A Week of Transition

This past week has definitely been one of the most trying weeks I’ve had to endure while here in Chile. When I first arrived in Chile I definitely had to deal with a lot of new challenges and some things got frustrating—like constantly getting lost and not being able to communicate my thoughts and wants to other people accurately. This week I had some new, maybe even harder challenges than I faced at the beginning of the semester. But if it wouldn’t have been for the things I had learned from these past difficulties in Chile, I wouldn’t have been able to solve the sticky situation I found myself in this last week.
As I told you all in my last post very briefly, I was told last Friday that I could no longer work with the organization that I thought I had secured a volunteering position with. I decided about 2 months ago that I wanted to stay in Chile an extra month after my program ended, feeling that I really wanted to take advantage of the time I had off between semesters. I found this volunteering job working with kids with cancer in a hospital in Santiago and was very excited for the opportunity. I started working and had finished two solid days when the head of volunteering informed me that they no longer had space for me. I was very confused to say the least. I still don’t quite understand why the organization couldn’t keep me or why they told me this after I had started the job, but that was the least of my worries at the time. I now suddenly found myself stuck in a foreign country for a month with nothing to do. While this doesn’t sound half bad when I put it in writing—why not do some traveling? Hang out? Enjoy yourself?—I knew that I needed to find something to put on a resume for the summer. I will be entering my fourth and final year at Puget Sound and with the goal of applying for med school in the near future and with not too much experience volunteering in a hospital, I felt like I really needed to find something where I could prove I had gained some experience in my four years of undergrad.
The search began. I googled pretty much everything I could possibly think of to find volunteering positions in Santiago in some sort of area of health. After bookmarking about 20 organizations on my computer Sunday night, I was ready to hit the phone Monday morning, hoping that I could secure an interview or meeting that day. The calls began and I was quickly turned down by about 2 organizations, informing me that they only accepted volunteers that could give at least 5 months of service. Considering I only had exactly 4 weeks left in Chile, I knew this wouldn’t work. On the third call, I got somewhere. I set up an interview for the following Monday with a volunteer organization in a local children’s hospital. I was really excited about this opportunity but also worried since it wasn’t until the next week. To find out more information about the organization, I went to the office to see how many hours I would be able to work. I’m really glad I went because they were very confused when I said I had an interview the next week. Apparently this organization only allowed women above the age of 25 to work with them, and since I’m only 21, I wouldn’t be allowed to take a volunteer position. I was back at the drawing board.
After many more calls, emails, and two days of desperate waiting I found myself without any real prospects. While I had been hopeful Monday, thinking I had a lot of potential opportunities and just needed to wait for one to get back to me, I came home Tuesday night feeling defeated and unsure of what to do next. Emails kept coming back, saying they were sorry but they couldn’t offer me a position at the time; phone calls went unanswered or they explained they didn’t have time to talk; my possibilities were running out. As I walked through my apartment door that night, I felt totally hopeless, thinking I would have to change my ticket to return to the States early, because I simply couldn’t stay here if I had nothing to do. That night I remember being very anxious and feeling like I could cry at any minute. I didn’t know where to turn next—if I should give up and go back to the States, or if I should just keep trying with the knowledge that I might not ever find anything.
I was just about to go bed when a message popped up on my Facebook page. A friend from the university where I had taken classes this semester asked how I was. I really just wanted to go to bed. I could have ignored the message completely, but something made me respond. I said, “Fine.” He asked when my job started. I told him the situation I know found myself in. He asked what I was looking for and when I told him something, anything in health, he told me he would ask some of his friends in the school of medicine at our university and see if any of them knew of anything. I wasn’t expecting much, but I said thank you. I got ready for bed and when I went to close my computer, I saw that my friend had sent me 6 emails of students and professors at the university who were doing research and might need some help. I decided to send them all emails that night, before I went to bed, hoping that I could get a response from one of them in the morning.
