It's getting colder, but the heart is always warm

I have returned from the countryside with only a few hundred flea bites, a pouty stomach, and one of the most profound experiences of my life.

Our second educational excursion was to the Mapuche pueblo of Cerro Loncoche ('mapu' is earth, 'che' is people , and 'lonco' is head in Mapudungun, so 'mapuche' means people of the earth and 'loncoche' means head of the people - think less literally. The hill has sacred significance for them, and the children made sure we asked permission and thanked the hill when entering and leaving its slopes.) This pueblo is located almost inside the small city of Makewe, where our plane arrived, but you would think that you were a hundred miles from anywhere. The air has a freshness that you cannot even imagine when living in Santiago, and the odors and sounds of the countryside are the only things that attempt to break through your own tranquility of mind. As if that would be a bad thing...

We lived with families again, but these families were all at or below the poverty line (as defined by the government..) in contrast with the middle-class families and students with whom we have shared habitation before. This in itself was a very new experience for me, and provided me with challenges and questions that may have been floating under the surface, but which become painfully potent with these amazing and amable (amiable? I don't remember which spelling is the english one) people. Greta and I shared a bedroom in the house of Yenny, with her husband, son, parents-in-law and brother-in-law. Mornings consisted of everyone gathered in the kitchen, where the wood stove kept the room toasty in comparison con the frigidity of the rest of the house. Fresh baked bread and palta is breakfast and dinner, spiced up with maybe soup or beans or rice for lunch. There is no heat, and running water only arrived five years ago, electricity three years before that. There are toilets a short walk from the house, but the plumbing has failed so they're practically useless, and the family has gone back to using their outhouse. All of the buildings were built by the family, and all except the house are full of pigs, cows, dogs, cats or sheep. The walk to the school is half an hour, to the hospital a bus ride of an hour or more.

Before we left, everyone told us that the Mapuche are a closed and private people, and that they would be very suspicious of us and not want to share their lives. On the contrary, they welcomed us with open arms, showing more generosity, curiosity and pure intentions than almost anyone I have met in Chile. Most of the older people speak Mapudungun, their dying language which is currently in the process of rescucitation. Alejandro, our grandpa there, spent the evenings teaching us new words in Mapudungun, which has a fluidity and beauty to it that many languages these days lack. Or maybe it's just his accent, which sounds like it's coming from the very depths of the earth, as if the sounds are not born in his throat and tongue but rather in his history, in his people, in all the knowledge and spirit that has been passed to him through generations, and which he now sees being lost in his grandson. They were more than willing to talk to us about the struggles they have experiences as an indigenous culture under attack by modern society, how they have attempted to adapt to the money economy and the loss of land, their conflicts with the government to regain said laid and to establish their proper place as citizens, the changes and disappearance of their very identity.

(Check it out... one of these beautifully free pigs... became this incredibly delicious slab of savory meat. This is what we had on the last night, and I don't think I have ever had meat that sublime. I mean, come on, that blood was coursing through veins that morning! You can't get any fresher, and you can't find any better quality meat.)

The kids are also uber cute. Our brother Jonás was adorable, of course (he's in the red). The children never wanted to get away from us! On Thursday we were supposed to have a class of English to augment their intercultural education (a special curriculum designed to mesh the new modern culture with their own, which includes classes of Mapudungun and traditional customs), but they ended up just taking us on long walking tours of the countryside and talking to us about their lives. One girl, who was probably around 11 years old, spent nearly half an hour telling me the myths and stories that suround Cerro Loncoche, explaining their significance to her people in the past and present. They relished in telling us about the plants that were growing everywhere, how to use them medicinally or why not to eat them and any stories they had about them. I was thoroughly impressed! It was great to be able to spend more than just an afternoon with them too, as has been the case in the other schools. We were really able to form relationships with all of the kids, to know their names and where they live and what they want to study and their favorite games (generally el Escondido o Paquitos, hide and seek or cops and robbers). They were curious and full of love, like all children, and genuinely endeared me to the place.

Here they are dancing a traditional dance for us. They even took a few of us up to be a part of it! Very amazing.

We also went to Puerta Saavedra, where the Mapuche of past (and sometimes of present) hold their religious celebrations. It was incredibly beautiful and powerful, and I am thankful to René to plan in about an hour to sit and ponder the significance and impact of the place. I feel like he's gotten to really know our group, and can see that we are all very thoughtful people who desire to find a connection to a place that surpasses what you see and hear, but rather to fully comprehend what that place IS, what it means, and how it affects us as both physical and spiritual beings. This was one of those times where we all dispersed without saying anything, finding our own place in space and time to exist. That's one of the things that I absolutely love about our group - we get each other. Everything clicks. René told us all before we left for the airport that we were one of his favorite groups, not only because we were intelligent and passionate, but because the chemistry between us is of a quality that he has never seen before in groups. He told us that we move almost as one body, everyone together and adapting to each other and the situation without conflict, but also without conformity. We are our own, and we are each other. Not exactly in those words, but he was speaking Spanish so ya know. It was very touching, and very true, and made our parting seem so much more pronounced.

