My Friend Witnessed a Vicious Mugging, Which was of Me (and Other Things)

What's up one and all who read this! Life continues as normal, which is to say, randomly.

It's been about a month since I last wrote and many things have ocurred in that time period, both good and bad. I enjoyed a great lunch at my boss's house, completely did not enjoy a vicious mugging/beating, and became gainfully employed with a software company in addition to my usual teaching of mouthy college students (whose knowledge of English swears has increased tenfold, somehow). I also have a plane ticket to Buenos Aires for a vacation in a month, which I greatly need and deserve as you'll soon understand why.

The lunch dealie came about because I've been dating the secretary at school, kind of your workplace fantasy type scenario, if the secretary happens to be attractive(which she is). Anyways, the secretary is friends with my jefa and her husband who have lunch get-togethers from time to time with several friends and colleagues. Lunch is a big deal down here, akin to a dinner party in the states, so it was nice to be invited, even if it was due to my romantic attachment to the secretary... As it turns out, I had a great time and met some really interesting people and got to share a little insight into life in the United States. Tried to set a few things straight, explained some subtle nuances about us Americans (like our love of sexily scandalous things that we condemn at the same time. Full frontal nudity, for example), and apologized for the many things out of my control that the world is pissed at us about. Everything went swimmingly and I left full of great food, hearty drink, and good conversation running through my head. A lovely afternoon which happened a scant few weeks after I got my ass viciously kicked and robbed.

To keep the suspense going, let me secondly tell you about the new job I got and how class is going at Duoc. I'm ending the end of the first semester, and am busy preparing classes and giving tests, grading them and listening to bullshit excuses about student absences which are leading them down the lane to failure. Most of the time classes are great, and I usually spend free time at school puttering about the teachers lounge and pestering my coworkers to share their food. We (the gringos) are now in possession of ping pong paddles and when it's not raining like to annoy the students by taking over one of the few tables for hours at a time. I've also gotten to changing the backgrounds on the computers from the standard lame DuocUC background to some exciting and original backgrounds, thanks to Google images. The Chilean professors don't appreciate my humor, I think, and only the gringos were laughing when they discovered I had put pictures of the Bloods and the Crips, puppies making adorable scrunched up faces, and Mexican low-riders on ninety percent of the computer screens. Oh well, they're better for it, I suppose. Anyways, in the midst of all of this strenuous work, one wouldn't think that it wouldn't be the right time to get an additional job, right? Wrong. After losing multiple valuables I found myself short of cash and wanting to replace some important stuff. An opportunity arose to do just that. The English department was informed that a Chilean software company was looking for some English teachers to teach a few English courses for their employees, as part of a benefit incentive program. The pay is all right and the course material is basic stuff, really easy, so my friend Lindsey and I signed on. I now work for a Chilean software company teaching four classes in addition to my ten a week I teach with Duoc, which has forced me to be a hell of a lot more productive. Mostly due to the fact that I can't sleep until noon like I used to, and have to get up at six thirty in the morning monday through thursday. It's worth it, because now I can laugh in the face of vicious assault/ass-whoopin'/dignity destroyer, replacing my valuables as though a million assaults couldn't affect my pocketbook. Ha ha ha!

All right, all right! I'll get down to the real nitty gritty. A vicious mugging/robbery/ass kicking, you ask? Well, it happened like this. My friend Andy and I had gone to Santiago proper in the downtown area to celebrate a birthday at a famous bar called La Piojera, which serves drinks known as ¨terremotos¨, or earthquakes. These drinks are a blend of a couple types of strong liquor with a scoop of icecream in it (probably to dull the violent shudders of the liquor with a little sweetness, I imagine). Anyways, two Terremotos and you feel like you've been through an earthquake, hence the name. The night started on an argumentative tone. The bar was packed with small groups of foreigners and large groups of Chilenos, and I once again was the blondest person in the bar. This feisty blondness of mine has gotten me into a lot of trouble with random people, and would lead me towards the painful kicks and blows I was to receive later in the evening. The overarching assumption is my blondness and I represent the callous and hipocritical United States, its ubiquitous wealth, whiteness and all the problems the world currently blames it for (instead of the melting pot of cultures, colors, financial situations and problems of its own it actually has to contend with). Also, my being a cultural ambassador requires that I feel the need to set the record straight for all us law-abiding American citizens and place blame where blame is due. Thus, I frequently find myself getting into heated arguments with strangers who approach me demanding I explain my actions, rather than that of my government. Granted, I've also been approached many times by very friendly people, looking to have a pleasant conversation with someone obviously not from this part of the world. This was not one of those times.

