mi me gusta tomar un sangria o un tinto de verano o cerveza con limon, pero no hay razon para estar borracha. Ay, dios mio.

Pues, me voy. Espero que entiendan mi español, y ¡¡tambien que me dejen comentarios!!

Ciao,
Catita

it´s a beautiful day in the neighborhood

2008-06-03T01:59:00.000-07:00

Well, I wish there was something exciting to write about, but I´ll admit that monday evenings are not very eventful here. We had a meeting last night about the trip to Morocco, and I think many of the people were scared upon hearing their warnings of the likely sickness we will encounter, toilets that are nothing more than a hole in the ground, people begging for money, and having to bargain for everything. I know I am meant to travel because this news had the complete opposite effect on me. I want to see dirt, I want to smell filth; I want my eyes to be peeled opened by the caloused fingers of reality. I wish I could spend more time there in more of a living rather than touring style. As tourists we will be targeted as moneybags, and I sadly accept that I will only be able to see a sliver of this culture because of my tourist eyes. I am loving this trip, but it also makes me look forward to eventually traveling on my own and being able to settle into different cultures in a new way -- not afriad of dirt as I pave a path that is truly my own.

I ate a hamburger yesterday. Well, that´s what they called it anyhow. It was a hamburger patty on the same kind of bread that i have with practically every meal with a slice of cheese and a slice of onion. It was delicious -- finally some red meat!! But my stomach soon reprimanded me for my rash retreat to familiarity.

The home situation was feeling particularly optimistic yesterday, for no reason in particular. When I came home Esmerelda met me with a lengthy explanation for why the hot water went out three times that day because the changing winds blew out the pilot light on the water heater...I understood practically every word she said. (Catie-1, Español-50) We chatted again about how wonderful Morocco is; she is very excited for me that I get to go. We also chatted about beaches and how preciosos they are in Portugal. I read. Dinner was delicious, and she appreciated our compliments. I went to sleep quite content, and dreamed for the first time that I was in my own room.

I went and sat in a cathedral that I pass on my way home yesterday. I needed to let myself sit silently in the refreshing presence of God and let myself be reminded that there is something much bigger than me and the world that passes through my eyes. I sat, and I felt sad. Sad because all things religious in Spain are gold-plated beneath the layers of time. I wanted to find softness in my heart by gazing into the porcelain eyes of the virgin Mary, but I found nothing but porcelain. I closed my eyes, sighed, uttered the name that taken too often and too lightly, and left.

Lunes Lunes...

2008-06-02T02:52:00.000-07:00

Back at school again after a 3-day weekend, and it is both calming and distressful to return to some sense of routine. How can I settle into anything and call it "normal" in this place that is all so new and exciting to me??? I can tell you one thing that is becoming monotonously normal - the food. I eat the same toast with the same jam for breakfast every day, a bocadillo every day for lunch, and she has about 4 dinners that she cycles through. Tonight it´s garbonzo bean soup...again. Haha. I complain, but there could be far worse things that could happen to me or that could be going into my stomach.

Anyhow, I suppose I should update on the past 3 days that i was unable to post for.

Friday was el dia de San Fernando III, who is the patron saint of Sevilla, and so we didn´t have classes. I went with 4 other girls to Italica, a small, ancient Roman city about 15 minutes from Sevilla by bus. After looking like idiotic Americans who don´t know how to use the bus system, we finally made it to the bus stop in Italica. The remains of a Roman colesseum are the most impressive part of the area. We walked through, imagining as we walked through the corridors gladiators preparing to face either death or victory. We imagined where the kings and queens might sit, and the children who attended these spectacles of mercilessness so that some day they might be so hardened to brutality that they could serve in the most fierce army the mediterranean world knew. It was a beautiful day, despite a forecast of cold rain. We took our time roaming through the streets of a long dilapidated city, admiring the marble corpses of statues of gods or wistful maidens. After exploring for a while, we went to the streets of the small town of Santiponce which houses Italica, and eventually found a sweet little cafe to stop in for a lunch of arroz con pollo that was absolutely delicious. We came back to our host home for dinner and some rest before meeting up with some other ISA students to go watch Indiana Jones at a nearby theatre that sometimes shows english movies. It was amazing. I strongly suggest that everyone go see it because it is....hilarious. Funny in a similar way that "I downloaded a ghost" was funny.