I really can't believe we have already arrived at this point in our trip. Semester, whatever. Starting at noon on Monday, I will no longer have anything planned. No classes, no seminars, no meetings, no visits to schools. Thirty days lie in front of me that I must plan myself, in which I need to construct research replete with interviews and sources and observations, and I need to do it in Spanish. Tomorrow I also meet two men who might be my research advisor, and I have to hold interviews with them to see which of them I prefer. They're competing for me! haha Sweet, but intense. I'm also really excited to get started, it's just a question of how to begin, and how to fill my days! I don't think that second one will be a problem...

Here's a picture of Lauren on the way to the airport on Tuesday. It was so cold in her house she decided to wear her bathrobe out, and hence was truly riding in style! I love this girl. Just look at that face! This also illustrates how freaking early our program always has us leave a place... We were all practically delirious it was so early.

Another reason why I can't believe we're here is because this step in the program necessitates that we all go our separate ways. Yesterday we left Darren en el campo to deal with the fleas himself, and it felt way too much like a good-bye. Tomorrow Kira, Lauren, Brady and Greta get on a bus to Buenos Aires, and Liz is going to Valpo. These are some of my closest friends, with whom I have been with almost constantly for the past two months. I can't imagine them not being around. None of us thought of this day until we were hugging Darren good-bye, and all of a sudden it is too real. The past two months have been so profoundly ..profound. Every single person has left a mark on me in a way that will never be forgotten, and each has had some affect on my growth as a person while I have been here. I am going to miss them. This isn't goodbye, but it is. After this we'll only have maybe a week together, then we're all off to our summer plans spread across the nation and the globe. I always wonder what will happen after the desperdidas... we like to say that we will see each other soon, but sometimes life gets in the way. How do you guarantee that a piece of your heart doesn't get lost in the stream?

All in all, thinking about what lies ahead of me is very exciting. At times I start to think about the amazing thing happening at home, or things that will be happening... my dad sends me pictures of our yard in the spring (one of my favorite things) and I almost just want to be back there, sitting on the porch reading a book or swinging on the swings at the pond. At times I just want to come back right after the program so I can move into my house and start up at Carolina Adventures again, and of course see all of my incredible friends back home, who I can see changing and growing, and who I hope will surprise me at how easy it is to slip back in. Then I remember that I'm in South America. And you are all jealous. And I get to study graffiti and plan my own studies. Then afterwards I get to wander around Chile and Argentina and Peru, to see things that I could never imagine in my entire life if it didn't happen to me.

Last night I was blessed with the most graceful and wondrous shooting star I have ever seen. It birthed near the culmination of the blackened dome above me, falling slowly towards the cityscape and leaving behind a tail of orange and yellow and brilliant white. I believe it's a good omen. Incredible things will happen.

This rolling stone has no moss, and is rocking hard!

OK, first things first. Chile experienced a 7.2 earthquake early this morning. I woke up to Lorena saying "Abajo de la puerta! Abajo de la puerta!" which means "Get under the door!" My bed was shaking underneath me in a manner very reminiscent to the Exorcist, and there was a great thrumming in the air. Standing up didn't help much. Metaphorically speaking, it really shakes your world to feel something you always thought was stable suddenly, well, shaking. And doing it quite violently. After about 30 seconds it subsided, then came back weaker an hour or so later. Caused by a volcano, it itself caused a tsunami in the south, where I'm going to be in two days. Now that I've had that experience, thank you much, I'd like to not have it again! It was pretty cool though.

So I am back from Buenos Aires, and feel like I've lived a few seasons over in the past few weeks. A nice pleasant early fall in Santiago before we left, we jumped into a humid summer in BsAs, and now in Santiago it's winter. Sitting in my house, I'm wearing gloves, a scarf, jacket, and thick socks. It's quite good to be back though.

BA was pretty much the shit. (In a good way, you old fogeys!) I got my feeding problems figured out with my host girls, and after that we really started to hit it off. I spent many evenings sitting in the tiny kitchen drinking mate and trying to follow their jokes, teaching them english, gossiping, and asking for all the Argentinian slang. Here is a picture of the of them: Casandra on the left (we were the closest... she's studying medicine and when she comes to study in the States, she's going to visit me. She also gave me a big map of Argentina with a list of places to go, under the conditions that I come visit her on my way back through to return it, and so we can ir de hota!) Verónica is in the middle (can you say funky?) and Maia is on the right (she was gone as often as she was home... definitely a free spirit. Also carried her mate around all day in it's own special leather case. There's got to be something addictive in that yerba... no Argentine is seen without it!) We had a really good time together. It's strange how close you can get to people in only two weeks, and how much of that intimacy was achieved in the last two days of being there. I'm definitely going to keep in touch.