I had posted myself at the bar with Andy and we were enjoying a couple of cervezas, chatting with two Chileans next to us about the interesting differences and similarities that most countries share when some random middle-aged Chilean busted in on us, sloshing his beer about and angrily accusing me (not black haired Andy) of being a pawn for a dictatorship posing as a democracy. Well, you can imagine my annoyance at this particular statement, being the liberal and open-minded U.S. citizen I am, with all my love for due process, democratic rule, and separation of church and state. However, this has happened many times, and not wanting to enter a two man fray of words, I ignored him and turned back to my companions. Apparently, this was unacceptable, and merely antagonized his belligerency. He addressed me again, a little more forcefully, which gave me cause to turn and address his falsehood. After asking my new Chilean friends if they knew him and receiving a negatory shaking of their heads, I promptly told him that I apologized if he believed that the citizens of the United States were to blame or even in control of the actions of an extremely unpopular, unilateral, control-minded government and perhaps he would find his very own Chilean problems a creation of boath his and his Chilean government's doing if he took the time to educate himself a little better. This led into fifteen minutes of worthless banter on both his and my part, which accomplished nothing except raise tensions as people in the bar began watching to see when it would come to blows(of course Andy didn't do anything or jump in at any time, which was to become the common theme throughout the evening). Fortunately, at precisely the time when I was beginning to tire of the cyclical nature of our argument and wondering myself when it would come to blows, all of my gringo friends entered, laughing jovially and full of good-natured camaraderie. Cruelly, I suppose, I quickly summoned one of my American counterparts over, introduced him (or foisted him onto, depending how you look at it) to the idiot I had been so close to hitting, and made my way over to an empty table that had now been filled with the cheerful sounds of glasses clinking and birthday toasts being made all around. Phew!

La Piojera was delightful, and I must admit that we all left a bit more unsober than we entered, thanks to the potent Terremotos, whose potency was visibly underestimated by our group. My friend Colin had joined us as well, a fellow Iowan whom I had met through the internet after he read an article about my travels online, and who has been living quite successfully in Santiago for a little more than three years. He's always a good time, and he and his Chilean fiancé Carolina are great people. Many photos were taken with my beautiful camera (a birthday gift from my Grandmother, which I cherished a great deal), which was filled with photos from a previous trip to Cajon del Maipo and about two hundred other photos of random crap I had encountered around the city. Anyways, after La Piojera I tucked my camera into my warm and comfortable leather jacket(a Christmas gift from my parents, which I adored) wrapped the lovely scarf I had received not but a week before (in a thoughtful and filled with love care package from the States) around my neck and we all parted ways, my fellow gringos heading off to a dance club(minus faithful Andy, who remained by my side and often accuses me of dragging him into situations we shouldn't be in) and Colin heading off to his apartment in Nuñoa, the comuna next to Santiago Centro. Andy and I then headed to a party at my friend Patricio's house close to my house in the shared comuna of Peñalolen.

Patricio's house was filled with lots of people, more food, drink and music. The details are sketchy but we all had a rousing good time. Roughly around four-thirty Andy and I left for my house a few blocks away with Patricio's girlfriend, who kindly gave us a lift back to my house.

