Connecting in Coquimbo

I’m living in Coquimbo (Ko-Kim-Bow). I’m working in La Serena. Coquimbo is the Valpo to La Serena’s Viña. They are neighbor towns so close they could actually be one town.

Our condo here is AMAZING. I can’t quite explain it, but the Pacific here in Chile is just different. There’s something more peaceful and more endless about it. And, the only things between my window and the Pacific are a few palm trees, a small road and some sand. This girl from The Middle is really digging The Edge.

There’s no WiFi at our condo. In fact, my laptop doesn’t even pick up a wireless network. Not even one that requires a password… nada. So, I’m disconnected.

At first I was a little disappointed. No Skype calls for the next 6 weeks!

I had been SO connected when I was living in Viña that I actually had a couple of skypeversations with my brother where we were both doing other things but were just connected by Skype. We’d chat a bit, then continue with our other online business. For him it was work or looking at Woot.com bargains. For me it was Google Maps, checking my bank account, or looking for more schools where I could peddle my resume. Mostly we’d hear each other muttering or talking to ourselves. I remember thinking, “This is ridiculous! If we’re on Skype we should be talking and sharing, not just sitting here!” But we’d already talked the day before, so we had each other’s news. But there was something incredibly comforting in just being able to hang with my brother. It was just the being connected that mattered.

So, here in Coquimbo I have to make a choice to be connected. I have to choose to get on the bus with my laptop and go to the mall for the WiFi at McDonald’s or the Bariloche Café. Or, I have to choose to pay for computer time at the Viva Bibliotequa. Usually in life it seems I have to choose to disconnect. The difference is palpable.

It’s not that I’m choosing to be far away from everyone back home. That choice was made when I decided to come to Chile, I suppose. The difference is in the living here and the experiencing here. Now I have to make the conscious decision to seek out Facebook and Hotmail, whereas before my online life blended in with my real life. When faced with the choice: Spend time on Facebook or Explore these two new towns… well it seems like I’d be missing out on living if I hauled up at McDo every day, doesn’t it?

When I studied in Lyon in 2001 I remember we students from the US all said it was “like the 80’s computer-wise”. Most homes didn’t have their own computer, much less internet. I remember stopping on my way home from school at a little internet café to email long updates of what had gone on in the last week or so since I’d last emailed everyone. My emails were super long and my wallet super light after I left.

With internet and virtual connectivity so entwined in our day to day life, are we really experiencing fully all that we can? Is staying connected with each other virtually inhibiting us from staying connected with life, real and in front of us? Do these virtual relationships supplement and deepen our real relationships or do they become superficial substitutes where information is shared, but real connections aren’t maintained?

Deep questions… or maybe I’ve just spent too much time on Facebook the last 2 months! Either way, while I’m here I’d like to connect to Coquimbo, not from it.

oh! to celebrate you with all the words of joy.

[oh! poder celebrarte con todas las palabras de alegria. – Pablo Neruda]

I’ve become enchanted with Pablo Neruda. In fact, added to my List of Reasons I Want To Learn Spanish is “- To read Neruda’s poetry en Español”. Why am I enchanted? Here are just a few reasons:

• He wrote in green ink because it is the color of hope.
• “Pablo Neruda” was first a pen name created to hide his poetry from his father who wanted him to have a practical profession. (His real name was Neftali Ricardo Reyes Basoalto)
• He’s a fellow Francophile! The “Pablo” part comes from French poet Paul Verlaine. Neruda was also the Chilean ambassador to France from 1970-1972.
• He wrote a poem called “Ode to a lemon”. As it is the most versatile and delicious fruit I know, I concur that lemons definitely deserve an ode. (And a beautiful one it is! If you’re interested, check out the English translation.
• He was nominated to be President, but gave his support to Salvador Allende, who was the first democratically elected socialist President of Chile.
• After they overthrew Allende in the coup of 1973, and while they were searching through Neruda’s house, he said to military dictator Pinochet’s minons, “Look around, there’s only on thing of danger for you here – Poetry.”
• He chose to own a house in Valparaiso (neighbor city to Viña del mar), which is oft described as poor, poetic and bohemian.
• One of his books of poems is called The Book of Questions. The poems consist only of questions!
• I visited Neruda’s home in Valparaiso. Here are some photos of his home and the boat tour I took of Valparaiso.