One thing about being in BsAs... it is good for your Castellano Confidence. They speak slower there than in Chile, and actually pronounce syllables. Upon arrival in the incredibly dirty city, all of us suddenly felt like everything we had learned suddenly clicked into place. De repente we were having conversations without really thinking about it, and not having to ask people to slow down or repeat themselves. The accent was a bit difficult to understand at first - with the 'zsh' for 'll' and 'y' and the 'vos' instead of 'tu' - but then it was equally hard to get rid of. I find it fascinating how much your situation has to do with your learning process. I picked up the Argentine accent and am now using it here in Santiago, not because I'm trying to hang on to it, but because it is engrained in my head. Because I was in a learning phase while there, and was making huge progress in my speaking abilities, the habits of the speakers around me influenced my speech much more than they would have if I had waited to go to BsAs until the end of the program. I still say 'ayer' and 'allá' and various others with the accent, which is fine by me.

I guess I had better inform you all of the major decisions that have gone down in the past couple of weeks. First of all, I have decided 10% to study graffiti in Santiago. When I described my thoughts and worries about both choices to René, he told me that from what I had said, I needed to stay in Santiago. The more I thought about it, the more I realized I was immensely more excited about studying art and society, and that I just wanted to go to Chiloé to live away from the city, and that prospect was very distant, blurry, and unknown. I can travel there to see it, and my ISP should be on something that really interests me. The more I came to terms with my decision, the more confident and excited I felt about it. I kept making realizations about people I could talk to to acquire various perspectives, and the interesting things they could share with me. The cincher was yesterday, in Santiago, when we were leaving the library. On a whim we decided to check out this public art exhibition we could see from the street, and when I first walked in I thought "This stuff is kind of in the style of graffiti, sweet." Well, it was an exhibit designed to take graffiti from the street to the exhibition room, highlighting four artists and including a whole section on the creation of a joint mural which was located - hey! - across from the library. (partially shown in the bottom picture... I might get to meet the people who did that!!) And it runs through the end of March. Can destiny smack you any harder in the face?

The other decision I have made is to stay in South America for another month. I was originally going to come home around June 23 to move into my new house and start an internship with Carolina Adventures at UNC. After falling in love with the Southern Cone and realizing how much I want to see here, I have decided to stay until around July 20, getting back to the States in time to go backpacking in CA, move in, and get things settled before school. I still have to hear from Lizzie to see how mad she is at me, but this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity (maybe). The plan is to buy motorbikes (or a car, not as cool) with my friend Kira and make a loop through: the south of Chile (Temuco, lake region, Puerto Montt, Chiloé), the south of Argentina (Bariloche, Angostia, Bahia Blanca), the north of Argentina (BsAs, Iguacú), then race through Paraguay and Bolivia to make it to Peru (Macchu Picchu for sure, and lots of other stuff we haven't planned), then come down through the north of Chile (salt flats, Atacama desert, the observatories) to make our flights in Santiago. Big loop, only about six weeks to do it in. We will make it work.

It's very strange to think that I have only been here for two months (UNC is in their final week of classes) and that the actual educational/hard work part of my semester hasn't even started yet. It's strange to think that for a whole month I will be directing my own education, my own research, my own Spanish, my own integration into a strange society. It's strange to think that for a month and a half I will be wandering around a foreign continent, almost flying by the seat of my pants, speaking another language, and seeing places I never even dreamed off. I have three more months here, and after two it has already stopped being a country I am studying in and has become the place where I am living. What will it be to me when I am getting ready to go home? I don't know the moment when Chile went from being exciting vacation country to being the place where I am comfortable, but eager to learn more. When I was sitting in the sun room the day after I got back to Santiago, I could feel it. Everything looks different now. I feel like I am approaching the streets, my days, the people in a very distinct manner than before.

In BsAs I had to good fortune to meet up with a few of my old Pittsboro buddies (who in truth continue to be buddies to this day): Eliza Jane Harris, Mason Philips, and Amos Vernon. It was quite good to see them, and not only because it gave me the excuse to eat savoury meat and drink delicious wine. Not having seen Eliza for so long was a bit unnerving, and I have to admit I was a bit nervoud to see her. She's been having this incredible exotic experience for four months, and I for two months, and we're both going to change, right? And we both did, but we both didn't. It was awesome to see her, beyond words! Mason I saw in Valpo, but of course it was fabulous to see him again, and Amos I haven't seen in ages, and he is the same but so immeasurable different, of course. We

spent two great nights together, chatting like old times and just enjoying the English company of familiar faces in new settings with a different glint to their eye. I could tell we had all changed, and it was awesome.

