Still Going

So most of you have long since retired from the sporadic visits to my blog in order to kill off time. Which means if you are reading this you are more than likely lost or perhaps have just reached an unprecedented level of boredom. Either way, welcome.

I admit that toward the end of my chilean adventures, I definitely sort of fell out of the blogosphere. There are still a number of stories that I left untold, and many may well fade into the memory bank of stories that will only survive as nebulous intimations in the overcrowded storage space of my mind. The reason being, I have no intention to continue revisiting my time in Chile in whatever posts I decide to upload onto this blog of mine from here on out.

Going forward my posts may simply be incoherent ramblings with neither direction nor purpose. Or maybe they will morph into amateur attempts to write something profound. But mostly, this will be a sounding board that will provide me a slight respite from the multitudinous assailants laying siege to my mind (i.e. my thoughts). AND, as I am not likely going to advertise or promote the blog further, this can be our little secret. You don't have to tell me you are reading, and I don't have to try to appease anyone that is. From here on out, this is my gift to me. Because, after all, who doesn't like to make themselves vulnerable by posting some of their more revealing thoughts and struggles on a quasi-public forum?

Anyway, without further adieu, here is the first chapter in my blog, post-return to the USA:

The United States during Christmas time is an interesting place. That's not to say that the U.S. isn't an interesting place the rest of the year; nevertheless, it is during Christmas that the US most successfully lives up to the image that the generally poorly informed populace of the outside world has created for it. It is this time of year when we are most acutely aware of the type of identity that we have created for ourselves: that is to say, first and foremost we are consumers.

Without much of a segue, I will just to another topic, and perhaps later I will be able to draw a connection between what might at first seem to be unrelated topics.

In Chile, I struggled quite a bit with my identity as a Christian. I think some of that struggle could be associated with an insidious fear to be any further associated with George W. Bush. Not necessarily because he is a terrible person (though many certainly disagree on that point), but primarily because at the root of almost all human interaction is a desire to be accepted. We shape ourselves and mold ourselves and behave in certain ways in order to be accepted. And while some people would claim that they behave in just the opposite manner, I would argue the contrary; that rather than behaving so that they are outsiders and castaways, they are simply behaving in such a way as to be accepted by another group, perhaps one that they feel more closely resembled their images of themselves and their views of the world. After all, the punk movement couldn't be a movement if no one else joined in, and even Eric Harris and Dylan Kleibold (sp?) had each other. And going back to my point about W, let's face it, the guy hasn't done a great job of making friends.

Either way, I think the point is, that in a lot of ways, I was afraid to convey the wrong impression to people that I already had trouble relating to. There seemed little need to add another layer of stereotypes to overcome when already dealing with the burden of a language and cultural barrier (not to mention a cultural identity that is often anathema to the rest of the global community).

The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I was hiding the wrong identity. In spite of the fact that Americans are often viewed as boorish, arrogant, self-righteous pricks before they even open their mouths, I flaunted my Americanism proudly in Chile and in all my travels through South America, in part because of the innate pride that I carry with me and that has been inculcated in all Americans through an extensive system socializing everyone to believe that America truly is the greatest place on earth, and in part because I wanted to help change some people's points of view about America and Americans.

It wasn't until recently that I realized my error. I kept quiet on my belief system, because I was afraid of being judged. Yet at the same time, I was often overly forthright in indicating that I was from America because of the way that I could be an agent of change on behalf of all Americans. Now, though, I have begun to understand that the opposite should have been true.

It does very little for me and for all Americans if a number of people out there think more highly of Americans. Either you are American or not. You have very little control over that. Certainly, you have control on how you choose to comport yourself in certain situations, whether traveling abroad or at home, but you cannot change where you are from. You can escape it and deny it all you want, run away and join a throng of expats in a forgotten town buried in the heart of another culture, but it will always be a part of you and something that you can never change.