Close by my house is a long and skinny plaza. By day, the plaza is an inviting place, filled with small shops selling groceries and dog food or offering internet connections, haircuts, and fresh empanadas from people's homes. Neighbors converse, wash their cars in the streets (as Chileans are impeccably clean in regards to their personal belongings), children play on the two or three pieces of playground equipment that are scattered in the plaza, and stray dogs bark at passerbys or gather in groups of three or four to smell each others butts, fornicate, and shit everywhere. Late at night is a different story. The two or three street lights are located on tall telephone poles whose weak yellow light is obscured by several large trees. What little light there is is located at the end of the plaza closest to my house, which is still a shadowy place. In fact, a large majority of the plaza itself is covered by complete darkness. Benches where young lovers sat merely hours earlier ensconced in their romantic aura of midnight love are far more likely to surrounded by large groups of teenagers drinking out of 40's, smoking weed and smoking cigarettes, their illicit activities hidden by the foreboding shadows(Which is better than shooting heroin, I'll admit, which I've witnessed a few times on a street that I take that passes beneath a supermarket to get to my colectivo line).

For some ungodly reason, we decided it would be a good idea to go to the plaza and take in some night air before retiring. As Andy and I passed through the plaza, five forms mingled in the darkness near one of the lovers' benches. They slowly materialized into five substance abusing delinquent teenagers. They were passing around several 40 oz bottles of beer and spitting and swearing to themselves. The stagnant air was thick with the smell of marijuana and as we neared their position passing in the street, my beautiful blond hair became, once again, the goddam flashpoint for confrontation. "Oye, rusio! Oye, rusio! Danos cigarros, rusio!" they called, in a terribly flaite accent (no or low class Chilean Spanish used by delinquents and the uneducated) "rusio" being "rubio" which of course means blonde in proper Spanish. "Hey blondy! Blondy! Give us cigarettes, blondy!", they were shouting, which was unfortunate, because I didn't have any. Had I, I would've thrown them the pack and sped up my walk. I didn't, so we just ignored them. Much like the drunkard at La Piojera, this only incited the weed and liquor-addled flaite lolos, or teenagers, even more. They moved towards us and surrounding us, demanded cigarettes from us and peppering us with the question "de donde soy?, de donde soy?" which just confused us, the meaning of course being "where am I from? where am I from?". After some discussion the next day, Andy and I concluded that this was akin to, "Who's your daddy, bitch!?", and is certainly not something polite one says to strangers. Their goal was not to give a show of politeness however and they began demanding that we take off our clothes, a command which signaled a rapid downward spiral of events. I had two lolos at my back and one in front of me, another one close to me and one by Andy. They demanded again that we take off our clothes and one began tugging at Andy's jacket. I was looking between the three lolos, who were now clearly attempting to assault us. I saw Andy back up and push away one and I turned to the three behind me. As I turned, one of them decided that now was the time to punch me in the face, which he did, and which left quite the shiner for a week or so. Upon getting punched in the face, I spun around and was hit in the back of the head. At this point in time my consciousness was beginning to dim as rather sensitive spots on my head were receiving multiple unwanted hits. I flailed out, trying to connect with my assailants as I was kicked in the knees, which brought me to the ground. The last thing I remember before having a bottle smashed over the top of my head, which left a nasty gash, is the quintessential memory I shall forever carry of Andy. Having tugged free from his assailant he took off, and with his arms and legs pumping like a marathon sprinter, I watched him fade away into blackness as he deserted me under a barrage of shattering glass liquor bottles. All five delinquents then turned their attention on repeatedly kicking my prone body (unnecessarily, I might add, as I was now completely unconscious, so the thorough beating they were administering was more like pummeling a giant, 150lb sack of wet cement that in no way, shape, or form was capable of defending itself) and making away with my scarf, my precious leather jacket, my cherished camera, a silver medal I wore around my neck, and all of my dignity. Fortunately, my pants were too tight and sexy for them to get my wallet out of my back pocket, which would have been a gold mine for them (for this reason I shall forever wear supertight crotch and buttock flaunting pants, no matter what fashion dictates).