Top most interesting things I’ve seen for purchase so far on the streets…

…of Viña

• Hair extensions
  Imagine a cloth laid out on the side walk with individual strands of fake hair displayed for purchase. Straight and curly available.
• Underwear and bras
  Piles and piles on tables, more eye catching pieces are on display hanging from the top of the stands to draw in passers by. One cotton pair I pass on my way home from work has a big heart that says “Sweet Little Lady”.
• Shoelaces
  There is a man with a big rack from which hang over one hundred brightly colored shoelaces. It’s pretty.

…of Valparaíso

• Boxes containing various “As Seen On TV” products
  I think some might’ve been Ped Eggs. I didn’t stop long enough to get a good look for fear of being drawn into conversation about why I should buy one.

…of Santiago

• Monkey Necklaces
  These are small stuffed animal monkeys that have really long arms that wrap around your neck and can be worn like a necklace. When you squeeze them they make noise. Intended for children, but worn and enjoyed by all ages. Also available in white tiger and lion varieties.
• Plastic Masks
  Cartoon characters, superheroes and other famous personas

Of course the standards are also available in all of these cities…

Food: Fruit and veggies, cookies, nuts, sandwiches, empanadas, sopapillas, cotton candy, candied apples, etc.
Clothing: sweaters, pants, shirts, socks, shoes, etc.
Accessories: jewelry, scarves, belts, hats, sunglasses, etc.
Toys
Handmade crafts

There’s nothing to fear but buses and colectivos

I explained to my students one day that I have two fears in Chile.

# 1. Buses

# 2. Colectivos (shared taxis)

On Thursday I rode in a colectivo for the first time. I was with a Chileno who did the talking. It wasn’t as bad as I thought. I’m pretty sure tonight I’m going to ride in a bus. We’ll see how that goes.

The following information about colectivos is a blend of my own experiences and what others have told me. The information about buses is what I’ve learned from my friends and students.

Facts about colectivos:

1. A colectivo is a shared taxi.
2. All colectivos have specific routes they circuit through over and over. Like a bus/taxi… sort of.
3. They have signs on their roofs with numbers and neighborhoods to indicate where they go.
4. You can get in a colectivo at a specific spot (they usually congregate in plazas) or you can hail one like a cab.
5. When you get in, you say where you want to be dropped off and the driver tells you the fare.
6. The fare is different depending on how far you go. I paid 350 CLP ($.65) to go about 11 blocks.
7. There is nowhere to find information about the routes or prices or locations of the stops. “You just have to know it,” I’ve been told.

Facts about buses:

1. All the buses are privately owned.
2. Bus drivers are paid based on the number of passengers they pick up per day.
3. Facts 1 & 2 mean there is a lot of competition to get bus passengers.
4. Buses have set routes.
5. Numbers and colors indicate the routes, along with big signs stuck on the windshields.
6. There is one price per ride – no matter how far you go. There are reduced rates for students.
7. Information about the route, where the bus will stop, or what time it will be at any given stop is not readily available. I haven’t seen a bus schedule anywhere, and I don’t think they exist.
8. You can signal for a bus to pull over so that you can read the signs and if it is the wrong bus, you just wave them on and pull over the next bus. (Advice from a student that I don’t plan to take.)
9. You can stop the bus anywhere along the street. But, if a police officer catches them stopping to get you at an unofficial stop, the driver might get in trouble.
10. You can ask the driver to drop you off at an unofficial stop and he probably will – as long as no police officers are around.
11. I am more afraid of buses than colectivos.

Update from UpsideDown, a story in 4 parts

Part 1: When It Rains…
Or, Why Making Phone Calls In Chile Is Impossible

Tuesday I woke up and thought “I love the world. Why doesn’t it love me?”

