Let's talk about sex, baby...

I'm consistently surprised by the lack of taboo in Chilean society, especially when it comes to sexuality.

To begin, the prolific public displays of affection are enough to make any American blush. Since most young people live with their parents until they get married, they turn to public places to physically express their affection for each other. Any park, plaza, beach, grocery store, micro (bus), metro and classroom is apparently fair game. The picture with this entry is a random couple I saw on the boardwalk. The boardwalk!?! It wasn't even sunset.

Many of the ISA students have had awfully uncomfortable sex talks with their families (BC). This past weekend, with some extended host family in town, I had one of my own. My host aunt was talking to her son, who was asking her hard questions about cigarettes, as most of the adults in the room were smoking. When he grew bored and scurried off to play, she turned to me and started talking about kids and their darndest questions. As she is a grade school teacher, this turned into whether or not and when parents teach their kids about sex. Now, the details of such conversations are pretty implicit, but she must have either been worried that I couldn't understand what she was talking about in Spanish or that I had no idea of the birds and bees myself because she went into full graphic detail, over dinner.

Finally, in my Introduction to Religious History class, we were discussing depictions of the sacred manifestations in Hindu tradition. The Profe must have spent 15 minutes explaining that Shiva is usually depicted in a seated yoga pose with an erect penis. Of course, it didn't help that the other gringa in the class had to ask what "falico" meant... Latin roots, people, latin roots!

I'm certainly not one to shy away from discussions of sexuality in casual or intellectual settings, not by any measure. In fact, I think it's a fascinating aspect of what it means to be human. But apparently, my US roots to Puritan societies go deeper that I had expected. In comparison to this free-love-spirited Chilean society, my view of sexual propriety is certainly repressed.

My Chilean Home

Kitchen full of sunshine!


Living room with dining room in the background

My room! Note the relative cleanness... thanks Mama!

As the World Turns

I feel as though I haven't posted anything with meaning in quite a while. The problem is that nothing is new anymore, and very little is changing. The bright colors of houses on the hillsides are blending together and fading in front of my eyes, and the food is not so surprisingly fresh with every bite anymore.

While I'm slightly bored in Chile, everything is new and exciting and just beginning for everyone back home. Classes at Willamette start today, and friends elsewhere are also embarking on a new semester very soon. I feel like my world is moving on without me, and it's a little bit frightening. I think this is part of the perspective I'm supposed to be gaining in this experience: not only the spontaneity of hopping on the bus to go to the wine with ice cream place in Valparaiso at 2 am, but accepting the lack of control over what happens in my real life while I'm away. As someone who needs control and order, this is a very difficult lesson to learn.

On the other hand, that night's adventure to Bitacora was a very good move. This change might be as well.

Correction

I found out this weekend that IM actually spells his name EM, so please mentally correct any historic posts. However, he will remain in my cell phone as Iliahejas, at least until he is nice to me for more than 24 hours straight or stops berating me for leaving behind the veggie life.

Another Thousand Words

Carbo-loading

The best thing since sliced bread? The non-sliced, Chilean kind.

Pan here is so much different and better than that in the United States. I don't even know how to describe it exactly, as any description would sound like just plain bread. I mean, it's fluffy and sweet and chewy and salty, but so is Wonderbread, technically. In any case, I'm obsessed, and so are most of the other gringas. AF thinks it's Michaela's legacy in our group, as she loved it enough to buy some to stash away in her sock drawer, but I think it's addictive, pure and simple.

Flojo

In case you haven´t noticed from my lazy posts about kissing and clementines and 5-story discotecas, the lifestyle here is much more relaxed than that to which I am accustomed. But sometimes, I think it gets a little out of hand. For example, ALL LITERATURE CLASSES are cancelled today and Thursday, for no reason. They just didn´t want to have class this week. On one hand, it´s nice because I don´t have to go to class. On the other, it sucks because I feel like a slacker and I´m tired of explaining my changing schedule to my mama.

Besos

First kisses are generally very telling of a relationship. In Chile, it's no different, except that first kisses are daily business.

The proper greeting here, between women and woman-to-man, is a single air-kiss to the right cheek. Cheeks should touch, but not bump, and a kissing noise should be made. If true affection is felt, one party may actually kiss the other's cheek. But not both at once, because then it would be a real kiss, not a greeting kiss. Ugh.

During the month I've been here, I've gotten much better at the Chilean cheek-kiss. With most of my close friends and my host family, I've achieved the perfect level of cheek-contact without bumper-cheeking (cheek-checking?) except once in a long while. With new friends, brand new acquaintances, or in special situations, however... let's just say it's the cheek-kiss equivalent of full on licking someone's chin en route to their mouth. For example, the dean of the university cheek-kisses, but the president of the university shakes hands. Try keeping that one straight as people are in and out of the mourning process of the loss of a friend. Also, one of my host brothers is a real cheek-kiss tease; after 4 pm, he usually goes for the forehead kiss instead. And I still have no grace when it comes to greeting combos; handshake-cheek-kiss and hug-cheek-kiss continue to be the most awkward 3 seconds of the day. The good news is, every day here is a new day for first kisses.

