I am channeling Bridget Jones Chilean style.

I’ve had this past week off basically from work… due to the Independence Day that took place last Sat., but hey I’m not complaining. I decided would take myself skiing on my long holiday. I figured I could see a different side of Punta Arenas, and check out what this town really has to offer. I didn’t see the need to plan for my expedition because I can basically see the slopes from my house. Tuesday morning I woke up, ate some bread with marmalade without the butter …since I’m on a diet now and all.

With my belly full I got on my way. I hailed a cab uneventfully. Handed him a receipt with the name of the resort written on it (I really didn’t want to end up visiting the penguins instead of skiing because I threw in an extra –s or actually pronounced a word how it is spelled).

The ride up the mountain was quite beautiful, the city was behind me and I had nothing but blue skies in front of me.

As we approached the resort my first reaction was to internally celebrate the fact I got into a cab and arrived at the correct destination. Well, after the confetti cleared I looked up to realize the ski lift was NOT running. Alright, I’ve come to find the best way to handle these types of situations is by not freaking out and yelling English in the nearest Chileans face. So, instead I started speaking really fast spanglish to the cab driver, he just motioned for me to get out of the cab. Well, I figured I made it this far and walking down the mountain wouldn’t hurt (considering I’m not actually on a diet).

I walk in the ski rental office and through broken English and my Spanish incapability I relay, I want a lift ticket AND skis. It was a process and lot of motioning but we figured each other out. Finally, when they get my receipt written up and I have my lift ticket securely fastened on I notice the lift still isn’t running. The guys in the office follow what I’m looking at flip a switch, which in turn sends the chair lifts running up and down the mountain. It’s in this moment that I realize I am literally the ONLY person skiing on this mountain today.

I step out of the office geared down and head towards the chair lift, where you guessed it... there are no lines better yet there are no people. I position myself and take the lift to the top. Usually, from the limited amount of times I have gotten to ski I found there to be a meandering green (easy) trail off to the side of the mountain. I made it to the top got off and realized there were no signs there were no green, blue or black dots just signs with Chilean slang written on them.

Again, I say to myself, “okay Merrette you got all the way up here now all you gotta do is ski down”. I don’t know why I expected a Chilean ski resort to be any different than any other Chilean experience I’ve had thus far... why would there be signs detailing where the trails begin… that makes way to much sense. So, without further adieu I take off for what looked like the easiest course possible. I meander along for a while and then begin to notice that my trail is ending. Due to the fact that there’s a forest in front of me and no more snow on the ground. I start trying to think through my options here, either ski through the vegetation or hike back up the hill. Well, let’s be real here nobodies skiing through trees so I hoofed it back up that lovely meandering trail that wasn’t so meandering or lovely in up hill in ski boots.

30 minutes later I found myself back at the top of the mountain. Well, I got this far all I gotta do is go back down.

So, I take off thinking I just hiked up a snow covered mountain with skis on my back… I can make it down this small/biggish hill/mountain… and make it down I did, only it wasn’t in my skis or with my polls. But fortunately, I didn’t fall down the whole mountain… just in-front of the lodge where the five people who were visiting or working happened to be lounging. I lay there in the snow tangled up in the orange caution tape and started seriously thinking about turning in my skis and heading down this mountain for good. But, then I look up and a semi-toothless paramedic is standing over me yelling Spanish, Esta bien Senorita! I realized I had been laying in the snow for a good four minutes and this Chilean toothless paramedic had reason to worry. So, I quickly jumped up put my skis on and headed in the opposite direction as the paramedic …which happened to be the towards the chair lift. Whatever, I paid the money I’m here I might as well go down the mountain at least twice, and the view waaaaas pretty spectacular.