For a couple of weeks now I’ve been discouraged, frustrated and crazy with impatience. I know – the Santiago blog was all fun and HGTV House Hunter-esque. But it seems that my deciding to go to Santiago really meant nothing when the Chilean government couldn’t decide whether to fund and start the program I’d be teaching.

What started off as a laughable cultural difference morphed into an opportunity for me to practice the great art of patience. Then it became a reaffirmation of my conscious decision to Be. Here. Doing. This. And now, my North American clock is sounding and I just can’t take it anymore. Enough pretend vacation. I want to DO something.

I’ve been creating all these different scenarios which sound like Conditional Exercises for my students. “If I have a job in Viña then I will…” or “If I had a job in Santiago then I would…” It’s made planning anything impossible. The one thing aiding my sanity is that I’ve been able to sub at a school in Viña. It’s the same school that hooked me up with the Navy for January and is dangling all these other magical government contract jobs over my head. The director of the school, O, said they’d sponsor my work visa too.

Last week O said, “You call the Extranjería (literal translation: Aliens). You make the appointment. It will be in 3 weeks probably. They’ll tell you. Then, you do the papers. You go to the notary with the papers and you have to get the special photos. You call first, then you have 3 weeks to do the rest. At the appointment, you get your temporary permit so you can work. Then, in maybe 4 months, you get the visa.” He handed me signed contracts, notices of his sponsorship and a list of all the documents I needed to bring and how many photocopies of each document. And told me, “You can get the special photos anywhere.”

Sounds good? Would be great if step 1 didn’t include a phone call. Phone calls in Chile are impossible. I’m not sure why. It’s #2 on my Big Mysteries of Chile list. Even Ximena and Pato – NATIVE CHILEANS – can’t figure out how to make calls. This is what I know:

• Some numbers start with the country code 56, I don’t think you ever have to dial that though, unless you’re out of the country. Though, it does appear on my cell phone caller ID.
• Some numbers have a 32 at the beginning, but I don’t think that is always dialed either.
• The 32 is sometimes followed by a 02 or a 2. Sometimes I’ve needed the 0, other times not.
• Cell phone numbers start with a 7, 8 or 9.
• You need to add a 9 before dialing a cell phone from a land line, but I’m not sure if numbers that already start with 9 need an extra 9 or not.
• Cell phones have different amounts of total numbers depending on when the person was given the number. One Chilean told me that they started out with all cell numbers being 7 digits and then when they had so many cell phones that they ran out of number combinations, they added an 8^th digit. I don’t know where the special 9 fits into that situation though.

First, I googled ‘extranjería Valparaíso’ and wrote down a few different phone numbers. I tried calling a couple on my own for fun. Nothing. The next day, I asked O’s secretary for the number. She gave me two. Ximena and I called those together. We tried both from a land line and a cell phone. Nothing. I went back to Google and expanded my search to include some general government office numbers so that maybe Xime could talk her way to the Extranjería. Someone answered and gave us another number, but that was busy for 4 to 5 rounds of redialing.

So, I wrote down the address that had come up on my Google search and gathered my map and cell phone (which can usually reach Xime’s cell) and set out for Valparaíso. It was Monday, a week of phone calls later.

Part 2: Locating the Right Aliens
Or, Practice Makes Perfecto

The address I had actually turned out to be a big police building. Something was going on when I entered. There were reporters, camera people and dudes in official police jackets filling the lobby. Stuff in big plastic bags that I decided was Evidence was being lined up alongside of a wall and the reporters gathered around greeting each other with the Chilean one cheek kiss and talking excitedly. I walked over to a big desk and waited to talk to a man in a blazer. “I look for the Extranjería,” I said in Spanish. He pointed to a door across the lobby near the Evidence with a small sign that said Extranjería.

