For those of you who were wondering...

I received a request to paint a picture with words that describes where I live (Aunt Ana). Here you go:

To get to my house is simple, really. The metro station that runs up the main street (Alvarez) all the way into the city of Valparaiso has a stop right in front of our street (Cantera... meaning Quarry.) Walk along Cantera and do not expect the houses to have the same pampered lawns and breezy porches that we have in the South. The houses are gaited and sit side-by-side like Legos placed together, each second story placed directly on top of the first. They're like little rectangular cakes. At the end of the first block is a tiny shop where we buy our bread, and where I buy chocolate alfajores (a cookie covered in chocolate with "manjar" or dulce de leche in the middle.) Besides this shop is a fast food shop that sells hamburguesas and "completos" -- cheap 1 foot long, delicious hot dogs smothered in cheese, tomatoes, and palta (avocados.) Yes, I've eaten one. 

To the left of this food joint is a construction site where workers are busy all day everyday building a set of apartments. They pause only to hoot or toodle their truck horns at the embarrassed Americans scampering innocently by. On the curb, every day without fail, lounges a little white and brown dog. He's a terrior mix, I suppose. He reminds me of Bandit. He can always be found laying in the street, basking in the afternoon sun with with one arm resting peacefully on the curb. Always watch out for dog poop. 

Finally, as you keep going you'll reach our gate on the left, Cantera 537, Condominio Garden. A small L-shaped line of houses form a community of independent families. Our house is the first on the left, number 1. Columba, the golden-haired fox of a dog is waiting by the door, rear end wagging. Upon entering the tiny house be careful to avoid the wind-chimes that are waiting to touch your face and alert the entire family that you've arrived home. The staircase is immediately to the right. The entire downstairs is comprised of a sitting area, the dining area (separated form the sitting area by a stained glass panel,) the tiny kitchen, my room, and one bathroom. Paintings done by my host mom and her brother adorn the walls with similar brushstrokes and oil dabs. The rooms are all decorated with candles, incense, potted plants, and an occasional statue of Buddha. 

Enter my room. I don't know how they fit my bed in there. On the left is a large wooden closet with sliding doors. On the right is my bed. To glance around my tiny bedroom is to realize how much art can live within the simples of things. My walls appear to be hand stuccoed. Finger marks of swirls cover my walls as if someone were trapped in here with wet stucco and no door. Directly in front of my bed is a large swirl of finger prints and the darkest layerings of yellow, all encircling some painted shape that appears to be the top of a coconut. One could just as easily argue that there is a windshield-sized yellow swirling breast painted onto my wall. To the left of my bed hanging on the wall is a painting done by my host uncle, Lucho. This painting is a series of dark rectangles containing obscure and unclear scenes with human-like shapes. I didn't understand it until I made the mistake of asking him to explain the war with Pinochet. I had no idea that he had been taken and tortured by Pinochet's soldiers. He told me that this painting is his life story.

The window behind my bed looks directly out onto the fenced patio where our clothes are washed and dried, and where all of the adults smoke, chat, and drink late into the night. The roof covering the patio is plastic and extremely noisy when it rains. If one drop of rain falls, imagine hearing an acorn fall on a tin roof. I love it. Out of my room and to the left is the kitchen. There is just enough room in there for three people to stand in a line to stir soup, chop celery, and make coffee. Above the sink is a fickle contraption called the "Calefont" which is essentially a stove used to light your showers. One doesn't get hot water by merely turning a tap. This took me a while to master.

If you go upstairs you’ll find the rest of the bedrooms. In at 6x4 square of hallway, the computer sits, half-blocking the doors of the two bedrooms on either side. (Imagine the episode from “Friends” where Joey constructs an entertainment center that is so wide that he and Chandler run into it while trying to sleepily exit their bedrooms.) To the right of the desk is upstairs bathroom/shower; to the left is Juanita’s room. She’s an engineering major… She keeps mathematical equations pasted to her ceiling for further studying. The two televisions of the house are in Yoly’s and Ian’s room. There is no one room in which to sit on a couch and watch TV as a family. Television watching is done in bed.

From my bedroom at any point in the day I am sure to this collection of sounds: stray dogs competing for the next spot on Latin American idol, the neighborhood senile rooster, the radio from the neighbors beside us, colectivos (like taxis) going up and down the street. One funny memory (and recently solved mystery): While taking a shower the first morning that I was here, I heard a man call out “Allo!” It would get louder and softer as he walked through the neighborhood. He’d say it about every 30 seconds. I thought to myself, “Is he in trouble? Is he insane? Do Chileans just wander through the streets greeting people? “Allo! Today is a new day! Get out of your showers!” The other day at dinner I posed this question to my host family and got a huge laugh in return. Apparently, the man yells, “Diarioooooo!” meaning, “Newspaper!” The paper isn’t just delivered to any and every house. Well, that cleared up that question really fast.

  I know this entry is super long and I apologize, but it’s been a while since I’ve posted so I’m overflowing with stories. For some reason, the most recent series of stories seems to include me falling down. Here is the newest occurrence:

I was walking home yesterday from my university after a day of feeling pretty sick intestinally (I’m going to leave that to the imagination.) The stairs of the metro station is a common after-class hangout spot for a horde of high schoolers. I walk past them and get to the stairs, and suddenly, I trip over my own feet. I landed hard on my knee, dropped my metro card and busted open my right thumb. Pretty much what the high schoolers saw of my fall was a blonde gringo making her way to the metro stairs and suddenly, lurching forward and down, out of sight past the metro wall. It was the kind of fall where all of your hair flies in front of your face and it looks like your chest has been yanked forward with a rope. I stood up quickly, and called out “Estoy biennnnn!” to the semi-concerned/really-just-trying-not-to-laugh-but-are-actually-laughing-really-hard-behind-their-hands listeners. What a time to fall down! I looked down and saw that somehow the skin on top of my thumb had parted like the red sea and was oozing blood. I had to get on the metro to go home, and public bathrooms and faucets here are pretty much none existent. So I cupped my thumb in my hand and caught the metro. It’s hard disguising a bloody hand in a public place full of people who are already staring at you because you’re foreign. I feel like I hid it pretty well, but I know I dripped blood on the clean metro floor. So there’s one chapter of my falling adventures!

 

My plans for Machu Picchu are coming along! We’re planning to stay with some indiginous tribes for a few days while we’re in Peru. That should be interesting, but I’m wary of it being very touristy. I’m currently hostel hunting. More news later!