Here is a picture of our director and his wife while we were waiting to be assigned a plane in the BsAs airport during the worker's strike... aren't they adorable? He's pretty much the most amazing man, and she's equally incredible, and they go well together.

BsAs was very inspiring, as a whole. Our 'classes' were much more intriguing than a lot of those we've had before (the few actual lecture-type things we sat through) and all of our visits and experiences were mindblowing on some scale. I could go on for hours about the amazing things these schools and alternative facilities are doing, how they're overcoming the problems of poverty and such, how the government is ACTUALLY HELPING PEOPLE, how peoples' spirits never die. I could tell you about the computers that were brought in to the poorest neighborhood in BsAs so that the people could learn to be secretaries, or the children accompanying their mothers to hair-dressing class, or the girls who asked me to draw them pictures, or the little boy who kept asking where I was from and pretending to look it up in his math book, about the school that was full of marble sculptures done by the students, or the 15 year old who was almost more eloquent than me (and especially so in Spanish!). I could tell you about the houses without roofs and the kids living in the streets, who still come to school and who WANT to learn, about the 95 year old woman who not only possesses amazing clarity of mind, but also organizes a political movement and marches every Thursday afternoon demanding the return of her disappeared son of 30 years ago. Where are these things in the States? Why can we not all join together in a cause that unites us to be strong, inspired, motivated, powerful, human? Why do we insist on fracturing ourselves into useless details and gray areas? Can we not just stand up for our rights as human beings? The right to live and love? To eat good meat?

This next picture is to continue my discussion about the amazing people you meet without knowing it. Here is our director, René, and his best buddy and our subdirector in BsAs, Claudio. We all thought Claudio was a really amazing and caring guy, but a little bit short of the description 'cool.' While waiting in the airport to go home, René shared with us a little something that changed it all completely. I don't know if any of you have heard of a huge escape from a major prison during the Pinochet reign, but there was one. More than twenty high-profile prisoners (read: people who disagreed with the big P) worked for months to dig a tunnel out of prison. Yes, Shawshank Redemption style. It was complete with ventilation, a light system, and incredible feats of mechanics including but not limited to: hiding dirt in the ceiling (spaced perfectly so it wouldn't collapse), digging through the less than 3 meter space in between road and metro, and a length of more than you want to think about. These amazing people achieve this, escaped, and then headed on foot over the Andes into Argentina. Last Wednesday, Claudio finally received notice of the end of his exile from Chile. After 21 years, he is finally able to enter the land of his birth. And we didn't know any of this. Also, both of those men were once around 130 pounds. Don't believe it? Neither do I.

Now I want to talk about a universal theme: love. Guess what, Dad! Nope, I haven't fallen in love, but there is great danger of it happening to a couple of people on the trip. One of the girls in the group - Kira- met an Argentinian in a bar one night, talked to him for about 12 hours straight, and hardly left his side while we were in the city. He has invited her to come work with him at a snowboarding resort this summer, and if that doesn't happen he's going to come traveling with us (Bahia Blanca is where his family is from.) And it's not like a fling, which is both scary and exciting at the same time. Another girl - Greta - just had her pololo confess his love for her. The idea has been planted that she should get a job for the summer here and live in Santiago. It's a strange situation... when there's love in a continent that is not your own, you've kind of got to grab it by the horns and make it tell you what it wants, otherwise you're a goner and you might never come back. Either way you look at that sentence, it works. It's been interesting to see it all happen... we never can tell the moments that change our lives until one day, nothing is the way it was.

I think that's about it for me. Tomorrow we fly to Temuco to stay for five days with rural families and learn about the intensely different culture of the Mapuches. I can't wait! After that... we're all off. The work starts. Also the passion. I can deal with that. It's weird to think that after Friday, I won't see Darren for a month, and after Monday, five of the others. When you see people every day for two months, that sort of thing can't be expressed by the word 'shock.' I'm sure we'll all be more than fine though. That is the nature of our relationships!

I have said good-bye to Chile for the moment and have opened my arms to Argentina, land of meat, chocolate, and cheap books. Of course, three days in and I've already tried all of them!

Leaving my family in Santiago was easier and harder than I thought it would be. The physical act was much easier, just throwing some stuff in a bag, grab my jacket, don't forget my passport, and I'm gone. It's all the other aspects of leaving that have been so hard. You know that phrase, "You never know how much you love something until it's gone"? That's much more true than I had thought.