There were a few people waiting inside the tiny office, so I did too. Then, a man motioned me towards his desk. This is what we understood each other saying:

Me: Hello! I need an appointment for a work visa.
Blazer: Spanish Spanish Spanish.
Me: Hmm. Yes. But my boss – oh – the man who is going to be my boss in the future – told me to call for the appointment. But. When I call. Uh, he called? No. I called! When I called. I can’t talk with anything. The people no. I can’t talk with no people. Then, I come here. Can I… (mumble, very tired of verb tenses)… an appointment? For the work visa?
Blazer: Spanish Spanish. Not here. Spanish Spanish Spanish. Bellavista? Spanish. Do you know Valparaíso?
Me: No. But I have! (Locate map in giant purse and hand it to him triumphantly.)
Blazer: Good! Spanish Spanish. It’s Floor 15. Spanish. Here. Go here. 15. Spanish. Floor 15. Spanish Spanish. OK? Floor 15. Spanish Spanish.
Me: Thank you! Floor 15?
Blazer: Floor 15. Spanish Spanish. And the phone number is ########.
Me: #? #? #? #? #? #? #? #? Ah yah! Perfect. Many Many Thanks.

Upon leaving, and maybe just to prove a point, I tried the number. Nada. I pulled out my map on which he circled the location of the Right Extranjería and I was off again.

When I got to the area circled on the map, there were only 2 buildings that could be 15 floors. The first I entered had a floor directory by the elevators and listed a dentist next to 15. Next!

At the next building there was a cute security guard at the top of the stairs, but no floor directory. So, I pushed the up button and figured I’d just check it out. None of the other buildings are 15 floors so it was my last hope. The security guard smiled at me as the elevator doors opened and I saw an Elevator Man seated by the buttons. “What floor?” I stepped inside, “15!”

There are only 2 doors on Floor 15 and one is the Extranjería. Superb!

The sign outside the door said “9:00 a 14:00 horas”. It was nearly 17:00 horas, but I noticed the door was cracked open so I went inside. There was a small dim hallway behind a glass door my right. In front of me, there was an office with a speckled glass window and a half door with a curtain covering the top open area is just to the left of that. To my left, a corridor lined with seats opens up to a little waiting area with more seats and a closed, windowless door. The lights were off and the same “9:00 a 14:00 horas” sign was hanging on the half door curtain. I could hear people behind the curtain and saw two women through the speckled glass.

Since waiting is the thing to do in Chile, that’s what I did. Again. Someone had to come out of one of these doors sooner or later. I looked around for signs that might have more information but it was too dark to read much. I was considering the possibility of my head exploding if I found out I was in the wrong place again, when a woman came through the glass doors to the right. Here’s what we understood from each other:

Me: Hello. Sorry. I need an appointment for my work visa. My bos-
Lady: No, just come between 9 and 14.
Me: No, but. My boss, er, my boss of the future said that I need to come here for an appointment and then to come with the documents. I have the documents. All the documents! For the work visa.
Lady: No you don’t need an appointment. You only come with your passport and your tourist visa.
Me: OK. Yes. Thank you. But. My boss said I need for the visa to come with the contract and the photocopies and pictures with my name. I need more than?
Lady: On the wall over there is a list for a Visa Spanish Spanish of Spanish. You read it. Come between 9 and 14.
Me: And I don’t need an appointment?
Lady: No.
Me: Only to come from 9 to 14?
Lady: Yes.
Me: Tomorrow?
Lady: Yes.
Me: With all the documents?
Lady: Yes.
Me: Yes. OK. Many thanks!

The list on the wall was the same as O’s. I left the building and the smiling security guard thinking “Well, at least I know how to get here now.” On the metro home I tried to calculate how long I’d need at the notary and for the special photos and wondered when I could fit that in between the classes I was subbing and with the mornings-only schedule those Aliens were keeping. If France taught me anything it’s arrive early and plan to wait all day, then come back the next with even more photocopies.

Part 3: Redemption ‘N Legalization.
Or, My Petition for Saint Extranjería, Patroness of Aliens Everywhere

Tuesday, 7:30 a.m. I woke up. Still laying in bed, I positioned my laptop on top of me and googled ‘Notarías Vina del mar’ and found one close to the special photo place Ximena had told me about the night before.

