Monday was familiar enough: I awoke to the now familial song of car alarms and banging doors. Angry and ambitious, I did my best impersonation of “Rocky,” only instead of raw eggs, I drank warm yogurt, and rather than running up the steps of the Philadelphia Library, I stumbled down the staircase in Hotel Londres. Then, off to the gym. Apparently the universe frowned upon my demanding use of my sweat glands, because, when I returned, the only key to my room was nowhere to be found. Once again I was sentenced to solitary confinement with my funk. After about 45 minutes of hard-time, order was restored, and I was able to locate my key with only minimal damage to my olfactory system.
Having purged myself of some unknown evils, I walked downstairs to join a couple of guys (Matt and Nick) to a meal over by the CIEE office. For a little less than US$3, we received a salad (small plate of shredded lettuce, tomatoes, and lemon juice), an entré (piece of chicken and rice), and a dessert (some sort of chocolate gelatin vaguely resembling flan). To date, it is still the best meal on the cheap that I have eaten in Santiago.
I spent most of the rest of the day reading and hanging out until our meeting with the head honcho. At about 8:30 or so, all the English teachers from Duoc sites were relegated to different groups and assigned to teach various levels at a number of schools around the city. I was conveniently held up on a phone conversation, and was therefore not selected to teach until Wednesday. Monday night’s truancy was rewarded with a free day on Tuesday, which I used to brainstorm my lesson plan for Wednesday, continue in my ongoing search for housing, and go to the market to purchase more ingredients for another cold turkey sandwich for dinner. As an aside, I think cold turkey has really gotten a bad rap from all the failed quitters (whether it’s cigarettes, alcohol, or sunflower seeds), because the cold turkey sandwiches we had were pretty incredible.
After dinner, I was (easily) persuaded to join Marcelo and his crew at a nice bar in the suburbs. In a feeble attempt to save some money, we invited a few girls from the hostel (subsidy for the cab). We made some mixed drinks at the hotel before leaving and then were on our way. At the bar, I had the distinguished honor of getting completely ignored by the incredibly attractive wait staff and clientele.
Still, I didn’t mind because I was engrossed in conversation with Mauricio (Marcelo’s friend) and his friend, known as “The Turk.” Turk and I spent most of the rest of the night talking about kite surfing, skiing, and the best ways to do both on the cheap. Before the night was over, Turk offered to let me stay in his daughter’s room in his apartment in Los Condes. According to Turk, his daughter is only four years old, and she only spends about 3 days out of every other week at his apartment. When she is there, she sleeps in his bed anyway, so surely, he says, she wouldn’t mind her displacement at the hands of a complete stranger who barely speaks her language. As intriguing as the offer sounded, I was convinced that the oration was more a product of yeast converting fermented sugars to alcohol than sound reason, so I simply moved on without much thought on the matter.
From the bar, we were taken to a night club, which was apparently even farther from our hotel. We arrived to find a line about half a block long, in which we stood for a grand total of 20 seconds before our friends tossed in their VIP status, got us a discount on the covers, and we scooted past about 150 really angry Chileans waiting in line. The place was enormous, and PACKED. At 1:30 on a Tuesday night, no less. The best part was, because the music was so loud, no one could hear my gringo accent. I split off from most of my friends and danced it up with a number of different girls before calling it a night at about quarter to four. I split the cab ride home with one of my friends, raided the hostel breakfast stash, and then crashed for the night.
Wednesday was the day of my big teaching debut. My group was assigned to two classes: one class of tenth graders, one of twelfth. We preceded our hour-long commute to a little private school called “El Bosque” (the forest) with a quick stop at the market to buy some candy. That way, just as our lesson plan starts to crash and burn, we break out the candy, and all is forgiven. At the school we talk to about 4 different people before finding someone who knows why the heck a bunch of fair skinned gringos in nice clothing are wandering around a private high school on the outskirts of Santiago (here is a picture of some of the kids hanging during their break).
We are ushered into a class of about 35 eager sophomores, introduced, and left on our own. The class was supposed to last an hour and a half, so with three of us teaching, we figured we would break the class into three groups each teach about 20 minutes, and with the introduction and a game at the end, we would be golden. Unfortunately, the activity I had planned lasted right around 20 minutes, whereas the other teachers in my group could just sort of go on indefinitely… Frantically seeking a respite and a switch of the groups, I busted out some clever stalling tactics (which was basically just a combination of dancing, jumping jacks, and tossing candy to whoever was closest)… It was quite a sight.In spite of what I thought was a complete disaster, the kids seemed to like it… Or at least the girls did. One of the girls asked me about 5 times after class if I could “ski” for her again (part of my activity involved acting out your favorite activities), and another asked for my instant message chat name, because “Ummm… René (one of the guys in our group) wants to play pool with you”… Sure he does!