The Thursday before we left we had an asado to say goodbye to all the families, and somehow I convinced my brother and his girlfriend to come with us. Though it started out awkward as almost all forced community events do, it really picked up once dinner started and all of us young'uns got together, joking and talking and sipping. LuisFer, Brady's brother, came too, and he's also my cousin, so it was more a family event than ever. Here is a picture of my mom Lorena (on the right) with Theresa's mom and my second cousin (?) with whom Brady is living. Aren't they beautiful? I feel like things between Lorena and I are still a bit awkward sometimes, but that doesn't mean we haev any less respect for the other. She's such an amazing woman, and has really cared about me while I've been living under her roof. I really do feel like her daughter! And of course I realized this as I was sitting in the kitchen of my new home in Buenos Aires.

Here is Theresa, Lauren, and LuisFer, who looks like a really skinny dorky guy (especially with the rat tail) but who is actually one of the coolest guys I've met, really with it and smart and eager to help you out or get to know you or anything. I got to talk to him a lot on the way to carrete, which I'm really thankful for.

After the asado we decided to go out for carrete, and Cristóbal had made me promise to call him, so naturally I did. Turn out it was a party at Moco's house (my kind of pololo), and lots of fun! I hung out with Cristóbal and his buddies all night, trying to get those flojis to dance. They never would, but they were fond of dog-piles and crazy faces. At one point one of them was trying to convince all of us to eat cat food (like I've said before, Cristóbal's friends are all a bit crazy, and one of the guys there thought that he was indeed a cat), and for a while they were all purring and meowing and being incredibly hilarious. That's my bro on the right, with Nacho (grn shirt), Diego (tongue), weird dude I never really met, and the other Cristóbal in the black. Nacho's is quiet but a sweetheart, and into juggling. Diego is kind of quiet but in a conspiracy way, and he likes to draw. Cristóbal is also kind of quiet. Strange, I never thought of Cristóbal's buddies as quiet until I just wrote that... They're not the obnoxious kind to go around boasting or anything, but they like to get into trouble. Really awesome.

After the party Cristóbal and I shared his bike back to the house, and luckily I didn't fall off (good excuse to hang on tight! haha). We sat in the kitchen on little stools talking for a while, about the night and me leaving and other small things. He told me that he is really going to miss me ("te echaré de menos") and that I really am the only student he's ever gotten to know. Gave me a big kiss on the cheek. I never really got to say goodbye to him, because he left early in the day and didn't come back the next morning until I was on my way to the airport, and I'm still sad about it. I miss him incredibly. When I was living in the house with him, I could always sense this weird awkwardness to our relationship, but that was just in my mind, and in the week or so before I left we hit that spot where we were really comfortable with each other. Even though I'm going back for weekends a couple of times, I'm never really going to be a part of the house again, and that makes me very sad. Well, never again if I study in Chiloé.

We flew over the Andes. Good lord, beauty.

So now we're in Argentina, and it's the same but completely different. We're all living with young people , so I'm living with three 23 year old girls. SWEET. It's been really fun so far, we just sit up at night and watch tv or play guitar or gossip about whatever. They don't really feed me though, which could be a problem. They eat once a day, and the idea of three meals is just foreign. Food is cheap though, so whatever.

Here is some funny graffiti. There's a ton of it here too, but mainly just the quick stencils and the really ugly kind. Buenos Aires is a very dirty place. I much prefer Santiago, despite what everyone has said about the cultural benefits of Buenos Aires. In Santiago, there are hundreds of stray dogs, but you never see dog shit. Here, all the dogs have owners and are walked around by people who just walk dogs, and there is dog shit everywhere. Piles of trash, black smoke pouring from buses. It's gross. And there are mosquitoes EVERYWHERE. I am a walking mosquito bite. I think it's all these small things, and the fact that I miss my family in Santiago, that are making me not really want to be here right now. I feel like I should be taking advantage of the fact that I'm in Argentina, but I keep having thoughts like "I'm wasting time here - can't I go back to Santiago?" Strange.

That's one thing the Argentinians have right: prices. Everything that's important is cheap. Taxis, food, books, shoes, transportation, music, and clubs. And the food is exquisite. Also, the colors of Argentina (the flag and otherwise) are Carolina blue and white, so they've got it going on from all sides.