9:00 a.m. I left the house. iPod in ears, sunglasses on, bag slung across my shoulders.

Everyday bag contents: map of Viña, map of Valpo, wallet, kleenex, hand sanitizer, planner, pens, bottle of water, and of course my little notebook my new friend D calls “My Life” as it contains all my notes about jobs, apartments, new Spanish words, to do lists, important reminders, etc.

Additional E-Day bag contents: passport, giant folder with required photocopies plus extras, more money than I could possibly need for the day – just in case.

The sun was shining and the wind was much kinder than it had been the previous day. As I walked I gave myself a pep talk bracing myself for the worst possible scenarios I might encounter throughout the day. Notary, special pictures and government office. I was betting on the worst.

9:15 a.m. Arrived in downtown Viña. Decided to go to the Notaría first as it will likely take longer than the photos.

9:18 a.m. Unable to locate the Notaría from my Google search, I noticed one across the street and decided to go there. I thought to myself, “Maybe there are many kinds of notaries in Chile. What if I got to one that doesn’t apply to the whole country or something? What if I get these contracts notarized and it’s all wrong and they need to be reprinted, resigned, re-notarized and I’ve wasted an entire day?”

The Notaría wasn’t crowded. I took a number and sat between an old woman wrestling with her cell phone and a man who kept rifling through a big paper bag. A nice looking, short haired Chileno with a pink and light blue tie was assisting a lady wearing clothes I’m sure she bought to look more sophisticated and higher class than she actually is. A young blond girl in stone washed jeans and a tight striped t-shirt and a beer bellied, graying man I presumed to be her father were being helped by a lady at the other end of the L-shaped counter.

In total, Notary Raul Farren Paredes had three men and three women working efficiently behind the counter, plus some other people behind doors in the back. Papers were slipped in and out of plastic sleeves, information was recorded in large ledgers, documents were spun through typewriters, stamped, sealed and stamped again at various stations and everything was eventually placed on his big official desk where he sat, behind the corner of the L, reading the paper. He was old and important looking.

I waited about 15 minutes before my number was called. Then, it took no more than 3 minutes for the lady to enter my information into her computer, run my three contracts through the process and place them, my passport, and my payment of 3,000 CLP ($6 US) on RFP’s desk. He put down his paper, reviewed the files, confirmed all the stamps and seals, then signed. Less than 20 minutes at the Notaría. Miracle #1.

9:36 a.m. Around the corner from RFP was the place where I could buy the special photos. These photos are passport size, color photos with your full name and passport number listed at the bottom. I’ve not seen anything like this before and assumed there was some kind of Official Process for obtaining them.

Before I entering the shop, I pulled out My Life and looked up the proper Spanish words for the photos I needed to buy “carnet tamaño”. (Google translate would later tell me this just means ‘passport size’.) Entering the shop, I noticed there were – again – three men and three women behind an L-shaped counter, this one smaller, glass and containing various photography-related products. I asked one of the women for “4 carnet tamaño photographs with my name and passport number”. I had to buy a set of 8, but that would only set me back 1,700 CLP ($3.40 US) Sold!

The woman fumbled with the camera settings, gave me three choices and then opened the best shot in PhotoShop. Adjusting her computer monitor towards me, she cropped the photo, added a black rectangle at the bottom, then my name (Only 1 last name in the US got me some “That’s pretty weird” eyes from her) and my passport number in white. She used a paper cutter to slice off the white edges of each printed photo, slid them into a plastic baggie and it was just nearing 10 am. Miracle #2.

10:20 a.m. After a brief stop at the school, I boarded the metro for Valparaíso.

11:00 a.m. The cute security guard was there again and his smile told me he remembered me from yesterday. As I pushed up for the elevator I wondered if he thought I was one of those crazy foreigners or if he was smiling because I was back again.