Andy didn't desert me for long, and, like the good friend he is, woke up my homestay mother Inés who called the carabineros and then returned to me. I was groggily getting to my hands and knees as blood poured from the cut on my head, a cut behind my ears where I had been both kicked and punched I remembered, a cut in my ear (I shall never know how that happened) and a gouge someone's boot had made in my collarbone. Along with that, I had been thoroughly pummeled about my back and ribs, as though a gorilla had been pounding on a piano in a failed attempt to produce a symphony. I placed an anuncio with the carabineros and was told that nothing would probably come of it. After a week or so I was back to normal, until I scratched all hell out of my eye dicking around with my contacts and was laid up in my bedroom avoiding any and all bright light. I was, of course, without any ClearEyes or eyedrops of any kind, which had also been in the pockets of my leather jacket, now just a memory. Oh well. After many I told you so's in Spanish from a variety of people, and some scathing actual parental emails, I can honestly say, lesson learned. I only hope those little flaite douchebags bought a lot of crack with the money they made selling my stuff.

Anyways, all's well that ends well and before I go to Buenos Aires and Ecuador in July I'll have a new camera. I already bought a new jacket in a two-for-one deal so I actually have two leather jackets, which is sweet. What sucks about the camera deal though is not only was it a gift, but I had a lot of badass pictures from a lot of cool stuff. I suppose I'll have to relive the photo moments as best I can. Many fond memories were recorded with that dear camera. Sorry Grandma. Anyways, it lasted longer than my leather jacket, which was a just few months old. So I suppose, sorry Mom, too.

Chau for now!

Last Month was Ridiculous

Sorry it's been so long. I've been outrageously occupied with a bunch of seemingly trivial crap this month, peppered with small and amounts of fury, wonder, fear, surprise, and pleasure.


To start the month, I had been getting pestered by my doctors in the U.S. to go get some checkups. For those of you who don't know, I had an illness when I was younger that requires I receive some rather complicated medical attention every once in a while. I detest hospitals and medical attention with a virulent passion, which I inherited from my father, who would rather suffer until he dies then get a physical, but that doesn't change the fact that I have to go. Anyways, you can imagine the hassle I felt having to hunt for a doctor down here. (A note about the medical system in Chile: there are public hospitals and private hospitals. You must pay for the services you want to receive up front at both types. However, if you were gut shot with a pistol point blank and went to a public hospital, you would probably bleed out and die on the floor from lack of attention next to someone who was dying from a stab wound who had been waiting longer than you for help. I went to a private hospital.)


I had been trying to set up an appointment with this hospital in Vitacura but the line had always been busy, no matter which one I called, so I had to physically go to the hospital just to ask for an appointment. Vitacura happens to be one of the wealthiest comunas in the Santiago area and is located all the way on the other side of the entire city from me and my humble and pobre surroundings. Getting there requires my riding the metro at the beginning of one line to the end of the line and transferring to a different line, riding that to the end of the line, walking to a huge bus station where people literally are shoving, shouting, punching and kicking to get on one of like, three buses, and riding that super over-crowded bus a half hour and then walking a few more blocks to one of the nicest hospitals in rich person Chile. So, I got up at six in the morning on a friday which is retardedly early. I usually don't have to work until two and sleep until noon, but on fridays I don't work until five, so you can imagine how pissy I was. I didn't know how long this process was going to take so I got up extra early, to be safe. Completely unnecessary.

I got to the hospital at eight thirty after unintentionally groping and being groped by thousands of public transportation passengers. Slightly flustered after this ordeal, I made my way to the ninth floor. The time was eight-thirty three. I spoke with the receptionist and set an appointment for monday at nine in the morning and left at eight-thirty five. I was a little annoyed but became more annoyed when I realized I still had to battle the rush hour commute to get back home.