The next morning I woke up to one message in my inbox, a message from a one of the professors at the university, telling me to come visit his lab that day! I was ecstatic and hopeful again that I could find something to do with my month here. When I arrived at the lab and talked with the professor, the professor quickly told me that he had no problem with me working with him for the month! He introduced me to the students working in the lab, telling me that each one of them were working on something separate and they would act as my bosses for the month that I would work with all of them. The students showed me their research and gave me a tour of the lab. They were all PhD students working on their thesis. I couldn’t believe it. Not only did I now have something to do, I was super interested in the research, and I would be working with PhD students. How cool is that! I was ecstatic! This was perfect. I could get back into the science realm and get some much-needed experience in the lab.
This whole last week was definitely an emotional roller coaster, where I needed to keep positive thoughts in order to find an opportunity. While I didn’t always have those positive thoughts, I worked through the negative times in order to return to that more open mindset. I would have never been able to overcome this challenge in the beginning of the semester. From having to navigate to new areas in the city for interviews and calling organizations to discuss possible job opportunities, I was proud of myself. I was communicating effectively in a second language and getting much better at arriving at unfamiliar places even without many directions. My ability to deal with adverse situations has heightened tremendously and I know I couldn’t have done any of that without the many challenges I have overcome in my semester abroad.
After finally securing a job on Wednesday night, I felt so relieved. I started working on Thursday and Friday in the lab and was very happy with the work I would be doing. But there was one more challenge that I would have to face that week. It loomed over my head the next two days. I was dreading this next transition. Leaving my host family. Since our program had ended, everyone had either left, or out of about the 5 of us that decided to stay a little longer, had moved into new apartments. My host family had kindly offered to host me for one more week after the program ended, and I accepted, not wanting to leave this amazing family. But Saturday morning I would have to. I was moving into an apartment with one of the girl’s from my soccer team who lives with her boyfriend. I was excited for this new living situation but also very sad to be leaving my host family. I’ve become so close with them, that it feels like I’m apart of the family now and their home felt like my home.
Friday night I cooked dinner for them all and we did an exchanging of gifts as a sort of ceremonious good-bye. I couldn’t believe that in the morning I would have to pack my bags and really leave this beautiful family. But Saturday morning came. I spent the morning packing my things and in the afternoon my host mom and brother brought me to the new apartment. It’s just a couple blocks away, so the ride was short. As I sat in the back of the car, I could feel the tears coming. We pulled up to the apartment building, got my bags out of the trunk, and went up to the 19th floor where I would now be living. As we knocked on the door, my host mom said they wouldn’t go in. The door opened and I realized that quickly these people who had made such an impression on me in the last 4 months, would be leaving me. They each gave me a quick hug and said goodbye within a matter of seconds. I didn’t even have a chance to let the tears fall. As I shuffled my bags into the new apartment and the door shut, I felt lost, confused. Like I had just arrived in another foreign country and didn’t speak the language. Like I had been dropped off at college all over again. My family was gone. I was by myself now.
That afternoon, I unpacked and settled into my new room. Next to the picture of my family from the States, which has sat on my bedside table the entire 4 months I’ve been in Chile, I put the champagne cork from the bottle I had drank with my host family the night before. My host dad had written all of our names on it and the date. I have two families, now, I thought, as I set it next to the picture frame.
I know I will see them all again before I leave Chile for good, but it has still been a transition to seeing them everyday to now not seeing them at all. Overall, this week has been a week of transition and challenge. I went from taking classes and having a solid support system of my study abroad program and my host family, to now working in a lab with people I don’t know and in a new apartment with a couple that lives a very different lifestyle than my host family. And while all of this is very new and a little scary, I’m excited to make the transition and experience a new way of life in Chile before I leave. I’ve really proved to myself in this week how much I’ve learned since I’ve been down here and I’m ready to continue that growth in the next few weeks.