There were a handful of people sitting on the chairs and benches in the waiting area. The red take a number dispenser was empty. A Chilena seated next to the big closed door through which I was hoping to soon pass said something that gave me the impression I needed to get a number from a person behind one of the windows. As I turned to go back towards the curtain, she helpfully called me back and pointed at another half-door that had been hidden around the corner. I waited a few moments for a well-dressed guy to finish with a man he was helping inside the half-door. Then he came over to the window and tore a number off of the roll of numbers that could easily have been in the red dispenser, but was instead sitting on top of a file cabinet behind the half door.

My number was only 3 away from the big number on the wall! Even with all the other people there, I was 3 away!

The big door opened and they called 2 more numbers. As I sat waiting I noticed a sign under the red number dispenser that said something like “ask for a number at the window”.

When my number was called I stepped, hopeful, through the full door. A very nice woman led me to her desk and invited me to sit down. I said, “I need a work visa. I have all the documents and photocopies and the pictures with my name and passport number.” I began lining up the various notarized and non-notarized documents, photocopies and photos on her desk. She spoke some speedy Spanish and I repeated my schpeal about my boss from the future giving me a list of things to bring here. Brandishing the notarized contracts I showed her I was serious and had official things. Digging My Life out of my bag, I ticked through the items on O’s list for her. All the while, she waited patiently for me to finish.

“Do you understand me well?” she asked politely. “More or less,” I replied with a smile, eyes falling on the mountains of papers on her desk.

She asked if I wanted to work now – while waiting for the visa. “Yes.” She seemed to understand something new and set about entering information into her computer. She asked for my phone number, email address and parents full names. I wrote all of them down (no need to practice the alphabet just now). She asked my profession and when I said “English Teacher”, she told me she’d just enter “Languages” so there’d be no questions about diplomas and such.

She told me that I needed 4 more copies of one document, 2 of another and 1 more front and back of the notarized contract. “I don’t need to go to the notary? I need only to go to obtain one photocopy of the two sides of this document?” I clarified. “Yes.” “So, I come back tomorrow with the photocopies?” “No. Now. You go downstairs and on the street there is a place where you get the photocopies.”

Wow. Now. Today. I’d noticed the multitude of photocopy places in Viña and Valpo and had made a mental note to investigate this phenomenon further. No longer do I question the Chilean’s love of Fotocopía stores!

Twice more past the smiling security guard, “Floor 15” to the Elevator Man, and back to the number handing out window. I was explaining to the well-dressed guy, “I need to talk to one lady. She told me to get photocopies,” when the big door opened and the lady led me once again to her desk. I laid out all the new photocopies and the originals and she proceeded to organize the various documentos into piles, stapling some, paper clipping others and gluing my special photos to the front of some new forms. While I was gone she’d printed up the rest of the forms needed to process my paperwork. (Sacre Dieu! This is most un-French! She worked on my paperwork while I wasn’t there breathing down her neck!)

I signed all the forms she put before me. Then, she stapled 3 different sized papers together. Showing me the top – my temporary work visa! – she explained it was valid for me to work until February 20, 2010. But my official visa would arrive at the end of January, maybe in February. But definitely before the 20^th.

I accepted the 3 stapled papers from her. I Was Legal!

It felt so strange. It had all been so… easy.

“Thank you! Many Many Thanks!” I said to the lady. She smiled at me, “You’re welcome. I hope you have a great day.” The look on her face told me she knew I was a bit dumbstruck.

Sometime before 1:00 p.m. I left the Extranjería able to work legally and with one hour to spare. Miracle #3.

… now if only someone would give me a freakin’ job.

Part 4: Ask And You Shall Receive
Or, If All The Raindrops Were Lemon Drops And Gum Drops…

I decided to ride the wave and headed to the school to find out if there was any news from the government about the Santiago job. There wasn’t.

But!

There was another job available doing the same program for the Tourism Industry in La Serena. La Serena is a town about 6 hours (by bus) north of Viña on the coast. Xime describes La Serena as “magical” and “mystical”. What do I know about La Serena?