I made it back up the mountain still determined to find my meandering trail… and low and behold I found one. I was able to look out on to the Andes snow covered mountains, Punta Arenas, Tierre Del Fuego, the Pacific Ocean and the straight of Magallanas. I passed two men in a snow plow truck, gave them a friendly wave… finally I was skiing in Chile… it was amazing. Then I started to realize that there wasn’t any meandering trail left... again... in fact there wasn’t anything left except a highway sign telling me Punta Arenas to the left and the Ski lodge to the right… and then I realized… I had managed to ski to the highway. Somehow or another on I had meandered off the ski resort trail and ended up on the highway.

Again, I am faced with one of two options. Either go back up the mountain (again) or walk along the road until I arrived back to the ski lodge. Well, my dignity at this point had all it could take, so I decide to walk back up the mountain. I didn’t think I could handle for the five people in the ski lodge to watch me walk up from the road after I had just wrapped my body in the orange caution tape directly in-front of them. As I’m walking up the mountain (again) I run into the snow plow guys, who apparently knew I was skiing in the wrong direction when I gave them that friendly wave previously. This sleeveless Chilean man climbs out of the cab of the plow truck takes my skis from me, then my polls and lastly practically picks me up and puts me in the truck. As usual when I am in a any type of moving vehicle with a Chilean he/she starts explaining how I got so lost… I am just nodding and throw in a loco gringa before my sipo. Finally we pull up to the top of the mountain. The sleeveless Chilean points at me and says muy facil Mary (that’s my name down here, Merrette just doesn’t exist). He then proceeds to take my skis out, point them directly in the front of the Bunny Slope, stick my polls in the ground beside them and lastly basically places my ski boots into my skis for me… these Chileans. He gives me a wave, climbs back into his trusty stead and heads into the sunset.

At this point the entire Ski Resort (all five of them) are swapping stories of where THEY found the gringa girl. I continue to ski since I now knew exactly how to the find the “intermedia” slope.
I ski down the mountain and around 2:00 and proceed into the ski lodge… not completely sure I will be returning the ski lift anymore that day… or any other day in the future.

I have a hot chocolate and a chat with the paramedic from earlier in the afternoon, watch the snow falling and eventually decide… I did make it up here I should ski at least one more hour.
So, I take the lift to the top only to find the paramedic Louis waiting on me. He has decided the gringa needs a partner, which at this point I can’t argue with. He shows me a new trails, and not a meandering ones mind you. But before we can go down the slope he pulls out his phone asks me if I’m single and for my telephone number. Well, semi-toothless 70 year old man (I am thinking), "I don’t have a phone and I am not single". This news does not deter him, more than likely I told him I would love to run away and get married to him immediately... who knows.

Again, I make an attempt to head down the slope and he says, “wait Mary... musica” and he beings playing Enya, “who can say that that your loves gone…” on his telephone… and then we begin skiing to Enya (the singer) looking out over the city of Punta Arenas, the ocean and Tierre Del Fuego.

We continue skiing for a few more hours, there an no more falls to report or meandering trails leading to a highway… finally I got to do what I headed up that mountain for.

I hope this puts a smile on your face, because I still find myself chuckling over my Chilean ski adventure.

200 Anos for Chile

My host mother dancing the queca in the "typical" fashion

So, for the last week I have been traveling and spending time with friends, Chileans and empanadas (fried deliciousness, even Carolinians would be pleased with). Life has been GOOD, way to good in fact. I’m not sure how I can be expected to go back to school on … wait for… Thurs. Yes, I got an entire week off for the Independence Day Holiday because let’s face it … its Chile, it’s the way here. I asked a few people if this was just because it was the bicentennial and they looked at me funny. THEY looked at ME funny, “No Marry do you not celebrate your Independence in the States?”. I contemplated this question seriously because compared to Chile’s celebrations with fonda’s (rented out building’s, gymnasiuns, schools, etc that have live bands with dancing, cerveza, pisco and FOOD), kermesses (like a carnival we have in the states), parades (two days worth) and an entire city that remains shut down two days after the actual holiday for people to recuperate… sorry America you got nothing on this.