Saturday morning we woke up and headed out for the 30 minute walk to the meeting point from which we were leaving for Granada. I listened to "Kite Runner" on my ipod for the 3-hour bus ride through the mountains, and before I knew it we were unloading outside our hotel. Our group had the first scheduled tour of La Alhambra, which was the last moorish stronghold in Spain. It is a palace, fortress, and gardens, all styled by Arabs with Muslim significance. It was so incredibly beautiful, and also very interesting to see the difference between Christian and Muslim architecture. Muslims believe it is sacreligious to have faces or animals in their decorating because it´s too much like idols - the religions that Mohammed originally had to face were very ceneted on idol worship, many of which were in the form of animals. Parts of the Quran are inscribed on the stucco walls, and many of the windows are covered with wooden lattice so that women, who are not to be seen by men, can look on without being seen. There are many fountains, and our guide repeated several times that the music of La Alhambra is the sound of music. I like that. After the tour we had some down time in which I got a quick nap and then we grabbed some dinner -- the best food I have eaten this whole trip. Granada has a very strong african and middle-eastern influnce, and the restaurant where we ate was Turkish food. We practically inhaled it. That night they took us for a quick walk - which was more like a brisk hike - up to a patio type area up high in the city from which we had a beaituful of the illuminated Alhambra, and beyond that the Sierra Nevada mountains illuminated just barely by the remaining daylight reflecting off of their snowy peaks. This was a bitter-sweet experience, because although it was beautiful, I felt as though we were intruding on something sacred with our loud English, expensive cameras with their ceaseless flashes, and painted faces posing for facebook pictures. A small group of gypsies was seated on some benches smoking cigarettes and playing guitars. I couldn´t understand the words they were singing, but I imagine they were probably singing about spoiled American kids who see the world through a digital camera screen and dollar signs. And those same kids were circled around listening in fabricated appreciation of these people, although most of these kids couldn´t see past the dirt. I don´t pretend to be above materialism. In fact, I realize that the reason for most things bothering me about people, especially people my age, is that I either see it or fear seeing it in myself. I´m just saying what I saw. Anyhow, we listened to a few songs and then headed out to go see a flamenco performance in a small venue tucked in the side of the mountain. I have never seen a dance that is more soulful. I am convinced that their minds thought nothing of the intricate steps of their feet and tossing of their skirts, but rather that their hearts pounded the rythm intensely through their veins and into their muscles, as though telling their own life story through movement. By far the most "spanish" experience so far: sipping sangria while watching flamenco.
Sunday we had free time until we left at 2, so I explored the city with some friends and we found an artisan´s market filled with beautiful things mostly from north Africa. I bought a moroccan tea set - my most exciting purchase of the trip. I ran out of money so I didn´t eat lunch before getting back onto the bus to finish my audiobook over the winding mountain roads once again.

Finally a break through at home - i played cards with my host sister for about an hour last night. I had already gone exploring for nearly 2 hours and it was another hour and a half until dinner. I couldn´t stand sitting silently in my room for all that time. I taught her some games, we played "ir pescado" and "rapido" and a few other games. It was great, and she is just as cute as she can be. I didn´t feel judged, and that is very refreshing. Our host mom confronted Rachel last night about the fact that she never talks, which is honestly because she has no faith in her ability to express herself in Spanish. We are confounding to our host mom: we like eggs for breakfast, bring tons of luggage, and are always tired when we come home. Well, at least she´s had international students before so I don´t think she takes any of it personally. This morning i was opening up my bocadillo to examine its contents and she walked in...I think she thinks I didn´t like it and that´s why i was looking. I told her I was just seeing what kind of sandwhich it was.

I feel like my Spanish is getting worse. I understand it much better, but I hardly speak it. And when i do I am intimidated so my tongue refuses to sculpt smooth, beautiful words, and instead jagged chunks of something that is barely recognizable as Spanish fall out of my mouth. I haven´t started dreaming in Spanish yet. Although I did have a strange dream last night. All these people from my past like Katie Festervan and Morgan Benton and Dylan Bagget were there, as well as some of my current friends and some random people from this trip. We decided to put on a play for our parents, in which we switched roles and played like we were the grown-ups. I realized I was playing my mom. We realized after a while that the grown-ups weren´t watching any more and were not interested in our little game, but we kept on playing grown-up, much like playing house when we were little. Maya, of course, was the best at playing grown-up. I couldn´t decide if I was going to play a little baby, a college student, or a mother. Hmm...deep...

Well, I guess this is already too long, so I should check out for now. Hopefully I will write more tomorrow. I love hearing from you guys...comments are great (wink wink, i miss you and want to hear from people I love...)

hasta luego!!!

2008-05-29T06:01:00.000-07:00

Hello again.