I've been feeling tired all of the time recently, and I don't know why. I've got a lot on my mind. I still can't decide what to do for my ISP. I thought I had decided decisively on Chiloé , but with recent changing feelings I don't know anymore. My original reasons for coming on this trip were to push myself to new limits, to put myself in new situations and see what I could do or what I could learn. Chiloé is perfect for that. But now, with all that has happened and my ensuing feelings, I almost feel like makin a stronger, more continuous experience would be more beneficial, and more what I want. I also think that my theme in Chiloé might end up being too heavy and abstract and difficult to manifest, whereas the graffiti idea in Santiago would be much more fun and light, though definitely hard to approach in the exact way I want to approach it. The question remains, do I want to go to Chiloé for a completely new experience, and live away from the city? Or do I want to stay in Santiago and make more of a home here, and study something that's going to be enlivening to my mind? Each has it's own connotations, positive and otherwise, and I just can't get them to unbalance in my head.

Tango en La Boca. Cool place. The city is full of dancing and music in the streets.

What my group did on the first night in Buenos Aires. We rock. It's always an adventure!

a couple of updates

Just a couple of things.... first of all, huge student riots/protests in Santiago today. The first link is to the article in the Chilean newspaper (in Spanish, you can put it through the translator) and the second one is photos. You should definitely page through them (use the little boxes on the left) to check out what a student protest generally looks like, and also at what the cops are like pretty much all the time.

Oh, and the press presented it as no big deal, ps.

http://www.emol.com/noticias/nacional/detalle/detallenoticias.asp?idnoticia=251613 (article)

http://www.emol.com/sitioFotos10/Fe/_portada/index.asp?IdClas=2&IdGal=4395# (photos)

Also, for something completely different! Here is a picture of my cigarrette burn.

Yay for still having vision.....

I step away from what I have known, into what they have.

Warning: long entry. But worth it.

What a full day. What a full week. Physically, emotionally, mentally. Every thing and every concept that exists here doesn't have time to stand still and get a look at itself, it doesn't have time to pause and reflect and what it is, and what that means, and where it's going. As soon as it pauses, it realizes that it is already being left behind by what it was pondering in the first place. It's nice to have a few hours every once and a while to look back and meditate on what has been going on in my life, and in all the new information I am attempting to internalize. Other times, there is nothing I would rather do than cram my days full, just as they have been!

This past weekend we took a little excursion to Valparaíso and Viña del Mar. (It occurred to us that this weekend was pretty much our Spring Break...) If Santiago claimed my heart, Valpo has a very strong grip on my soul. I have become disenchanted with Santiago as I have gotten to know more about it's dirty streets, city problems, and overall generic appearance. Valpo and Viña, on the other hand, are like no city you will ever find. They climb up the hillsides from the water, looking like the sand does when the tide is going out... thinning and transparent further away, but thicker and with more movement as you near the main body of water. There is no place where you do not have an incredible view of the bay, and of the multisplendored houses that stack themselves in front of your color-saturated eyes.

The reason for this trip was to visit some other schools, and our first visit was only two minutes after arriving in the city. We arrived at Escuela Americas with the impression that we were going to observe, but it became apparent soon after the teacher introduced us with the preface "These students are here to talk to you" that we were doing no such thing. Everything turned out fabulous, though, and I sat down and chatted with six girls and a couple of guys from the ages of thirteen to sixteen. Starting off with awkward questions about their classes and school structure, we had soon moved on to whether or not I had a pololo, and if my brothers looked like me, and what my bracelets mean, and whether or not I dance to reggaeton. So it turned into this great bonding experience with beautiful children, quick to laugh and joke and tell me I should come live with them (thanks Juan Pablo). It was very touching how much the girls wanted to talk and share with me, especially the way they stayed after their class to talk more. They all took pictures, of course, us being the first gringos to come to their school, and a few of the girls gave me bracelets off of their wrists and big kisses on both cheeks. The school was a lot better than the ones in Santiago, attitude discluded.

(This is a picture of the rural school... I didn't have my camera with me in the urban school, sadly.)

Saturday morning we went to visit a rural school, and it was here that my intellectual (instead of social) interest in the schools was piqued. The kids here were also incredibly cute and eager to share their experiences, but the school itself was what was so eye-opening and inspiring. Rural schools generally have no resources, and this school only had 33 students, but the way they approached their lessons is what I hope to see/create in other schools. They a garden (huerto) full of native Chilean plants and medicinal herbs, and each child was responsible for three of them: care and knowledge. Right there, teaching relevant information in a way that also encourages self-reliance, responsibility, and learning through experience, thinking! Their history lessons culminated in a living museum - which they performed for us - about life in a hacienda of old. Their classroom (two classrooms for six classes) was crammed full of projects and props for and by the kids, all with color and interactive elements. The school was open to the air, and the kids also took care of various fruit trees that became part of their lunches. Absolutely incredible. It's amazing how much better the rural school was, contrary to popular stereotypes. The attitude of the children, teachers, and parents lay on the complete opposite end of the spectrum! I mean, we visited on a Saturday, and even students who had already graduated this school were there. How do you create such enthusiasm?