I went to Tierre del Fuego the Thurs – Sat before Independence Day where my good friend Megan is volunteering. It’s very small, flat in the city but turns to rolling hills and beach the further away from town you go. We visited where the Atlantic Ocean meets the Pacific, something about the idea of two oceans forming seems exciting. The water is very blue here, like most oceans …I understand. But it’s a deeper blue but somehow clearer at the same time. We also went to an estancia (sheep farm) and watched a sheep shearing and rode horses along with four wheelers… all in all a pretty SWELL tiempo. The more of Patagonia I am seeing the more in love with the area I am becoming. There’s definitely some sort of magic down here, well that’s what these crazy Chilenos keep telling me. I have met some amazing people and getting to experience these sights and adventures with them makes everything so much special and memorable. Basically, any other girl who selected Patagonia to go and teach English is gonna be alright with me.

When we got back to Punta Arenas on Saturday the fun was to continue. We kicked it off with empanadas and a serious glam session. It’s not often that we all (Patagonian girl volunteers) get to be really girly so we turned up the music and pulled out the mascara. Saturday and Sunday night we went to the Military Base Fonda, aka lots of Chilean soldiers and only a few gringas… the odds were looking up. Haha. We quaca’d (Chilean National Dance) and salsa’d well into the night. Well for us gringas it was well into the night, Chileans don’t require sleep.
Sunday was Chile’s Veterans Day, and is celebrated as much if not more than their Independence Day. We went to another parade and fonda. My “parents” had an asado (barbque) which lasted the entire afternoon, of course.
I loved watching the people of Chile support their country, they are so proud and want to celebrate their military and where they have come from as a country.

Viva Chile.

Alice in wonderland has got nothing on Patagonia

Primavera

Spryly branches with fingers interlaced with one another
holding buds of promise
only meant to be opened with grace from the sol

"It's magic... ya know, never believe it's not so"

Words like majestic, serene, beautiful, awe-inspiring were designed to describe Patagonia and I will forever stand by this. Although, I am currently living in Patagonia Punta Arenas unfortunately I don’t look out my window and see this everyday

The volunteers in Puerto Natales, where I visited this weekend, do have this convenience. Can you imagine being able to walk to work every day and have the Andes snow covered mountains as a way to beckon you through the windy ice covered streets? I felt like I was living in one of those calendars dedicated to insanely beautiful mountain scenes. I couldn’t get enough who knew scenery could be such a drug I sat on a park bench looking past the sound onto the mountains with a fellow volunteer and watched the sun  set until the sky was a resounding blue and still I wanted more. Earlier in the afternoon we hiked el Cerro Dorotea it took about two hours to reach the peak. We sat on top of this hill overlooking Puerto Natales, el campos, the Sound of last hope and of course the Andes Mountains.

I was awe-inspired by the serene majestic beauty of Patagonia. All the cheesy tourist books I’ve read over the last few months describing the beauty of this land untouched by man became not so cheesy anymore. I sat down and soaked in the most indescribable view possible. I was finally able to appreciate for the first time exactly what I'm doing here. I am living in Patagonia teaching children English well kind of but definitely living in Patagonia. Sitting on top of that hill made everything come full circle. It made all the bad food, the inability to understand Chilean culture norms or their language worth it 

I am still waiting for Jesus to come through the clouds and bestow the Chilean tongue upon me as well as understand why the heck I can’t flush my toilet paper instead of putting it into a tiny trash can. But all these weird differences are making my experience exceptional and deeply personal. I never imagined that I would actually move away from everything I know to the bottom of the planet in a country where the language might as well be gibberish and try to teach English.