Last night my roomate Rachel and I tried to go out with some friends, but it turned out to be a miserable failure. We were 15 minutes late to meet our friends in the plaza where we decided to meet, and they were not there so we went to a bar we passed on the way to hang out and get some drinks. I didnt know what anything was (except cerveza) so I ordered a Manzanilla, and it tasted like pee. Rachel´s cerveza didn´t taste much better either. So we downed as much as we could bear and then headed out in search of a more happening place where maybe there was some dancing or some people our age we could hang out with. I knew there were some places along the river, but somehow we never managed to find the river. Twice we ended up back where we started, and with the ominous stroke of midnight from the cathedral´s belltower signaled that it was time to accept failure and go back home, much to the disappointment of our host mom, who was really excited that we were going out. I also managed to get lost coming home from school yesterday afternoon, in addition to getting lost on the way there. What should have been a 15 minute walk lasted over 45, but I made it back by the grace of God, who has proven so so faithful on this crazy adventure.

I´ve been asked about my family and things like that...I don´t actually see much of my host family because I´m at the school or around town most of the day. My host mom´s name is Esmerelda, and she is truly as sweet as she can be. She is so excited for all the excursions we´re going on and she´s always making sure we like the food and that there´s plenty of it. One thing that is kind of strange is that we do not eat with the family. She prepares our food and we eat at a small table in the kitchen, and I think a little bit later the rest of the family eats their dinner - which is different food - in the other room. Maybe its just because there´s not enough space for all 5 of us to eat at the same time, or maybe because she´s being sensitive to the fact that we´re not used to eating so late. Anyhow...We haven´t had much interaction with our host dad. I think he has a weird work schedule, so our paths don´t cross very often. And when they do he´s the opposite of talkative. He´s really short too. Marta is our host sister, and she is the sweetest little ten-year-old i´ve ever seen. She has a bit of a cough right now, and i can hear her coughing in the other room throughout the night. We don´t see much of her either - she doesn´t usually come home until around 9 at night. I think she goes over to her cousin´s house after school. Our family has been hosting students with ISA for about ten years, so she´s literally grown up with international students in her home. She´s going to have a birthday party tomorrow - I don´t really know if we´re invited at all or not...hmm... They don´t have any pets, and Esmerelda is very much into have a clean home. She told me to make sure Rachel makes her bed every morning because it´s bad if she doesn´t.

Yesterday I did some people-watching in the Plaza Nueva, which is the main plaza in old Sevilla. There were tons of little kids, some middle school aged kids, old people, twenty-somethings, and every other type. I was absolutely entranced by watching these little kids run around and play together. Two little girls were playing hide-and-go-seek in gleeful oblivion to the world around them. Another little boy about their aged watched quietly through red-framed glasses. Two little boys played soccer until a little girl slightly taller than them came around to show them who was boss. Everyone in Spain lives outside - the general feeling is that Sevilla belongs to everyone that lives here. Homes are very private, intimate places, so if you want to hang out with a friend you meet them out somewhere. For this reason there are ALWAYS people in the plazas, bars, cafes, and on the streets hanging out, talking, laughing, or just enjoying the scenery. I love that everyone walks everywhere.

I´m managing to keep myself busy enough not to be homesick, although I think of everyone back home very often. It´s so strange to not be able to just pick up the phone and call my best friend or my parents to say hi. I think in a way it´s good that international calls are so expensive, because it´s better for me to be independent and forced to make friends here and live life where I am here and now, rather than where I was a week and a half ago.

I love hearing from you guys - keep the comments coming!!!

Until next time,
ciao!

un pequenito

2008-05-28T07:51:00.000-07:00

just a quick update...i have to go back to class in 10 mintes. I just took a quiz and apparently I suddently now know all the rivers, mountain, provinces, capitals, climates, and languages of Spain. Well, at least I´m learning something! Today has been uneventful - except for my coffee this morning. My señora left it out for me to make, and it was instant coffee that didn´t tell how much coffee to add to how much liquid, so i proceeded to put the equivalent of what must have been like 3 cups of coffee into my little cup. Needless to say I was a bit jittery this morning, which may have contributed to our getting lost on the walk to school. Sometimes I feel like I´m in Harry Potter except that instead of moving staircases they are moving streets.