On the other hand, it does a whole lot for me and for other Christians if a number of people out their change their opinions of Christians and what they stand for. For one, it would bring more people to the eternal party that we get to rock when we are through with our time here. In addition, a broader base of Christians, SHOULD also translate to a broader base of individuals promoting love, peace, community, and joy. And effecting change in this way is achievable because unlike with your cultural identity, as a Christian, you have a choice. That is the whole point. In fact, the entirety of the religion hinges on THAT choice. Either you make it or you don't. Take it or leave it. With that one decision you can change the direction of your entire life, and also unlike you cultural identity or your historical upbringing, your old life IS something you can leave behind.

Still, I kept quiet, because in my imperfections I didn't want to perform a disservice to all the great people out there who are truly Christians, seeking Christ, pursuing God, living the way they are called to (or at least trying to). It was easier for me to accept doing a disservice to the American stereotype than to the Christian one.

It was a poor decision, but it is one that I cannot change at this point. All I can do is learn from it and try to grow from it. Which is perhaps the main reason that I am excited to be back in America: I can no longer excuse away my spiritual malaise.

In addition, I also got to thinking about the interplay between America and Christianity, and it struck me as incredibly contradictory. Much in the same way that I believe both parties in our ridiculously two party "democracy" burden themselves with inconsistent philosophies across the social/economic division of politics, I found the fact that America is widely considered a Christian nation to be utterly inconsistent with what the two shall we say "institutions" represent. Everything about capitalism and consumerism which are the fabric of America run counter to the most foundational tenets of Christianity. As a nation we promote individualism, competition, legalism, and categorization. We form social hierarchies and praise those higher on the totem, while largely neglecting, or even disrespecting those on the bottom. Celebrities of all kinds are our heroes, and regardless of whether they are professional athletes, pop singers, or reality TV stars, the common denominator in our reverence for them is WEALTH (or at least a perception of wealth). Yet as Christians we are told to give up EVERYTHING to follow Christ. Often it is just the opposite. We give up everything to follow money. We will move from tight-knit communities, uproot our families, abandon our friends, betray colleagues, and even lie to ourselves in the pursuit, but at the end, it is like chasing the end of the rainbow in search for the pot of gold in that we never really quite find what we are expecting at the other end.

Far be it for me to put myself above any of these observations (and that is what they are: observations. This is not intended as cynical invective condemning all things American or all Americans, not by any means). On the contrary! I am caught up in the very center of it all. Still, I am quickly coming to terms that life has more to offer than a fictional pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. And THAT is the pursuit that I want to be a part of. I just hope I can learn to chase after the right stuff.

Día de las Fuerzas Armadas

I know that at this point you are probably starting to think that "Blog" is an abbreviation for "Backlog" but cut me some slack; it's not easy forcing myself to sit down and write vignettes about the day to day when the weather is changing, classes are winding down, and the uncertainty about my future is beginning to bore into me like a Venezuelan oil rig.

The good news is, while I am still really far behind chronologically, my current scarcity of scrill (sorry... that was ugly) has left me with far fewer options to travel. Which means, fewer mandatory stories to tell. Even though I am pretty confident that I can make the mundane at least palatable and on occasion even enjoyable, at least now I won't feel obligated to write about every weekend getaway that I undertake.

But I digress. Today, we are focusing on the Día de las Fuerzas Armadas (Armed Forces Day), which should be short and sweet. The basic gist is as follows:

After our party which was más lejos que la chucha, Eli, Ashleigh, Meghan, and I all decided to meet up at Parque O'Higgins about 2 hours before the big parade was to start, hoping to get there ahead of the crowds.

Of course, the only time all year that Chileans actually were on time for an event was this parade, and sadly we were shut out from any place where we might actually be able to watch the parade. As you all well know, my viewing pleasure comes secondary to getting the pictures that look like I had a great view, so I improvised. By standing on a cord of barbed wire, while supporting myself on a wooden stake in the ground, I was able to snap a few good shots of the passing parade, including this one of Michelle Bachelet (the current President of Chile).