I dunno if you allow yourself to dream the possibilities are endless

My best friends taught me this. They all are beautiful inside and out and never allowed for themselves or anyone else to doubt what we are capable. I am thankful for all of you who have been praying for me and sending words of encouragement. You each deserve a handwritten note tied in a satin bow with chocolate encrusted lettering I love chocolate 

I love you

Sorry this is just so darn cheesy. I’ll definitely work out the mush for next time

Emersion Commencement Continues

welcome back

Okay. So, it’s 8:10 and I am finally on the way to my first Asado. The water hoses/shaved ice and now 79 fans are coming at us hard. Luckily, I had the sanctity of Nelda’s father’s car and the promise of a warm home and food on the table waiting for me in the very near future. We pulled up and Danica aka Seniorita Martha Stewart was waiting at the front door. I walked from the car in the cold and rainy night and wafted into the most divine smells of carne de vodka, pollo, chorizo sausage, onions, peppers, and warm bread. Her home much like the delicious smells coming from it was warm and welcoming. Rodrigo Senor Martha Stewart was standing in what could best be described as a sun room with the most amazing open fire chimeneyesque grill that covered an entire wall.

We hung our coats up and I immediately had to back track to investigate the entire home, from the foyer into the sitting room that had hundreds of pictures covering the walls down to the calendar with the numbers positioned upside down for a funny way to make fun of time I was happy to hear we had a little longer before the food would be ready because a quick walkthrough could never have done this home justice and I use the word home here very consciously because Danica made a point in saying it was not a house but a home and I was to feel welcome. 

Amen sister welcome and warm I felt. 

So, I began perusing through her home. It had a lived-in feel which I quite like, the picture frames were all made from natural wood. The color scheme was rustic reds, yellows, and greens. Norah Jones was playing in the background and the linens on the dining room table were anticipating the meal to come as was I

Before sitting down to eat we took pictures of the food and the ladies grouped around the table a way to mark the occasion for la gringa

After my first bite of slivered salmon drizzled with olive oil, sprinkled with parmeson cheese and topped with capers I knew my life of pan and marmalda was over I was completely ruined. I moved on quickly to the grilled vegetables of red, green and yellow peppers, corn, carrots and baby onions. The beautiful sensations of taking those first few bites never subsided throughout the entire meal. 

The meat was all on one platter directly in front of me God’s will. I took a choice piece of each and then I took and devoured more. It was beautiful. The conversation was in complete Spanish which I surprisingly and impressively was able to keep up with and when I got lost it wasn’t a big deal because I needed to devote as much of myself as possible to that delectable meal. We finished up with a raspberry meringue and a glass of port.  

It was beautiful down to the last button popping bite

Señor Martha Stewart is a vegetarian by the way but loves cooking and hosting dinners excused himself shortly after dinner but not before pouring us each a glass of wine and putting Michael Buble in the disc changer. We girls relocated ourselves into the sitting room where we talked about school, relationships, Chile, America life I stayed until 2 am and that wasn’t nearly long enough

One of the most perfect night’s of my life Gracias Chile for your people and asado

The End

Comense Emersion

I am now officially a Chilean. I have lived, eaten… well basically experienced/survived a Chilean Dinner Party. This past week my head of the English Department ,Danica,  told me she would be preparing an Asado Saturday night as a welcome to Chile for me that would begin at 7 pm. Well, I heard the palabra food and I was sold. I had been hearing these tall tales that Asado food was pretty amazing.

Bring it on Chile

Well siiiirree I have eaten my words yet again down here in the south lands literalllly
Let’s start at the beginning because I feel my evening could explain so much about Chilean culture.

On Friday Nelda, my co-teacher , who would also be attending the dinner party informed me she would pick me up at 6:45 at my case. She also told me she didn’t really believe in Chilean time and she found it important to always arrive at the designated hour and minute instructed. So, yesterday Susan and I went out for coffee at about 5:00 and met up with a few girls to have some gossip y café. It had been snowing off and on all day so a little fresh I use this word tentatively air sounded spectacular.