Other than that I´ve been stuying, reading, and in class today. I think I might go down to the river with some friends later to check it out. Friday is a holiday here (some saint?) so we don´t have classes, and a lot of people will be at the river or beach then. I think I might go to Italica, which is an old city right next to Sevilla with some pretty amazing Roman ruins, including an old colloseum.

p.s.- please ignore all the typos and misspellings and everything...as i read back i see tons of errors...and i blame it on being in a hurry and hot in this little computer lab.

ok i have to go back to class!!!

later!

a rainy day in sevilla is still a beautiful one

2008-05-27T09:03:00.000-07:00

It has been raining here a lot...and cold. When we were in El Escorial last week it was raining and so cold...I thought I was going to catch the death (by the way, if you walk ANYWHERE - even in your house- without shoes on, they say you´re going to catch the death). Today I thought it was going to start warming up, but it´s raining outside now. But still SO beautiful. Today was a little more relaxed. My first class isn´t until 1:30, so I was able to wake up late and walk into town at my leisure and take a tour of some Arab-inspired palaces and gardens that were spectacular to say the least. When I got up this morning my host mom was cleaning the kitchen when I woke up - all the furniture pulled out and scrubbing the oven...which is kind of awkward in an apartment that is already teeny tiny. But I grabbed some fresh bread with jam and headed out the door. We finally figured out how to get from our apartment to the school - once you get into the city of Old Sevilla the streets are like a labyrinth and people drive around on mopeds and cars and bikes like crazy. Sometimes the sidewalk is only about a foot wide, and the town is definetely not laid out on a grid system like we´re used to. The school is located in el Barrio Santa Cruz, which is a historic part of town where they Jews were forced to live when all the people of Sevilla decided that it was the Jews who were causing all the disease. So they built a wall and said ok, you can live here. It is truly beautiful, though. There are cathedrals and chapels and synagogues around every corner, and even more often are sweet little bars and cafes where people are always relaxing. One amazing thing I have noticed about Spaniards is that they are always moving but never in a hurry. For lunch today I took my bocadillo that my host mom made me and sat on some steps in a plaza near the school to people watch. I can´t even begin to explain the people here...but they are wonderful. I was an old couple walking down the street hand in hand, and then they stopped and he leaned down and they kissed like hormonal teenagers, and then kept on walking. Then later as I was tomando un cafe con leche two men playing an accordian and a viola stopped by to serenade us. The sound of Spain will always be to me a distant accordian and the ceaseless tap of well-worn shoes on cobblestone streets. And the smell...some mystical combination of fresh bread, beer, rain, and olive oil.

My classes have turned out very well - they are basically the same class but one in is English and the other in Spanish. The English one is the required one for St. Edward´s and covers the history, culture, and current situation in globalization of Spain. The other class is called Cultura y Civilization de España, and it is taught by an energetic professor from Madrid who talks incredibly fast, but by some miriacle I understand about 90% of what he says. I am in heaven here with all the history - it´s truly a 3D history book just walking down the streets. And people here just know so much more about history - they often know more about the history of my own country than I do. I was talking to a guy in a bar about how people in Spain are so proud of where they come from, and that I am usually not very proud of my country. He said that we should all be proud of where we come from, and every country has its good sides and its bad sides. I think the wisdom of thousands of years of inhabitants is suspended in the air of this country and its people know subconsciously something that our young country cannot yet understand. Another interesting point is that the bombing in Madrid two years ago was related to Spain´s close connection with the United States, so that´s also part of the reason why they don´t like Americans so much here. Anyhow, the school that I am attending is an international school, used only by international students because the universities in Spain kind of suck. So apparently many students will only take one class at their main university and then attend small universities for other stuff. And this one is small - a mere sliver in one of the many rows of buildings here. My classrooms are long and narrow - obviously not made to be a classroom. But it is still so beautiful. There is a patio on top of the building from which I can look out across the roofs of the city and see the peaks of cathedrals and mosques. Spain is so amazing (among other reasons) because of the combined influence of the Christians, Jews, and Muslims. At several different points the three religions lived together in harmony. In fact, Toledo was once called the City of Three Communities or something like that because of the presence of these three groups. Tonight I have to study - tomorrow I have a quiz over the provinces and capitals, the mountains, and the rivers of Spain. I don´t even know that much about my own country. At least they only have 17 provinces instead of 51.

My host family is wonderful. It´s still a little bit awkward, but not anything too bad. Our host mom is as sweet as she can be and she talks faster than...I don´t know...something really fast. But she is always checking to make sure we´re happy and asking if she needs to do something else for us, and giving us suggestions of things to do while we´re here. My host dad is not very socialable...I think he has a weird work schedule so maybe he´s just really tired when I see him. My room is really nice: small and pink with a window that looks out into some kind of courtyard. I wish I could upload pictures, but I don´t think I can from this computer. Maybe I can borrow someone´s laptop and put some up. I hope you´re all prepared for a painfully long slideshow when I get back...because I will have TONS of pictures.