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Phom yuu tii nii nueng pii leyaow!

Twenty three days on the road, traveling through Nepal and Myanmar, had worn me out.  I walked off the plane in Chiang Mai, ready to go back to my apartment, collapse, and put off unpacking for several days.  Suddenly, I bumped into the backpack of the person in front of me.  Why are we stopped? I just want to leave this airport.  I looked ahead to see why all the other passengers were stopped.  Two hi-so (high society) Thai girls had stopped in front of a completely blank and uninteresting wall to take selfies.  “What’s a ‘selfy’?” you may ask.  Here’s a stunning example:

Max's selfie

I’m getting really good at taking selfies.  And it makes sense, because a day doesn’t pass without my students showing me how its done.

Student selfie

So anyhow, as I stared at these two girls holding up a whole line of people so they could get a new Facebook profile picture ASAP (I mean, its only been two hours since they last updated their prof-pics!), my heart dropped into my stomach.  I’ve made a horrible mistake.  I can’t believe I signed up to live here for another twelve months…

Don’t get me wrong, Thai people are amazing.  On a daily basis, I see simple acts of kindness and general enthusiasm for life that I just don’t see back in the States (Not to mention the cooking…mmmmmm).  But after the last year, I’ve realized there are some aspects of Thai culture I just don’t jive with.

Thai Hilltribe CoffeeFor example, I’m sitting in a cafe right now, which has music playing that is typical of most Thai bars and cafes: lounge covers.  Brittany Spears’ “I’m Not a Girl, Not Yet A Woman” samba-style cover by a female Thai singer is playing as I type this.  There is no reason for this rendition to exist.  If I hear one more samba-style cover of anything, I’m going to have to track down the record label that keeps producing them and sabotage all of their recording equipment.

I know Thai people are creative!  They make amazing art, build amazing temples, and have tons of cool, new, kitschy coffee shops.  So why is a majority of popular music easy-listening covers? My friend aptly described it as “Adult ‘Kids Bop.'”

Now a samba-style-cover of “Norwegian Wood” is playing.  I have to leave.

motorbikesI jump on my motorbike to meet a friend for some street food.  I reach a four-way intersection, where a vehicle coming from each direction has arrived.  We’re all stopped.  We’re all waiting for someone to make a move.  After several big smiles, head nods, and inch-forward battles, I want to reach towards the heavens and scream, “SOMEONE MAKE A DECISION!!”  Today, as with most of the “kindness duels” I encounter in Chiang Mai, the person to make the decision is me: the overly-forward American.  But I’m only considered forward because everyone else is too nice to make the first move.  The politeness of Thai people has turned my once laid back, non-confrontational self into a mover and shaker, and its stressing me out.

I arrive at the Three Kings Monument, where I had arranged to meet a friend, exactly on time.  5:59 PM.  I take a seat on the edge of the sidewalk and watch as several Thai men are playing giant, twenty-foot long drums while groups of monks are cheering for their favorite drums (I will never know what was going on).  Twenty-five minutes later, I’m laying down on the sidewalk, sighing heavily.  “Thai time.”  None of my students come to class on time.  Meetings never start on time.  The listed “Store Hours” of any shop are very loose.  The “Thai time” phenomenon also rubs off on anyone who lives here, myself included. If someone tells you they’ll meet you at 6:00 PM, it means they’ll start to leave their house at 6:00 PM.  Ok, so someone might be very relaxed and are just moseying about their day, but I just lost twenty-five minutes of my life on this sidewalk.  Twenty-five precious minutes.  When my friends arrived, I acted as passive-aggressive as humanly possibly.

So here I am, after an afternoon of activities, walking with a friend to get food, and I’m grumpy and frustrated.

Wait, wait, wait.  This isn’t me.  I’m a relaxed person.  I’m the kind of relaxed that causes past girlfriends to become frustrated that I’m not more concerned with…what we’ll have for lunch, for example.

Let me think for a moment.  Why am I angry?  Well first of all, there was really cheery music playing in a cafe.  They even had a Beatles song thrown in there.  Next, I was stalled for a brief moment by three drivers who were all so nice that they let me cross the intersection first.  Then, I had to sit in a peaceful monument area, watch an odd cultural event, and relax for twenty-five minutes (something I rarely fit into my days).

Whats wrong with me?  These aspects of Thai culture that “I just don’t jive with,” are such small, simple parts of my days.  Are these really the reasons why I’m nervous about living here for another year?  Because of a cheery, kind, and relaxed country of people?  I came here to learn about a new culture.  Instead I’m letting small differences stress me out, and make me into the “Overly-forward American” that I had wanted to briefly escape from by moving here.  Thai culture is so rich, and in one year, I’ve barely scratched the surface.

Oh, and also, my students are way too awesome for me to leave them.

Future leaders of the country

 

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Did I Really Just See That??!!