Shortly after the parade started, the heat and the crowds began to overwhelm our desire to stick around and watch the slowly proceeding masses over throngs of greasy mullets and punked out hairdo's (not to mention the barbed wire holding me up snapped, eliminating my picture-taking perch), so we made out way for the iron-clad exits.

Carlitos (little Carlos, as we call him), Ashleigh's pololo (boyfriend), attends the Escuela Militar and was therefore actually in the parade... Also, his pet-name is a bit of a misnomer since he is not all that little. In fact, by Chilean standards he is huge, which puts him at about 6'1", 180. Not that you care... ANYWAY, he told Ashleigh that the parade would continue later into the night further east in the wealthy part of the city known as Las Condes.

This time, we managed to beat the crowd and actually find some seats in the rafters. We stopped off to get some libation to help pass the time while waiting for the parade, and enjoyed the setting sun with a number of Chilean families doing the same. It was dark by the time the parade finally arrived, so the pictures don't really do the scene justice. Still, we were right across from the Municipality of Las Condes building, where for the first time ever, they rigged the thing up with enough
explosives to make an Al Qaeda operative proud, and set the thing aflame in pyrotechnic delight.

Not wanting to let our night slide into the dreaded anti-climax, we frantically sought one last diversion to avoid going home. We eventually settled on bowling, which although mildly entertaining, was nevertheless unsuccessful in circumventing an anti-climactic finish to the night.

So after getting summarily pummeled in about a game and a half of bowling (I was experimenting with a recently acquired, and as of yet unperfected spinning technique), I got dropped off at my house, and slept off the sun, churros, and foul taste of defeat.

Fiestas Patrias

More than a month overdue, I am finally going to tell you about the actual day of Fiestas Patrias. For a history surround the most significant of all Chilean holidays, see the "Serenity Now, Part I."

Our return trip into Santiago from La Serena was via bus in what are considered full cama (bed) reclining chairs, that were surprisingly more comfortable than I expected. Still, the 3 hours of sleep I received on the bus was hardly enough to replenish my body after a full weekend of truncated slumber, and upon my arrival to the 'Go, I promptly zonked out in my bed for a few more hours.

Without any initial plans for the day, I ended up getting invited to a fonda (sort of like a fair) at a park near my house. There, I had a grand time watching the spectacle that is Chilean celebrations. For one, the fonda had all the interworkings of a North American Carnival - games, junk food, barn animals - only with their own little Chilean twist. For example, whereas at a theme park or real carnival, you might pay to toss a ball at a stack of bottles or try to land a ring around a peg, in Chile, you step up to toss an aluminum peg into a trough of dirt. The kicker is, if you make it, nothing happens, and if you don't... Nothing happens.

Needless to say, without any sense of competition or personal reward, I quickly lost interest in the games section of the fair. My next stop was to the granja (barn) section of the park, where several barnyard animals we cordoned off in their chicken wire pens. The funny thing was, there wasn't any element of interaction like in a petting zoo or anything. They were just there. Animals including cows and horses sat indifferently, thrilled by this grotesque invasion of privacy as pint-sized chileans laughed and hollered and threw pieces of straw at them in the midst of their bowel movements. Eventually the cocktail of BO, straw, poultry, and fecal matter got the best of me, and once again, I moved on.

Truth be told, while the fonda was quite an experience, I spent most of the time there looking for a bottle of water, which of course I never did find. My best estimate was that there were about 5,000 people milling about, and yet there were only a handful of vendors selling edible sundries to the crowd. Settling on a large corner stand that looked promising based on its long line and huge parilla layout, we waited in line until arriving to the point where the food was served. Alas, we were without our food ticket. The mind numbing and absolutely infuriating Chilean inefficiency once again outwitted me, and it never even occurred to me that the place where you would pay for the food would be around the corner at a little phone-booth like stand, where the food that you are ordering is nowhere in site... GREAT IDEA, Chile!