• It’s the place to go for stars. They have incredibly clear skies and several giant telescopes are sprinkled throughout the area for stargazers to enjoy.
• There is an amazing hotel nearby where you can fall asleep stargazing in big domes. (Check it out here!)
• The national alcoholic beverage of Chile, Pisco, was born in the Elqui Valley next to La Serena. You can take tours of the Pisco distilleries.
• There is a National Park where one can see Humboldt Penguins, dolphins, and other sea life.
• La Serena is the second oldest city in Chile.
• Lots of Spaniards settled there, so the city is known for its architecture, particularly its churches.
• The beaches are amazing and LS rivals Viña in the eyes of Santiaguino’s looking to flee city life for a summer by el Pacífico.
• Gabriela Mistral, famous Chilean poet and Nobel Prize winner, was born in the area. And her house is open for tours.

The job sounds great. It is 6 weeks long, excellent pay and housing is included. I’d work Monday to Friday from 6:30 pm to 9:30 pm and Saturday from 10:00 am to 1:00 pm. That leaves plenty of time to do all those things I listed above.

I had a few days to think it over. I could wait for Santiago to come through, or I could head to La Serena.

As I walked home, I made up my mind. I’d been hearing great things about La Serena and had been wanting to go there anyway. The class is 6 weeks, so it’s over in time to give me a few weeks to travel and then I can start with the Navy. The pay is amazing and the housing is included, which means I can actually bank some pesos!

I was in the midst of skyping mom to tell her the news about my decision to move up the coast when the Teacher Boss from the school called. “Santiago is not happening. They waved the white flag and the program isn’t going this year. I still have La Serena and I’d love for you to go there.”

Perfecto.

Work visa, job, apartment, new city, new adventures…

… oh what a rain!

Santiago, he who supplants...

Most adventures involve inclimate weather of some sort. While rain may not be a central character like the Tornado was for Dorothy, it sure makes a story better. Maybe worse for the adventurers, but definitely better for the story.

It is then, no surprise that I woke up from dozing off on the bus to Santiago to find rain streaming down the window beside me. I sighed softly and wished that if I just closed my eyes and reopened them it would turn sunny.

I’d forgotten my jacket when I left Viña and had been working on letting that fact go by reading The Alchemist. I’d only dozed off for a moment when the mountain mist turned to rain. I knew though that the story could only be better with rain, so it was here to stay. Who among you would prefer sunshiny days filled with apartment seekers and tourist sites over me, jacketless, sans umbrella and with only one pair of jeans for the weekend trudging around Santiago and meeting people who could potentially be my roomies for the next 2.5 months? I mean, that latter story is interesting. The former, just another travel blog.

The metro was pretty easy and though I’m not sure how much I paid for my ticket - deciding to end my unsuccessful attempt at getting a one day pass by handing the woman a 10,000 peso note and saying "OK. Uno solo." She returned a pile of change and a small paper ticket. The turnstile ate my little ticket but others around me didn’t appear alarmed when the machines didn’t regurgitate theirs so I moved on.

First thoughts? The metro in Rome has nothing on Santiago. In Rome I thought I had transformed into a sardine italiano, but Santiago is all together another level. First off, there are very few seats. The metro cars seem to be designed for standing. And that’s what people do. Stand. Wedged together. For a long time. And this was at 9:00 am on a Saturday - not even Monday morning rush hour.

Refreshingly, the Santiago trains have windows that open and I was fortunate to have fresh air circulating by me while we were above ground. Even in the underground part and moments we were still, the metro didn’t stink. When I said sardines about Rome I did mean in all regards. Here though, even the guy whose arm stretched up to the handle dangling from the ceiling above my head didn’t stink. And his pit was damn close to my nose. Maybe that whole no rushing around thing has its merits.

I arrived soaked and dripping at my hostel, Newen Kara, which in the Mapuche language means Urban Force. Fortunately I was able to check into my room early. After about 30 minutes of blow-drying my hair, scarf, sweatshirt, sweater, jeans, socks and purse, I thanked myself for spending money on such a spectacular blow-dryer. It folds in half and comes with a pouch for easy travel. First purchase in Chile - worth every peso.