A List

Things I like:
Food that comes in natural peels, so it's clean even if you eat it right from the market
My new Chilean ID card
Getting mail (hint hint)
Artisan(ish) earrings for US$1
Really really really cheap and delicious wine
Dancing until 4 AM
Belly dancing classes at the University
My class on Chilean theater
Completos (yeah... hot dogs with avocado, mayo, ketchup, and mustard...trust me)
Taking the micro for US$0.30 with my Willamette ID card

Hiding

Tomorrow is my host mom's birthday, but since we all had a day off (on account of something Catholic...I think...), we celebrated today.

Let me explain celebrated. My host brother who I hadn't yet met and his fiancee came in from Santiago, and the whole family had a great big lunch together. Now, my family is pretty good about speaking slowly and clearly so I can understand, but I'm 70% sure the long-lost host brother was intentionally leaving me in the dust. I spent most of lunch trying to remember to keep both hands on the table and focusing on the delicious Chilean red wine.

When we migrated (about 4 feet) to the living room, I sat awkwardly and tried to feel like I had things in common with anyone. They were catching up on family gossip and talking about wedding plans, so it was really quite futile. Since Niko had retreated to reggaetone and the internet in his room, I gave up and hid, too. Now they are all sitting on the bed in the parents' room, laughing and looking at pictures of people I'll never know. I watched Smallville, some travel show, and Will and Grace.

Sometimes, it's very lonely to live in someone else's house. My host mom keeps telling me that it's my home, too, and I can feel comfortable and do whatever I want. That might factually be the case, but realisticly, it's impossible. Even if it is "my house," it's not my family, and thus, it's not my home.

Another Favorite Place

Today, I used part of the warm and sunny afternoon to walk the length of Viña's beach. It's not very long (4ish km) and in some parts, not very beach-y, but today it was officially added to my list of favorite places.

It turns out that the walk above the beach on Tuesday afternoons at high tide isn't a very popular place to be: a few couples canoodling in the off-and-on plaza across the street from the boardwalk, some joggers, and a petshop's worth of stray dogs, maybe. And me.

As I walked along the sidewalk boardering the sand/rocks, I watched monstrous waves plowing into and smashing on each other. The air was thick and bitter from their spray, and every so often, an extra-monstrous wave would crash into the rocks so hard that water would bounce off the rocks, over 30 yards and a short wall, and splash the unsuspecting snack stand, random jogger, or grinning gringa. One of the stray dogs was running along the wall, barking and snapping at the water any time a wave dared to touch him.

Then a creepy gypsy woman tried to rub some leaves into my hand for health and happiness, so I went home.

Either Or

It's not at all unusual to be asked for money when walking down the street, nor to be whistled at. But today, a first:

Man sitting on the sidewalk: "Una moneda, señorita, una moneda?" ("A coin, miss, a coin?")

Me: *continues walking*

Man: (Changing his mind) "*wolf whistle* Que linda, que rica!" ("how pretty, how sexy!")

On the Bus this Morning

Bus drivers in Vina/Valparaiso treat their dashboards like personal desks. There's often pictures of families, motivational stuff, and of course, at least one saint.

Today, on the way to school, the bus I was on was a little bit different. The dash and shades were covered in stickers of Disney characters and American flags. Posted above the windshield was a mock license plate which read "USA- Still #1." I spent much of the ride examining the bus driver, wondering if he lived in the US and why. Nothing he did betrayed a Gringo background, and I got off the bus without a sense of where he got his USA pride.

It's just strange to run into artifacts of my own country so far away. I really hate to admit that a couple stars and stripes had this effect on me, but it almost made me feel a little homesick.

Poroto

Today, with dinner, we had some poroto which I helped to make last week. It's very tasty, though distincly not USA-ian. I attempted a google search for the recipe so I could share it with you all, but that was a miserable failure. It turns out that "poroto" means about a billion things in different languages. Thus, I give you my interpretation:

Poroto (serves many)
One big chunk of poroto (squashish thing, white and bumpy skin, orange flesh)
Some white beans
Salt and pepper
Spaghetti noodles

Cut big chunk of poroto into many smaller chunks of poroto, removing the skin. Put these in a big pot with water, cook until overdone and mashy. Add more water, and white beans. Cook until white beans are soft. Break spaghetti noodles in half, and add to mashy poroto-bean mixture. Cook until noodles are soft. Salt and pepper to taste. Serve hot. It should slightly resemble baby food, but taste delicious.

If I was cooking this in my own home, I think I'd add some spicy things, like cayenne or maybe curry. Or green onions, because they'd look nice with all the orange mashiness. And maybe sprinkle shredded asaigo cheese on top, because I do that to everything.