que mas que mas....there is so much that I have seen and tasted and felt and thought, I can only scrape the surface with this blog. I hope these posts are not too long to be worth reading...and please send this link to anyone who might want it and doesn´t already have it (mom...could you send it to julie and terry and luci and carl and all the family?). I guess that´s it for now. I have to go buy a notebook and stamps. Stores are all closed from 1-5 for siesta and lunch. What a great idea!!!

much love,
Catie

bienvenidos de sevilla

2008-05-26T01:54:00.000-07:00

¡Hola todos!

i´m finally here...breathing Spanish air and savoring every moment of it. Our first several days were spent being tourists. And people here don´t really like Americans...especially American tourists. Probably because we´re stupid and don´t know anything about their country, and usually we don´t even know anything about our own. But that rant is for another day. We flew into Madrid -- the most uncomfortable 8 hours of my life -- where we stayed for two nights. The first day was uneventful, although i did have my first sangria (i dont know how to do accents on this keyboard...i promise its not because i dont know how to spell in spanish) in old madrid, where we were surrounded by 400 and 500 year old buildings, palaces, cobblestone streets, and screaming futbol fans in the pub next door. Everyone walks everywhere here -- and its wonderful. Anyhow, the next day (thursday) in Madrid we toured as a group el Museo Prado, where we focused on the works of Velasquez and Goya. Apparently i´ve seen two of the three most famous paintings in all of europe: Las Meninas by velasquez and some other one with a long spanish namy by Goya. (the third famous painting is the Mona Lisa) The museum was amazing - and overwhelming. i could write about the museum alone for the remainder of my 30 minutes at this computer. Anyhow.....then we had time to get lunch and walk around on our own, which was lovely. Food here is awesome and light. Bocadillos are the typical fare, at least for people like myself who dont like paying more than 5 euros for a meal (thats about equivalent to $7.75). It is a sandwhich of a simple meat or cheese on delicious bread. Simple, light, and wonderful. Americans eat so much and so heavy. Anyhow...then we toured the Royal Palace, which is where the kings lived from like the 1700´s on...but the king doesn´t live there now because it´s too big. It was so impressive. It´s amazing how much money is put in to lavishly furnishing and decorating this one building....who knows what kind of poverty the Spanish people lived in while their king spent his time adding on extravagant rooms for every occasion (including an opium room). Then i saw an egyptian tomb that was donated to spain....and other cool things. (wow...time is running out fast...) Um..Friday we went to el Valle do los caidos (valley of the fallen) named as such because of the thousands of people who died building it under Franco all because the church wouldnt let him be burried with all the other kings because he was a dictator and not a king. You should research it....i cant write more now. It was so eerie and huge and amazing. the view of the mountains took my breath....Then to el escorial, and then to Toldeo. Toledo is amazing. Old, beautiful...tons of history and buildings and everything. i went to a bar that was once a cathedral. it was strange but very fun. the place didnt close until 8am....people stay up so late here! i talked to some pretty attractive spanish guys, danced a lot, but by 3am the smoke and crowds was too much for me. Then yesterday we came to Sevilla and met our host families...mine is adorable. My host sister´s birthday was yesterday! it´s slightly awkward knowing what to do and say....and where to be....but i love it here.

i will write more when i can....now i must go! i love you all!!!!!!!!

About to leave...

2008-05-18T22:54:00.001-07:00

So, officially I leave the country tomorrow. What an amazing mixture of bitter and sweet to serve as a send-off!!! An intended "small get-together" turned into all the gang over for the usual: individual pizza masterpieces accompanied by ringing laughter and the inevitable sing-along surrounding a certain music major. I was warding off irritation at the recurrence of such a monotonous and "been-there-done-that" event, until God stepped in and reminded me how amazing friends are and how wonderful it is when we all have the chance to be together. We shared communion and prayer time together, and it was amazing. It has been the highlight of all my time here at home, and to think that the frustrating monotony that plagued me for all my days back in small home town could have been cured in a moment if I did what all my upbringing and storehouse of "right answers" suggested: turn to God!!! I wish I could take all of them to Spain with me -- but at the same time I am excited to be on my own once again. It is like going into freshman year all over again - I don't have any friends on the trip and my family is far far away. But now I have survived a similar experience and grown from it!!! Now I can go into this trip with the knowledge that I can make it, and that I am not alone. As confused as I may remain about who God is and what Jesus means to my life and how I live it, I set forth with full faith that I am truly never alone. My life on earth will all be one great adventure, and I won't truly return home until my body dies. Leaving the country (again) is just one of the many pages in my chapter of the epic book that is life.

And now that I've gone all reflective and philosophical, I'm going to sign off for today. I still have to get a decent amount of sleep and finish packing.