Either way, I went back, purchased my ticket, cut to the front of the line (no WAY I was going to wait twice), and got my kebob and a beer (still not bottle of water).

From there on out, I spend most of the time watching the cueca (a little cat and mouse type dance a couple just sort of spins around and stomps their feet in a feigned pursuit of the female by the man), Chile's national dance (and one of the many sources of pride for Chileans that we as gringos will never understand).

Having somehow managed to kill off 4 hours at the fonda, I decided to make my way out to the middle of nowhere, or as the Chileans say "donde el diablo perdió su poncho" ("where the devil lost his jacket"), for a parilla with one of the host families for another gringa teacher from another Duoc site (there was probably a better way to construct that sentence, but I am behind, and therefore need to be a little more liberal with my errors in grammar and syntax).

Crashing what clearly seemed to be a World Teach affair, I ended up having a great time eating terrific food, drinking good punch, partaking in a cultural interchange (which was mainly comprised of exchanging silly expressions in English and Spanish) and watching other gringos dance the cueca (rather successfully I might add) with the Chileans at the party.

I called it an early night around 2AM in order to recharge for one more day of Chilean culture and fun in the sun.

Serenity Now, Part II

After a night's sleep that really was closer to a nap than a restful slumber, we transferred all our belongings to a new room in the hostal and set out for the beach. The weather wasn't particularly balmy, but after spending 4 months in the frozen iceboxes that is every building in Santiago in the winter time, 60 degrees felt like a Hawaiian summer (at least at first).

A short while of sunbathing, snoozing, and just in general being bums at the foot of the non-functional lighthouse, gave way to the presence of one of the many soulless stray dogs wandering the streets of Chile, which provided us with the impetus to get up and play some frisbee. My inner hippie sated, we all decided to move on and head to a restaurant supposedly famous for it's gringo-favored fare (namely banana pancakes).

Much to our chagrin, we arrived to a pair of imposing wooden doors shackled and chained as if in the midst of hurricane preparations. Deflated, though not surprised - after all, it was Sunday, and no one eats on Sundays in Chile, especially not at relaxing comfort food places that would provide a terrific laid back atmosphere to pass the day - we set out on a search for another open restaurant. Initially, we were determined to find a restaurant that matched with our mood, that is, what we felt like eating. As our journey through the abandoned and silent streets of La Serena progressed, though, we quickly realized that we would have to take what we could get, or join the dogs in their rummaging through refuse.

We finally found a little hole in the wall restaurant known for it's seafood. Ashleigh won the best order competition, combining a couple of small, cheap appetizers to put together a delectable and satisfying meal for less than half of what I paid for some mystery smörgåsbord of seafood.

Not knowing the "La Serena scene," our next order of business was to find something to keep us entertained for the night. On our way back to some open air markets closer to the town center, we stopped by a pharmacy in what turned out to be some of the most entertaining 5 minutes of my life. We engaged in a series of conversations, first with the pharmacist, then with a random young couple that seemed equally frightened and confused by my quest for information, and left laughing our heads off on account of events that can only be described as "you had to be there."

We regained our composure, wandered around to some open air markets, and then made our way back to the hostel to pre-game once again before heading out for the night. There, we met three girls (swiss, german, and italian) who were also living in
Santiago and traveling for the weekend. We modified the card game "spoons" into a drinking game, but after the swiss girl lost 4 times in a row, we decided to abandon any structure to our consumption.

From there, we headed down to the clubs near the beach based on a recommendation from Ashleigh's military pololo. When we were just moments from our intended destination, the cabbie halted to a series of eardrum shattering screeches and screams emanating from the lungs of Ashleigh and Meghan, who had just identified Cesar, perhaps the coolest Chilean colleague that we have at Duoc, walking down the street with his wife and a couple of friends. Obviously surprised to see us, and apparently somewhat
unprepared for the sudden burst of activity, Cesar quickly redirected us to a club a little down the road while he escaped with his wife for more tranquil endeavors.