Clementines

Today, at the market across the street from the ISA office, I bought half a kilo of clementine oranges (8) for $0.150... roughly $0.30 American. Thirty cents!?! At Willamette, one can purchase a single piece of fruit from Goudy for 75 cents. I love this country!

A Few Headlines

Just some brief updates from the past few days of my life, in headline form for your enjoyment:

-Moderate Earthquake Shakes Vina del Mar; MaryAnn Surprised in the Bathroom
-Two Clowns Spotted in Vina Centro de Llamados (Call Center) WITHOUT Banana-Phones
-Gringas Slowly Adopting Popular Chilean Fashion of the Fanny Pack
-Snow in Santiago Shuts Down Capital, MaryAnn too Cold to Comment
-"Kilobomba" New Candy Bar of Choice
-Professors of Theater and Urban History are Ridiculously Cool

Downtown

A city has always been, to me, a perfect place to be sad. You can be by yourself without being alone, you can find hope in the happiness of complete strangers, and you can be liberated by perfect anonymity.

Today, after the services held for Michaela in the PCUV chapel, I bought a nice chocolate bar and headed to my newest favorite plaza. I'm not sure its name, but it adjoins the Congressional building/grounds right in the middle of Valparaiso, about 6 blocks from my university. Today, (in addition to the usual cast of chess-playing old men, giggling schoolchildren on lunch, business people on cell phones, and families playing tag in the grass) there was a band playing in the southwest corner and a flea market taking place along the street. As I wandered along the rows of used books, old cell phones, and random junk, I let the lazy chaos of downtown wash over my troubled mind. In a place with such life and energy, it is easier (and more calming) to be swept away by sights and sounds and sun-drenched sidewalks than to stubbornly hold onto the pain caused by this very same beautiful world.

What Lies Ahead

I'd like to thank all of Michaela's friends for their love and support expressed in comments on my last post. I'm glad that I was able to give some solice in the form of answers, and I hope that anyone who has questions remaining will feel free to contact me or any of the other students. I think it's important for strangers to connect more closely for support and hope in a time of shared tragedy, and I truly appreciate your collective efforts to do so. You are all in my thoughts and heart.

Having said that, I want to be clear that my blog was never really intended for such wide public scrutiny. In the days and weeks that come, I will continue writing my feelings and experiences without apology. This means that there will be times when I write about my personal mourning process, and times when I will write about happier things. This does not mean that I have forgotten our friend, or that I am not thinking of her friends and family; it only means that I am human with fluctuating emotions and a deep need to "be okay."

Love and peace to all.

Michaela Farnum 1987-2007

I never know what to say about death, much less what to write about it. I can't leave it out, though, and I'd rather not wait, so:

My friend Michaela Farnum died Friday when we were hiking in La Campana National Park.

We had been climbing this mountain about an hour away for about 5 hours when Michaela was separated from the group. Another girl, SR, was already at the summit, but AF, IM and I were afraid and feeling dizzy/sick from the altitude so we decided to head back. Michaela was adament about reaching the top, so she decided to continue.

About a half an hour into our subsequent descent, we heard a woman's voice followed by the rumble of rocks sliding above. One rock rolled off the cliff above us and nearly hit AF. Of course, we were scared. We shouted for Michaela and SR, with no answer. IM took off to catch up with a group of French boy scouts who had passed us a minute ago to ask if they had seen the girls, etc. AF and I continued yelling, and began calling for the telephone number of the park guards. A bit later, SR came down. She hadn't seen Michaela, and hadn't even heard the rocks, except that she had caused similar sounds during her own climb. Because she knew where she was going, she went back up the mountain to look and yell for Michaela. About an hour later, she returned to AF and me. By then we had spoken with the park guards and the ISA office. The guard instructed us to go down the mountain, as it was getting dark and the terrain is dangerous at night, and he sent a crew of guards to go look for Michaela.

We spent the night at the guard station. The next day, around noon, her body was found by a heliocopter. She had taken the wrong path, one intended for rock climbers, and had fallen about 15 meters. She died instantly.

Rest in peace, Michaela. You were a beautiful person and I'm glad that you touched my life.

Chilean Veggie Tortilla

Some carrots, peeled, steamed, and sliced up all thin
Some brussel sprouts, steamed and sliced up all thin
Some sauteed spinich, chopped
Some red onions, chopped finely and fried
Some cauliflower, steamed and cut into chunks
Some broccoli, steamed and cut into chunks
Some salt
Some pepper
7 eggs
Oil

Heat a glug of oil in a frying pan. Mix all other ingredients in a bowl. Pour into frying pan. After the edges look crispy, flip over onto lid of frying pan. Drain juice over sink. Add another glug of oil to pan. Slide tortilla off lid, back into greasy pan, uncrispy side down. Repeat flip twice, cooking for 5 minutes between each. Cut like a pie. Eat.

That's what I did this morning!