It normally takes about 10-13 minutes to get to el centro  yes, Susan being the loveable A-type personality she is timed it so that when I complain about walking she can say, “Well it only takes about 13 minutes Merrette”
 We began our trek towards the coffee shop, trek being the optive word. In order for you to understand the wind/weather here in Punta Arenas would consist of 73 industrial strength fans, a dozen or so buckets of shaved ice and a water hose get the picture. Luckily the wind was at our backs walking towards centro so we got there in about .03 seconds flat Susan timed it

So as the time near’d for my dinner party I had to cut the gossip short and return to mi casa to get ready. I began walking/crawling/rolling face first into the 73 industrial strength fans, buckets of shaved ice and water hoses towards home. I forgot money so a collectivo was out of the questio I am beginning to seriously resent collectivos Well 24 minutes I may have picked up Susan’s timing habit later I arrived home. I looked in the mirror and realized my mascara had run completely down my face, my hair was plastered to my forehead and my face was beat red. I am rushing to get ready. I have the blow dryer in the crook of my arm, tissue in one hand and mascara in the other because Nelda does not believe in Chilean time right

6:50
alright well anyone can be 5 minutes late

7:00

7:15
I call her No answer

7:35
she calls and it goes something like this.
Nelda: Hey Mary, did you call
Me: confused um yeah. Weren’t you supposed to be here at 6:45

Nelda: Don’t worry. See you in 10 minutes

7:45

7:50
Nelda: Mary, I can’t find your house. We’re at the corner store

Me: Okay, stay there I’ll meet you

Nelda: click as in she hung up

8:00
I’m shivering standing by the corner store and my mascara is threatening another trip down my cheeks

8:10
Nelda arrives

Me: is it okay we’re late

Nelda: It’s Chilean time

To be cont.

Rant and Rave

My personal Rant and Rave 

While in college I was a member of the Delta Delta Delta Sorority
Triangle Triangle Triangle

As you know any good sorority girl needs a release every now and then. Sometimes we'd find ourselves on a Thursday night being a little less than shall we say wholesome. Being good sister’s it was important to share these unruly nights with others. Retelling these tales had to be done with a certain fines intro Rant and Rave

Every Monday night Delta’s near and far would travel to our weekly meetings. Here we would practice our sacred rituals including Rant and Rave. Two buckets would be passed around one labeled Rave which was a way to thank, congratulate each other find good works. Then there's the second bucket labeled Rant which I imagine you get the idea

for my Rave bucket

Jesus. I find that imagining him lying beside me at night is sometimes the only way I can sleep. Thanks for helping me catch some shut-eye big guy.
Frainds. I am not only living and experiencing a Chilean life but I am learning about different cultures from all over the world thanks to the new people I am meeting daily. Here’s a shout out to China, Australia, Canada, Chile, and the America’s

my Rant bucket

Fumar.  Seriously, get that smelling, staining, gross fog away from me. My host mother smokes in the house and there is nothing worse than getting out of the shower and walking through a cloud of smoke. Along with trying to eat, dance, conversate, read or just basically be alive in a city that hasn’t gotten the heads up that smoking gives you cancer and the importance of a Smoking and Non-Smoking Sections.

La Comida. There's not really an explanation necessary except that it's just plain bad

hungry?!?

The phrase I'm not hungry doesn't exist in South America

"just quit eatting Merrette, it's not a big deal the food will be there later and if it isn't... let's be honest it's not going to kill you"

this ladies and gentlemen is my mantra for breakfast, lunch, onces and dinner. Unfortunately, it has yet to actually work. My pants are still fitting, but I'm getting nervous, estoy nerviosa. I would really hate for my mom to pick me up in Charlotte, North Carolina in December and not recognize her once semi-attractive daughter. What's ironic is this is some of the worst food I've ever eaten.

News flash, when you're bored, sad, happy, home-sick or tipsy food is splendid regardless if it's just white bread with marmalda y mantiquila

 When you don't speak the common language I have found the best way to avoid talking at the dinner table, around town, in the hallways at school well, you get the idea is to keep your mouth full

because it's impolite to talk when you have something in your mouth. Well, thankgoodness for my momma raisin' me with some manners.

Depending how you look at it

Santiago

The bridge we walked over everyday from EOD training to Hostel International