We spent the rest of the night shaking our little tail feathers to a much needed dose of hip-hop, a pleasant respite from the ubiquitous house music that most other
Chilean clubs employ. When we finally made it back to our hostal exhuasted and pockets full of miniature chilean flags, the sun was lingering just over the horizon.

I am quickly realizing the length and relative lack of entertainment value of this post, so I will try to sum up my last day in La Serena quickly:

We went to the equivalent of a Southern State Fair, called la Pampilla. In addition to bankrupt clowns begging for work, hoards of trailers, tents, and lean-to's providing shelter on the hill-side, bungee assisted trampolines, and of course copious amounts of fried sweets and alcohol, the Pampilla was made uniquely Chilean by the numerous tents and stands of portable hardward stores selling everything from tires, to carabiners, to mediocre kitchen-ware. We spent several hours just wandering around and marveling at the spectacle before heading back to la Serena, losing a couple buck in the casino, eating some delicious sushi, and catching the overnight bus back to home sweet home in Santiago where we would go on to celebrate the ACTUAL day of Fiestas Patrias and Día de las Fuerzas Armadas.

Serenity Now, Part I

Where we last left off, I mentioned that I had planned to start a sleep-induced coma after my weekend cat skiing at SkiArpa. Unfortunately, that coma had to be postponed as I prepared for the long anticipated weekend of Fiestas Patrias, Chile's biggest national holiday.

Fiestas Patrias itself falls on September 18th, but in true Chilean style, no one works the day before, and the day after is another holiday: El Día de las Fuerzas Armadas. Not really sure how it normally works, but because the 18th was on a Tuesday this year, that basically meant a 5 day weekend for all, which of course then translates to a full week off, because let's face it, two days of work in Chile doesn't really mean anything anyway.

Brief history lesson: although many Chileans believe September 18th is their Independence Day, it isn't. Rather ironically (at least in my opinion), Chile's biggest, most celebrated national holiday commemorates the foundation of a quasi-autonomous government in Chile. In reality, said government was overthrown a year later, and even on the beloved 18th of September, the government still swore undying loyalty to the Spanish King. In essence, Fiestas Patrias celebrates the establishment of a government subservient to Spain that no longer exists... Woo-hoo! Let's all get drunk!

My gringo predilections aside, Fiestas Patrias IS the biggest holiday of the year, and the celebration primarily entails lots and lots of drinking and dancing the cueca (Chile's national dance), which really, if you've seen it, goes hand in hand with drinking.

Needless to say, the week of teaching leading up to Fiestas Patrias was not terribly productive. In addition to my suspicions that many of my students were arriving to class drunk (I should say, in even greater numbers than normal), I also had to compete with the eardrum-rattling, really annoying bands that were brought in by the school to play in the central courtyard around which every classroom is situated. Apparently, in a competition between Cueca and Class, Class takes a back seat.

Acting on advice from a number of Chileans, Ashleigh, Meghan, and I had plans to break out of the Santiago melee by heading north to La Serena for the weekend. Frisbee, swimsuit, and a couple flasks of rum in tow, I canceled my last Friday night class (that no one would have showed up for anyway) and caught the overnight bus up north. Not knowing how close our hostel was to the bus station, we caught a cab about a block up the road, during which the cabbie laughed the entire time at our stupidity. Apparently, our fatuity so delighted the cabbie that he didn't even charge us for the 2 minute ride.

Our timing couldn't have been better. We arrived at the hostel minutes before they "powered up" the doorbell, dropped off our bags, grabbed a bite to eat, and then set out on a tour of Valle Elqui.

The tour of Valle Elqui wasn't the most amazing thing I have done since I have been in Chile, but it was certainly made more enjoyable with the help of a pretty interesting tour guide, a few samples of pisco from the piquerias along the way, and of course, the bottle of Monkey Tail (kind of like Baily's but sweeter, stronger, and made with pisco) we bought at our first stop. In addition, we had an INCREDIBLE lunch prepared au natural. All of the food was actually cooked by the sun. That doesn't mean that solar panels powered the building or the kitchen where the food was prepared, but rather the food was placed in reflecting boxes which used the sun's energy to heat the food. According to our guide, a black kettle centered around a giant reflective disk could bring water to a boil in about 15 minutes. Now if only they could use the same sun to heat their
houses...