(Here is a picture of the group after lunch.. Aren't we pretty?)

This is one of the questions that we brought away with us that day. We can recognize what it is in a school that is good, or that is bad, but can we recreate what is amazing in a place that seems to only contain the bad? You can bring more books, more teachers, new curtains, new curriculum into a school, but how do you bring a desire to learn? How can you change the way people look at education? Learning is life, and life is learning. It's not something you get out of a book. It's what we're doing. I don't have class at all, not until I start back at UNC this fall. No class! And I can say without a doubt that I am learning something every day. Probably more than I would be if I had class. Anyways, these two experiences put me in a grand mood, ready for the free weekend!

It felt different to be in Valpo. I think that there was more of an air of vacation about it, so we didn't feel bad about acting like tourists or partying hard. (Sorry Mom and Pop, I do do a bit of throwing down!) Friday afternoon we had wandered around, looked at some of the amazing murals and artwork around the city, watched the sun set from the patio of Pablo Neruda's house... and ended up eating dinner at a Mexican place called Margaritas. It was excellent! I split seafood fajitas (see? we got a bit of Valpo in there) with my good buddy Mason Philips! Pittsboro reunites in South America! It was great to see him. He is also having a great time here. A bit of Bravissimo, and we all hit the hay early to be ready for the school on Saturday.

Saturday afternoon we went to a very fancy restaurant with the group, arriving around 2 or 3 and staying until past 6. We ate the entire time. First hors dvoures (sp?), then a bit of ensalate with a pisco sour, then the fish with white wine, then papas fritas, then ice cream, then an after-dinner drink that they said was digestive... And all of it incredibly delicious! The fish was perfectly done, with a hint of brown sugar and lemon, and of course fresher than fresh! We also had a great view of the ocean and the waves pounding endlessly on the rocks... overall a very picturesque place. We spent a lot of time lounging on the rocks just outside, savoring being on the coast within reach of the spray.

After a bit of napping, we collected the necessary pisco and juice to stock up for the night. Our buddies Alejandro and Alvaro joined us (as well as the three military guys staying in the hostel with us) and early on we found ourselves heading off to El Huevo, one of the big dance clubs in Valpo. Early, by the way, by Chilean standards. It was about 1. Lots of dancing and joking and great conversation happened before we went, and once there, the party never stopped! The music was fabulous. Sometimes reggaeton, sometimes 80s US music (even Aqua!), sometimes salsa, sometimes good ole rap or rock... they kept us on our toes. I've never danced that much in my life! We were all soaked before an hour was up. Elizabeth finally accompanied us (the sweetheart of the group who had her wallet stolen and hence has not had any money, and who also is a bit wary of such situations) and damn, that girl can tear it up!! I'm so pumped that she got to come spend time with us, and then of course we all see this other, Shakira side of her... We all experience some sort of Chilean normality or other - I'll let you guess what - and leave the club around 6. Kind of early. Oh, and finished off the night with completos. Heaven. Heaven. I never thought I could love a hot dog so much. (Palta changes everything!)

A few of us tried to watch the sun rise since we were almost there already, but we kind of failed. The city kept getting lighter and lighter and lighter, but the sun never showed. Right when we decided that it was time to head back because it was taking too long, the sun breaks the ridge behind us. Guess you can't have everything... So I finally crawled into bed around 7:30. Now THAT is what I call a Chilean carrete!

The only bad part of the night was when one of the huevon military guys stabbed me in the eye with his cigarrette. It was an accident, but don't you think you would have the common sense not to put a glowing ember to your mouth when you're dancing a few inches from someone's face? So it looks pretty sweet, and I'll get a picture to you when Theresa emails it to me. I know you want to see. Everyone loves a bit of the disgusting. And I want to show you how freaking close I was to being blinded.

I also took some pictures of the Metro so you guys can see what it's like every time I try to board a train. Here is the one that best captured it. The doors have just opened, and those women are actually out past where the doors need to close... and I'm about to fit on that train! The general attitude about boarding is if you think you can't fit, push harder.

Today was also a very powerful day for me. It was dedicated to human rights, and so we visited Villa Grimaldi, a torture center of the Pinochet era, and the Cemetario General, where we saw the monument for all of the disappeared, Allende's tomb, and many others.