Diego, the wildly enthusiastic and charming young man who worked the front desk at Newen Kara, let me borrow a large and slightly bent up umbrella and I was off to meet John. I met John in June in Chicago taking the TEFL certification class. He’d just arrived 2 weeks earlier and is going to be teaching mostly Business English classes in Santiago. John needs an apartment too, so I asked if he wanted to come along with me to visit the places I’d found.

We had 7 apartments scheduled on Saturday and another on Sunday. Noteworthy mentions:

• “Paris-Londres” located in Santiago Centro an older part of town. The streets are cobble stone and the architecture glorious. After being buzzed in through a huge wrought iron gate, we followed Ellen up a stone spiral staircase to a lovely apartment in which lived 2 American girls and 2 German girls. The room was excellent with a view onto the courtyard below. An apartment of boys live on the ground level and they often have barbecues together. Negatives: 170,000 CLP/month (about $340), several blocks from the metro, not in the #1 neighborhood.
• “Bright sunny room” located in Providencia (#1 Neighborhood), directly across the street from the metro. Roomies would be 1 Asian girl who didn’t speak while we were there and Maria Eugenia who wasn’t home. The room was huge with 2 twin beds pushed to make 1 big one, a big desk, big closets, big windows and big blue walls painted with sunflowers and trees. Negatives: 180,000 CLP/month (about $360), very very quiet.
• Spanish Speaking Pablo. Room share in Chilean artist’s apartment/art studio. Negatives: Spoke only Spanish, Room share in Chilean artist’s apartment/art studio.
• “Bellas Artes” located across the river from the nearest metro stop, this place was out of the race before the start gun fired. When we got lost a few blocks away and passed one of those specialty shops that in France are usually only located by the train station, I started trying to calculate how tall John was in my head and wondered whether the bent metal part of my umbrella would be useful should night fall before we located the apartment. One cell phone call and our wrong turns made right, the apartment turned out to be funkyartsyretrocool. Though, I decided I myself am neither funky, artsy, retro, nor cool enough to live in a place like that.
• JP “The Winner”. Jean-Pierre’s apartment is in the #1 neighborhood by the #1 metro stop. The apartment is literally steps from the metro and 2 blocks from an excellent bar with excellent Chilean beer. JP is an English teacher and translator. He grew up in Canada and his parents are Chilean. He speaks Spanish, French and English. He was wearing giant slippers that were the colors of the Chilean National team, whose big match to qualify for the World Cup was that night. JP has 2 rooms, a small one with a private bathroom and another larger with a Jack and Jill bathroom he’d share. Prices 120,000 and 150,000 respectively! When we left I said, “What was wrong with that place? I can’t figure it out.” John said, “That’s because there is nothing wrong with it. It’s perfect.”

It had stopped raining by then. The sun was out. I knew my #1 choice. We had dinner at a bar full of cheering Chileans where we watched Chile beat Columbia qualifying to be in the World Cup for the first time in ages. We ended the evening in a great “American” bar with beer (that I really liked!) while college football games were streamed real-time on big flat screen TVs (eh… football). The next morning we visited a museum, ate at this big fish market, and went up San Cristobal Hill where we saw the zoo and a shrine to Mary.

I LOVE Santiago! I knew early on in my weekend, whilst jumping puddles and dodging curb spray from passing buses, that I was in the right place. I love concrete. I love exhaust. I love mass transportation. I love cities. Santiago is about 6 million people. It’s polluted and busy and worlds away from the rainbow sprinkle cup cake hills of Valparaiso or the shiny beachy quiet of Viña. Rain or no rain, crazy concrete lover that I am, I say Santiago is underrated. We’ll see if I’m whistling the same tune after living there for a while, but for now, my vote is in. The big city it is... for 2.5 months anyway!

You can see pictures of my weekend in Santiago here.