After a long day of touring, we returned to our hostel exhausted and ready for a break. In my room, I dozed for about an hour listening to Shakira, who, at the other end of the recording process, was no doubt gyrating her legendary hips in perfect rhythm to the backup music being produced by her under-appreciated (and likely underpaid) colleagues.

We wrested ourselves from our slumber shortly after, and still dusting the cobwebs from our minds, set out to find some fuel for our corporal carriages. It turned out to be much more difficult than we had anticipated. After a few failed attempts, we finally found a place that seemed to be serving what could potentially pass as a meal. A slight misunderstanding was exacerbated by poor math skills, and a minor debate ensued about the check (primarily because we had to pay it BEFORE we received our food). Nevertheless, in the end we accomplished our objective and set out for a botellón in Coquimbo.

The hilarity of the situation was not lost on the cabbie as we mixed our drinks en route to Coquimbo. And while he was not much of a talker, I truly believe his reticence belied the sheer ecstasy he must have been feeling upon listening to our ridiculousness for the 15 minute ride across town.

Our botellón concluded in a plaza in Coquimbo next to some Chileans doing the same, and we took advantage of our kindered spirits in order to solicit a recommendation for the rest of our night. We left our new friends in the plaza, seeming somehow less exciting in our absence, and headed over to Mr. X. A cheap cover included one drink, which translated to a warm can of beer.

Now the beer in Chile doesn't really need any help in its quest to be inferior, so when a hot club is serving warm Chilean beer, that's not exactly any easy situation to swallow (pardon the pun). Granted, we are in Chile, so expectations must be tempered in order to survive the day to day. Still, there is only so much a man can bear.

Of course you know by now that I would not be partaking of this warm beer. Instead, I engaged in pleasant, if somewhat beguiling, conversation with the barkeep, explaining my plight with just enough pathos and melodrama so as to make it seem like the most tragic of situations. The bartender responded to such abject abuse of his clientele by proposing I trade my unopened can of warm beer for a 3/4 full pitcher of cold beer from the tap. I eagerly accepted the trade, which turned out not to be a trade at all because he forgot to reclaim the original collateral. As you can see, the pitcher was well received by all.

We spent the rest of the night spreading cheer and attracting randos until even the moon got tired and called for back up from his brighter celestial cousin.

I´m TRYING

There are three fundamental ingredients necessary in order to keep a blog updated and interesting: 1) Material, 2) Time, and 3) Internet.

Unfortunately, the accumulation of material with which to fill said blog tends to have an inverse relationship with the amount of time available to write about the material. And while a solid and consistent internet connection should be independent of the two other factors, for some reason, every time I have the first two factors in excess, there always seems to be a paucity of the third (and vice versa).

Nevertheless, I am urging you, faithful readers, to take heart! For I am committed to the entertainment (or at the very least the distraction) of all my readers as long as I am here in Chile, and irrespective of my heretofore inability to stay abreast of the many stories that have been multiplying in the annals of the unwritten, I promise to liberate my mindless ramblings just as soon as my stinking landlord can figure out our current internet mess. Until that SNAFU is worked out, I must resign myself to typing random nothings in my free time between class from the sticky keyboard (covered no doubt with some dilectable syrupy concoction comprised of Chilean finger grease, avocado resin, salty vegetable oil, and mayonnaise, all of which are found in copious amounts in the Chilean diet) in the teacher`s lounge at the school where I teach.

So that today´s visit is not a complete waste, I will leave you with a tasty morsel of information. The word SNAFU actually arose from a military acronym beginning with "Situation Normal: ..." I am assuming the clever can deduce the rest.