Villa Grimaldi was definitely the most shocking and humbling for me. 4500 people passed through its gates, of which roughly 240 have disappeared without a trace. The gates in the first picture are the gates in which people were brought in in trucks, cars, whatever, and placed in 1x1 meter cells with six other people and an air hole about the size of a quarter. When they were finally entered by people during the democracy, the locked the gates behind them and vowed that they would never be opened again (and they haven't). The flames symbolize the fire of purging and cleaning, relevant in two senses. The democracy attempted to exorcise all of the horrible vestiges of the place, but this was only after Pinochet's men had completely destroyed everything that had existed there. All of their information about the center come from testimonies, of which our guide was one. The stories about what went on there are atrocious, and hearing it from someone who was there made it that much more powerful. When we entered a room dedicated to some of the disappeared, our guide and both directors came in and started pointing to names, saying "She was my sister's friend" "He lived down the street from me when I was a kid" "He was my doctor until they took him" "Her body came back up onto shore full of railroad ties, and she was still alive. Oh, and she was Debra's host mom's good friend" Not just faces, not just names. Rosanna cried. If you were to fall down into Santiago right now not knowing anything, you might never figure out the horrible things in its past. No one talks about it. But everyone experienced it.

At Cemetario General, three ladies shared their stories of their husband's/fathers' disappearances, and of their own torture. The monument wall held just shy of 3000 names of people who were never found. The United Nations refused to acknowledge that these people even existed. Even now some people say that they never existed. Can you imagine being able not only to wipe out all evidence of what happened in a place, but also of all of the people that came through it?

Not only that, but there is amnesty for all of torturers. (Amnesty? They can't be condemned.) I'm not clear on what exactly allowed this to happen, but none of them have gone to trial. Rosanna says that three of her neighbors are known torturers, and just go about their pleasant little lives. Our guide said that ten years after he was released from the torture prison, one of his childhood friends approached him and told him that he (the friend) had been one of the main torturers for our guide. (Prisoners remained blindfolded most of the time.) Can you imagine? That guy is living his life. He's happy. And look what he did to people!

It was a very very sobering and yet broadening day. I found myself very inspired, and wrote several poems when I got home. I shall leave you with one. It's in Spanish, and for time and space's sake I won't translate it here. BUT if you want it translated, feel free to comment or email me and I'll send it to you. (If you happen to be fluent in Spanish, don't judge. I'm still learning, ya jerks.)

Soy la madera del Torre,
Pesada con las imágenes de mis testigos.
Una vez me pongo a las alturas claras
Dónde podía ver el campo rodeando,
Dónde descansaba en el sol de un mundo tranquilo y
Lleno de la paz de comunidad.
Una vez observó las hormigas numerosas
Quienes les preocuparon con las letras de la existencia,
Quienes trataban de mostrar el red que nos conecta.
Estoy pesada con la memoria.
Estoy pesada con el olvidado.
¿Cuántos pies han subiendo mis escalas?
¿Cuántos vidas han terminadas a dentro de mis paredes?
Quedé fuerte durante todos, pero
El agua que me quitaron llevó mi tristeza
De que no podía parar el sufrimiento.
Miedos y dudas me llenaron como aves sin ojos,
Buscando la luz que jamás verían,
Plumas sucias cayeron a mis pisos,
Enterando poco a poco los pajaritos de cantar,
Asfixiando la canción de esperanza.
Y quienes me salieron con su vida,
¿Pudieron recuperar su fuerza?
¿Pudieran superar el perdido de dignidad?
¿De identidad?
¿De todo de que pensaron que supieron sobre
El género humano?
Nunca van a olvidarlo.
Sus cuentos han sido dispersados
Como las flores en el invierno.
Me pregunto si jamás puedan reunir,
Si hayan huido tan lejos para ser capaz de
Brotar
De transformarse en una identidad unificada
Y nueva de entera,
Construida por los nombres nunca olvidados
Y las noches llenadas con miedo
Y esperanza.
En mi día traté de abrazar a los niños de los vendados,
Para apoyarlos en cualquier manera yo pude.
Pero nunca podía sacar su pena,
Nunca podía revolver lo que habían perdido.
Y ahora estoy las cenizas abajas de sus pies.
Al fin no podía quedar
Porque los cuchicheos secretos de compasión y el muerte,
Las lágrimas que fluían con la verdad
Y la sangre puesta negra
Habían convertido en mi identidad.
Me quemaron en entera para borrar los vestigios
Pero los árboles que crecerán en nuevo
Mostrarán este sufrimiento y supervivencia.
Los abedules florecerán en el suelo duro
Y siempre se esforzarán por coger
Las alturas claras y el sol de un mundo tranquilo.
Contarán los cuentos de los que se quedaron a dentro
A través de sus cuerpos cansados y flacos
Y sus murmullos continuos.
Pero nadie podrá matarlos,
Nacidos por los sueños y pasados de los desconocidos
Y la esperanza fuerte que nunca muere
Que creemos un mundo
Llena de la paz de comunidad.