Monday rolled around and I went back to the hospital. I met with a doctor and scheduled some appointments over the next two days, as my schedule would allow. Tuesday I came back ass-early in the morning and the nurses at the blood lab had some outlandish rules about drawing blood and wouldn't take my blood because I had eaten a bunch of food right before I came in. I was like, okay that's fine, and asked if I should eat anything before I came in tomorrow afternoon. They said no. So the next day I didn't eat any breakfast or lunch, went to work, then went all the way back to the hospital where the nurses wouldn't take my blood because I hadn't had anything to eat in fourteen hours! I flipped out in my head, which they kind of gathered, and left in a huff. At least I got one test done while I was there that day. Wednesday, I got up early again (which was starting to wear on me) and had another test done and discovered that they had changed the date of my next test to thursday morning at seven-forty and there was a two hour wait at the blood lab, which I couln't swing. By this time I was used to leaving the hospital red with fury, so I just left in a stormy silence. Also, for the thursday test I couldn't eat dinner the night before or breakfast, and I ended up not eating for the entire day just because I was super busy. Thursday rolls around, and I get to the hospital at seven so I can get my bloodwork done no matter what. I slide a white lie to the nurse (I had thought this handy trick up the night before to ensure my goals were accomplished.) and finally had my blood drawn. I leave and pick up the results of the previous days tests and zip up to the other lab to get my last test done. I'm chatting with the cute receptionist after making sure everything is ready to go. She asks how I'd like to pay, and I begin to pull out my credit card when I realize that somewhere in the hour between my arriving to the hospital and coming to this last, final obstacle in the massive pain in the ass this whole experience has been that I've lost my wallet which contained both my public transportation card, ATM card, my credit card, my super important chilean ID, and all the money that I had to my name. So, after a mild heart attack I politely excuse myself, and go back to the last place I was, which was the X-ray place where I picked up my results. I budge ahead of fifteen people as nicely as possible to ask if I left my wallet there and am promptly told that I need to take a number and wait at the back of the line. As I begin to protest, another receptionist interrupts me and says the same thing in broken indecipherable English, much worse than my Spanish, which only helps to infuriate me. My final appointment was quickly approaching and here I was, in a forty-five minute line (at least) waiting to ask two snotty receptionists if I had left my wallet there, which I probably hadn't! I was furiously damning the Chilean medical system, Chile as a country, all the Chileans that worked in this bastard hospital, as well as the initial medical problem which required I be there in the first place when the one thing I had to my name, my cell phone, rang. A nurse in the very blood lab that had been the previous bane of my existence had called to let me know that she was in possession of a wallet that had all my documents and a sizeable amount of money in it and wanted to know if I was still in the hospital. Joy of joys! Tearfully happy, I exited the X-ray department, went to the lab, got my wallet, kissed a slightly bewildered nurse, and returned to the second floor where to my amazement, everything went perfectly smoothly, and I left with only the beginnings of a slight ulcer, as opposed to a full on bleeder. I had to return fridayto go over the results with my doctor but at the more respectable time of eleven thirty. He pronounced me perfectly healthy and told me what my U.S. doctor always told me, stop smoking and don't drink so much. My week long trial of fire in the Chilean medical system had been completed successfully! That night I celebrated by drinking and smoking heavily.



Compared to the hospital crap, sending the results to the U.S. was only a slight pain. They don't sell envelopes big enough to fit X-rays, despite the fact that I was continually told that the next office supply store around the corner was sure to sell them, because they knew it for a fact. Lies! All lies! I had to buy a plastic tube that was way too big but would have to do. I also had to photocopy all the paper results and receipts and crap which turned out to be a hassle because I only had big bills for two days and all the places I went to couldn't make change. When I finally had smaller bills the first two shop's machines weren't working and the third one was out of ink. I went to another one who could make photocopies but got pissed off because I didn't have really small bills, only medium sized bills. Who has problems making change for the equivalent of ten U.S. dollars, especially when the dollar blows right now! Anyways, I finally get the photocopies made and everything packaged up. I get to the post office right before they are closed and are told that this particular post office doesn't have the means to process credit cards. I was a bit suspicious and asked probably a little too incredulously and sarcastically if this was an actual post-office, and not just a store pretending to be a post office, and was chased out by the sassy post-matron who was apparently not up for taking the insults of a close-minded gringo. The weekend passed and I found a post-office that was operating in the modern world and could process credit cards.



In between all these hiccups I went to a barbeque for my homestay brothers birthday, which was really fun. On weekends this massive park called Parque Intercomunal de La Reina fills up with young people and families grilling, listening to music, drinking, playing soccer, riding bikes, smoking weed, playing intsruments, and in general just enjoying themselves. I've been there a couple times and this was just as fun as before.