If only I could get high school girls while I was in high school like I can now…
The twelfth graders were far more advanced, and consequently far less interested in what we had to offer them. The good news is that their class only lasted 45 minutes, so our torturous regimen of singing, dancing, and playing games was short lived.
After class, I tried to get in touch with el Turk to see his place (I promised him I would call him about it). As an added incentive, he also wanted to tell me where to buy or rent skis for cheap, and he had a pair of bindings that he might be willing to sell me. He wouldn’t be home until about 6, so I grabbed a bite to eat, took about a 20 minute nap, and then headed out to the boondocks to visit his pad.
30 minutes in the subway, 15 walking, and another 10 being lost got me where I needed to be, right on time. As much as I would have loved to live rent-free, I just didn’t feel right about imposing so much on a man I barely knew. Everything he told me at the bar, though, was correct. His place was really nice; not terribly large, but inviting nonetheless. His daughter was adorable (I wrestled with thoughts about kidnapping her because she was so stinkin’ cute, but being the upstanding citizen that I am, I thoughtfully declined). And the place would still be free. For about an hour, I just sat and talked with Turk, mostly about skiing and his place. In the end, I told him that I would use his place as a back-up plan if I couldn’t find anything else.
Another 40 minutes, and I was back at the hostel. Walking through the courtyard that leads to the entry, I heard “The Rolling Stones” blaring, and crowds of people laughing, which could only mean one thing: Drunk Americans!
Sure enough, in the dining area of the hostel, I encountered a whole herd of these exotic beasts, engaged in some sort of ceremonial competition involving plastic cups quarters, ping pong balls, and copious amounts of a frothy, golden liquid. As they were blissfully unaware of my presence (or anyone else’s), I was able to snap a few pictures of them in their natural habitat before I moved on. Shown here is one caught in some sort of celebratory dance.
And below is more fascinating specimen. Rarely seen in the midst of such a raucous crowd of Americans, this Britain wore traditional festive attire. Even more remarkable, this picture catches his shirt at the perfect angle for it to capture the young male's essence: "Green-go" (the actual shirt says "Green Grove Tennis").
Opting instead for the tranquil company in a more civilized environment, I persuaded a couple of my friends to come out for a quiet drink or cup of coffee at an outdoor café. We walked about 5 miles, passed the same confused stray dog about 6 or 7 times, and finally found a little place called Patagonia. There we spent the rest of the night sharing stories and psychoanalyzing each other, before heading in at about 1:30am.
Thursday was too tiring to describe in great detail, as it primarily involved me trekking all over the city looking at 4 or 5 different apartments. I found a couple of decent options, but none that I couldn’t pass up, so I maintained hope that I would find something better and headed home. From there, I went with a couple of guys to the local grocery store where we bought supplies for an awesome spaghetti and turkey dinner (they didn’t have chicken in the amount we wanted), sat around and chatted with some other TIPS (Teacher Intern Practicum Specialist) at the hostel and called in an early night at around midnight.
On Friday, I finally got to meet the Duoc coordinator for my site in a powerpoint briefing that can basically be summed up by the following: “If you need it, we don’t have it. But you will get it… Right after you need to use it.” After a couple hours of Q&A, touring the site, and preparing to teach next week, I bailed on the rest of my group so that I could continue my housing search. A brief stop at the Entel store to get my phone working again, and it was back to the hunt. At the hostel, I drafted up an excel spreadsheet of all my options, lined up side by side. Four more places to see, and I would be done (or so I thought). In the end, I saw one place I couldn’t afford (and didn’t really like, except for the location), one place I LOVED (but the location is pretty awful), and one place that wanted to charge my by the day. For those of you counting, the fourth place I just walked by, because I was never able to get in touch with the person in charge of renting it.
Either way, it was a pretty productive day, as I found a great back-up plan and eliminated a couple of possibilities. Back at the hostel, we decided to have a movie night, so one of the kids hooked up his laptop to the dining area TV, some people bought some litros de cerveza, and we all gathered round for an informative look into the life of a Kazakh traveler named Borat.
Today, I hope to see a couple more places, hit the gym, and then go out to some blowout with Marcelo, Jorge, and Mauricio.
Sorry this was so long. Once I get into my own place, I hope to make the posts shorter and with greater frequency, so you don’t have to read a novel every time you want to get caught up on what’s going on here.
Oh, and one last thing, can anyone tell me which direction (clockwise or counterclockwise) the water goes down the toilet? I really want to check to see if the Coriolis effect holds true for plumbing systems.
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