Cliff's Notes

After nearly a month of silence, I have decided to get back on the blog bandwagon. Reading through some of my latest posts - which, indeed, can hardly be considered late - I am realizing that there are so many huge gaps in my coverage over the last several months, that I am just going to have to leave some unfilled, like the Aurora potholes in the winter time.

Still, there are a FEW things that I would like to include. For starters, let me try for a quick summary of what I am so far missing:

-After my trip to Machu Picchu, I went to Easter Island for a few days. In sum total, my three weeks of travels were filled with back to back to back wonders that really cannot be done justice by any meager attempts on my behalf to describe them. In light of this fact, I will simply suggest you look at pictures, and maybe one day book a trip of your own.

-Upon my return, I alternated between skiing, partying, and saying goodbye. Both Nayara and Heloísa (the Brazilians) left the first week I was back, which was a HUGE bummer considering they were my two closest friends in the Casa Andacollo. Meghan's birthday party helped the cause quite a bit with a little dancing at Punta Brown. In addition, during that time, I managed to grow a little closer with Nora (the Colombian) mainly on account of snow: I skied with her boyfriend for a day and then when it was snowing in Santiago for the first time in 20 years, I helped her build a snowman in the front yard. There was less than a centimeter of snow on the ground, but our house was perhaps the only house in all of Santiago with a genuine snowman, brown, grass-ridden, and emaciated though he was.

-Before heading home to Colorado I almost bailed on the CIEE weekend retreat in favor of a weekend of cat-skiing. However, after a complete white-out on the mountain one day, I took a short skiing hiatus, and opted instead for a little weekend getaway with what few members of the CIEE posse still remain (big shout out to Menelike and Amanda... We miss you guys!!!). Turned out to be a great decision. Free beer coupled with kick-ball, volleyball, choripan, and ping-pong was just what the doctor ordered to chase my Santiago blues away.

-Quick on the heals of the weekend extravaganza described above, I saddled up for the 14 hour trip back to good old Colorado. After a mandatory stop at Chipotle, the NEXT thing I did was accompany Josh to buy $1,000 worth of alcohol for his wedding. The loading and unloading of copious amounts of the Sumers' greatest legacy provided the perfect segue into a weekend of much of the same. In spite of the email string comprised of more words than Quixote, we all managed to pull together an incredible weekend of beer-drinking, cigar-smoking, burger-eating, gore creek-tubing (or tube-popping), salmon-grilling, shot-pounding, poker-playing, sleep-depriving goodness.

-Most of the week following the bachelor party was spent hanging with friends and family, catching up on life in the US, and golfing, so essentially, everything I could have asked for from a vacation back home. Of course, the icing on the cake was my sister's and Josh's beautiful wedding, which really needs no elaboration.

-I arrived back in Chile, half-reluctant, half-excited to return for the final stretch of what has so far been an incredible adventure. On the insistence (and bankroll) of Lauren and Josh, my first order of business upon my return was to book my cat-skiing trip at SkiArpa. All my failed attempts to lure another skier into the fray left me hiking through the cold Santiago streets at 5:30 in the morning lugging a ski-bag, a backpack, and a small duffel replete with helmet clunking along the outside. Needless to say, I did not exactly blend in. The snow turned out to be less than epic to say the least, but never in my life will I ski more incredible terrain in succession. Due in large part to a small group of the nerdiest adults I have ever met who kept us a little more conservative on Day 1, we only logged about 9,000 vertical feet of skiing (over 4 runs). Day 2 however, we were joined by a group of 3 brothers from Utah, and we hiked for every one of our 4 runs, which left us at a best estimate of around 12,000 vertical feet for the day.

-I caught the bus back to Santiago on my own and tried to sleep off some of the last 2 months of accumulated exhaustion. I have not yet been successful, but then, if you aren't tired at the end of the day, you're just not doing enough.

I will try to write a more reflective, engaging, or inspiring piece soon. For now, know that I haven't forgotten that this page exists, even though most of my readers have.

Good night, and God bless.