I also went to the pre-cordillera of the Andes to a place called Cajòn del Maipo. Me and a couple friends hiked up to some small waterfalls and wandered around some dusty villages in this weaving canyon. It was really nice to get out of the city and breath some fresh air and hear the wind blowing through the trees and nothing more. I think we'll be going back soon because there are some lakes at the end of the road that we weren't able to get to that I'd like to see.



There were some more riots in a park downtown. Every sunday the park fills up with hippies hawking every imaginable thing and creating big drum circles with dancers flying all around. There's a lot of pickpockets and drug dealers that come up, and you can literally see a cloud of marijuana smoke hovering above a couple thousand people. Normally, the carabineros don't break this up, but there most have been a real preponderance of drugs and tomfoolery, because they came blasting in with full riot gear on. Almost immediately the air began to be full of not only marijuana smoke, but flying bottles and rocks, directed at the carabineros, who deflected the projectiles off their kevlar and plastic riot shields, while surging forth into the crowds. After a heated half an hour the park had settled down for the most part, and some people had been arrested.



Hand in hand with urban violence goes muggings. I was at a bus stop with my friend Andy and two girls we had met at a club that night. It was about five-thirty in the morning and we were fairly close to my house, maybe three-quarters of a mile, but were right by a sketchy neighborhood. A guy and his girlfriend were at the bus stop with us, and we weren't paying much attention when all of a sudden, these two guys jumped out and started wailing on this guy, kicking and punching him, trying to go after his girl's purse. He's fighting back and Andy thinks he sees a gun and books off. I'm unsure as to whats going on and don't know who is attacking and who is being attacked. The guy's girlfriend runs off sans purse, and the girls were with are dragging me across the street. The guy gets punched a couple more times and lets go of the purse and the two guys book it towards El Nuevo Amanecer, a shitty neighborhood right by the bus stop. Craziness. You really have to be careful late at night. It all happened so fast, but I still feel kind of like a sissy for not helping out.

These last two weeks have seen a real change in the weather from hot in the day and cool at night to cool in the day and freezing cold at night. Due to this, I've developed a wicked cold and have been resfriado for the last week and a half. Most of the time, I wander around the school high as balls off Nastizol, which is like Chilean sudafed, and sort of helps with the congestion. I'm starting to feel a little better though. The pollution doesn't help and has been pretty nasty. We need a good rain to clear it out for a day or two.

So in between all these going ons I've been able to hang out with the secretary at the school a little bit. She's a cute little lady and enjoys my company. That's all I'll say about that.

That's all that's fit to print, and I'll let you know what happens when it happens.
(The computers are to slow to put pictures on, so I'll have to go to a different café to put some pictures of the mountains up, but there beautiful.)

Just to say hello...

Hello all. It's been a hell of a month and I can only say that I'll keep it brief. Muggings, riots, the pre-cordillera of the Andes, medical services, medical expenses, several late night parties, post office malfunctions, being "resfriado", the attractive school secretary, and a general lack of sleep have keep me very busy and demasiado cansado. I can only say that within a couple days those of you who pay attention to this thang should be graced with some sweet photos and a rather lengthy explanation to the aforementioned happenings... until then, chau! Which of course is Chilean for ciao.

Finally, Some Photos of the School and My House

I finally charged my batteries and am able to upload some photos of my house and the school. I hope you enjoy! They are: my room 2x, Princesa, my ancient dog, the living room and a colectivo, my main mode of transportation to and from school. Graffiti on the way to school, a view of the building from the street and a couple shots from inside the building and the patio. I also work at an annex down the street but it's not very photogenic. There's also a ton of graffiti in the school, which I'll have to upload at some point in the future. The graffic design students have a lot of skill and there are some awesome murals in the hallways on the fifth, sixth and seventh floors that I enjoy all the time.

Also, I had the opportunity to help some of my students out with a video they were making for a different class. I played the part of a tourist who asked the wrong person to take a photo of me and had my camera stolen. It was fun because the students had to make an actual video with multiple angles and cut shots and other technical terms. I had to memorize a few short lines of dialogue for my part and was in several scenes. It was pretty fun and my students enjoyed the extra points having a professor in their video might bring them!

My First Riot!

Today was Day of the Youth Combatant in Santiago. Two sides to this story. 1. It marked the killing of two young brothers, Rafael and Eduardo Vergara, who were fighting for MIR, or the leftist revolutionary movement. They were assasinated by carabineros in the Pinochet regime March 29th, 1985. High school and university students protest against a dictatorial educational system and various other demands, like changing the newly established transportation system, Transantiago. 2. The two brothers killed were robbing a bakery, and the carabineros showed up to arrest them, the situation escalated, and they were killed. My director told me that today is also called "El día de los Delincuentes" because in general, delinquents use the occasion to rob, beat up, break windows, burn tires, and cause general mayhem. Unfortunately, I don't live in a well lit area and have been directed to cancel my last class, which would normally end at 10:45, and go directly to my house. Also, I've been told that my neighborhood is rife with delinquents and there isn't reliable transportation anywhere: colectivos, taxis, metro, buses, and the like are spotty. How will I get home? I certainly don't want to walk through some of the projects that litter my path to and from the school...

Anyways, students usually come out in droves for these protests, which often turn violent, with students clashing against water cannon spraying and tear gas lobbing carabineros. Today has been no different. Lots of fire bombs and rock throwing went on as carabineros in riot gear knocked some heads around and arrested a couple hundred people. Some students had organized a peaceful protest in Plaza Italia, at the center of the city, but everybody knew that fighting would break out, which it did sporadically throughout the city. As I write this, it is early evening, and more mayhem is predicted to occur later tonight.

I had plans to go clubbing with all the people from Pelotón, the reality TV show that one of my acquaintances was on. We've got free VIP passes and are going to rub shoulders with a lot of rich people that piss me off and make me wish I had paying job, not a volunteer job. Either way, I'm pretty far away from the a majority of the violence, and only need to worry about my long, dark, and now, presumably dangerous trip home. Don't know if I'll make it to the club though. I will be going downtown tomorrow, but by then the carabineros should have kicked everybodies asses enough so they calm down.

Classes are going well and I have my first test to give on Monday and Wednesday. I was able to burn my photos to some cds and should have some new ones of my house and my school posted whenever I write next. I also get my first stipend next week, which is dandy! I can blow through that instead of my own money, which continues to dwindle rapidly...

I would've put some photos of the riots on there, but I couldn't transfer the photos correctly. Just look up http://www.infoshop.org/ and search for Day of the Youth Combatant, Chile. It's a pretty leftist website, which you might gather from all the "comrades" and "down with capitalism" that pops up, so take it with a grain of salt and search CNN, too. Or google image the photos, because I've certainly never been anywhere where stuff like this happens.

Week One, Almost Done

This has been an interesting week. I've met with all my classes and tommorow will finish my first week. Thursday and Friday I teach until ten-forty five at night which is kind of a bummer but that's life. I've learned quite a bit about the flexibility required to be a teacher and have already encountered some troubles, which are as follows:

1. Students who have class late at night are about as motivated to learn as a millionaire being told they have to eat fast food the rest of their life instead of going to awesome restaurants.

2. Students don't like to either 1. Show up for the first day of class or 2. Show up for the first day of class and then don´t come for the rest of the week, even if they saw their professor twenty minutes before class starts and said hello.

3. Students have a wide variety of knowledge about the English language ranging from extensive (even if they´re in basic one) to not at all (even if they're in intermediate one) and I have to make sure that there is an even blend of difficulty so that everybody can grasp the material.

4. If a lot of students miss class, I feel obligated to review for at least twenty minutes what we covered in the last class, while everybody else who came before nods off or starts talking to their friends in Spanish, which is an English class no no.

5. If I go through the material too fast, I have to think up activities for the students to until at least seven minutes before the class is done, otherwise the students feel jilted and the other professors think I'm a slacker. (I found out that making everybody write paragraphs about what we've learned can suck up seven or eight minutes, and having them share what they've written can suck up another five to seven minutes, leaving me with twenty minutes to panic until I can kick them out and breath easy.)

6. Beauracracy sucks! I have to grin and bear it when the administration tells me that I won't be receiving any of my books for at least two weeks and I just need to review what they learned last year for the next two weeks, about which of course, I haven't the faintest clue. Also I won't have my password to access the school's network to communicate with my students about upcoming homework assignments and quizzes until the middle of the semester. (Using the school's network is a required part of the curriculum, I should point out.)


Despite all these frustrations, I feel incredibly successful and happy with how I've taught. There are several little things about teaching that I've already noticed that make me really happy, which are:

1. Recognizing your students and remembering their names and having them say hello to you when you're not in class.

2. Having students tell you after the class that they really enjoyed class and look forward to the next one.

3. Having a student who is having a really hard time grasping the material finally have it click in their head and being able to praise them for the small victories and knowing that they feel good about what they learned.

4. When students say something that you haven't taught them specifically but have been using in class, and they form a sentence or a statement with vocabulary they've never used before.

5. What teacher doesn't like being in a position of power? To be at the helm of a class and have everybody taking notes over what you're putting on the board, following the directions you give them for activities, and participating in the manner you want them to is a great feeling, especially if they're laughing and enjoying the activities that you planned. It is nice to be in a position of respect, and I hope that through diverse lesson plans and sound teaching, I maintain and cultivate the respect that the students and staff have for me. Although the power thing is awesome.


So getting through this first week has been a big challenge, but now that it's almost over, I'm looking forward to the rest of the semester even though this lesson planning business takes up a huge chunk of my time. I signed up for it though, so I better produce.

Oh, yeah, and having all my chica students who wore unflattering pants on the first day show up in mini-skirts on the second day smiling widely at me was pretty sweet, too. Down boy!

First Day of Class!

Well, I´m halfway through the first day of classes. I had one intermediate class at two in the afternoon and then a four hour break until my first basic class at seven in the evening. My last class is another intermediate class from eight thirty until ten o´clock at night. Tuesday I have another intermediate class at two and that´s it. Wednesday I have a new basic class and my fifth and final class, which is an intermediate class.

I was pretty nervous for my first class but it went really well and I feel a lot better about stepping into the other classrooms. My students were hesitant at first but got into it as the class went along. I only had four students in that class, even though there is supposed to be fourteen in the class. Similar to the United States and the first day of classes where no one shows up.

I teach blocks of students that are all in the same program. For example, my first class were all computer engineering students and my next class is graphic design students. I think I have some publishing students and one other program that I´ll be teaching English to. Either way, it went really well and I hope to be able to prepare some fun classes as the semester progresses.

I am all moved in with my family now and it´s nice to have my own room. My room is tinier than when I lived in Costa Rica but that´s okay. I have all my stuff unpacked and was able to find my credit card and drivers license but need to get my card unblocked so I can use it.

My family is really nice and I went out salsa and merengue dancing with my homestay sister and some of her friends and we came home all sweaty at like, five-thirty in the morning. It´s nice that I don´t have to work until two in the afternoon everyday. Hopefully I can get into some sort of excercise rythm because I feel like I´m getting pretty out of shape, but who´s to say? At least I´m close enough to the school to walk every day until it starts raining heavily. It´s still pretty hot but that should change in the next month or so.

My friend Jane with whom I studied and traveled with in Costa Rica is down here in Santiago trying to find work. Ironically, we went out for some beers and a movie and while we were dringking she enquired about work and might have gotten a job working in a bar right next to where I teach at Mall Plaza Vespucio! Hopefully when this year is done if I want to stay I´ll be able to find work fairly quickly. Who knows? I might have to start working in a restaurant again down here, but I doubt that. My years worth of teaching experience and native language skills should be able to secure a job in the rich part of Santiago to the northeast.

Well, that´s all for now. I have to get ready for class. I need to burn some pictures to cds so I can take some of my family and where I live. I will talk to everybody later!