I haven’t written in a while and I feel like whenever I don’t write for a couple of weeks, I must give an explanation. I love writing the blog and I like making it punctual for you all, so usually when I haven’t written it means something exciting is happening that has made me put off writing. So let me explain myself. Excuse Number 1—I went to Perú for a week. It was one of the most amazing trips I’ve had while down here and was truly an experience to get to know this country. Excuse Number 2—When I returned from Perú, everyone from my program was preparing to leave. With everyone finished with classes, our program had come to an end and so I took the last couple of days to enjoy them with the friends I had made here and that were returning to the States. Excuse Number 3—I had a bit of a personal crisis. I didn’t leave Chile with the rest of my program because I decided that I wanted to stay down here and volunteer for a month. Finding a volunteer program, I started working and had my whole schedule set for the month. Then very abruptly I received an email last Friday informing me that I could no longer work with this organization because they didn’t have any space for me. A little shell shocked, I’ve been frantically trying to find other things I can do for my month down here. I don’t want to go into a lot of detail with this whole “mini crisis”. Although still not solved, I know it is something I will grow from and I will update you all on how it resolves itself.

Now that I’ve given you all a quick update on life, I want to tell you all more about my trip to Perú. There is so much I can say about this trip. This country was so different than Chile, it really shocked me at first. I had been to Argentina and traveled around Chile, but nothing could really prepare me for this. However that being said, I loved how different Peru was from Chile. I loved that you could really see the indigenous roots of the people even in a big city, like Cusco, and that everything was so colorful and antique looking. From the cobblestone streets where little old ladies would sell their scarves they had just weaved in front of you, to the small children running around in brightly colored dresses and coats, this country was truly an experience.

For the entire 6 days we were there, we visited countless sets of ruins. We traveled through the Sacred Valley to visit Macchu Pichu (a must have if you’re going to Peru) and also visited other less known ruins that were just as breathtaking. I could talk for hours about the amazing sites we saw and how much fun it was each day to climb to the top of a mountain and take in the amazing 800-year-old ruins before us. My mind was literally blown everyday by the Incan Empire and how much we can still see of it. I learned a lot and it made me want to learn more about the history of Peru. But when I think back on this trip, there is one moment that really captures my heart. I’m sure most of you will laugh when I tell this story and it will seem so juvenile of me, someone traveling the world, to say this is the moment that they will remember forever in Peru. But this is how we work, I work, the mind works. We remember those corky moments that made us laugh and for some reason or another our heart swelled with happiness so much that we could burst. That’s how I felt when this happened and so I want to tell it to all of you, no matter how corny it may seem.

It was early evening and me and the two girls I had traveled with to Peru had just grabbed a quick dinner off a taco stand in a small town in the Sacred Valley called Pisac. We had spent the day here and after a long 5-hour hike up the mountain, we were all exhausted and ready to eat. (I have to say that the tacos from this stand were literally the best tacos I’ve ever had in my life and I highly recommend people stop in this town simply for these tacos.) Taco in hand, I was walking to the bench where my two friends where eating, when out of nowhere a big furry white and black dog walks by, attached to a leash that is in the hand of a Peruvian man dressed in a red poncho. I started to freak out. There was no doubt in my mind that that dog was an Old English Sheepdog. Perfectly groomed, he looked like he was straight out of a kennel club magazine. Now this may not seem like much to any of you, but I had Old English Sheepdogs growing up and they are absolutely the coolest dogs out there (I may be a little biased). Not only that, but these dogs are rare to see in the States, especially groomed well. To put it in a little perspective, I see about one Old English Sheepdog about every 2 years in the States and out of these, I can count on one hand the amount that I have seem well groomed like this dog was. But here I was in this tiny town in Peru, seeing a perfectly groomed Old English Sheepdog walk down the street. WHAT!!! ????

The first shot of the Old English Sheepdog. I was frantically running while taking this shot, that's why its a little blurry.

The first shot of the Old English Sheepdog. I was frantically running while taking this shot, that’s why its a little blurry.

“Get a camera, get a camera!” I nearly shouted, knowing I had to document this moment.
I quickly realized that I had a camera in my pocket. Shoving my plate of tacos at my friend, I whipped the camera out of my pocket and started rushing down the street that the dog was half way down now. I frantically snapped some shots, but because I was running and it was dark, I couldn’t say they were of high quality. I felt accomplished though. I had documented the moment and I could prove to everyone that I had seen an Old English Sheepdog in Peru. I sat down with my tacos, giddy at what I had just witnessed. I kept saying “Wow! Wow! Did that just happen?” I couldn’t believe it. Had I really seen that? It seemed so unreal to be true.

Another shot I took the first glance I got of the dog. I had stopped at this point and got a little clearer picture.

Another shot I took the first glance I got of the dog. I had stopped at this point and got a little clearer picture.

I turned to my friends after a few minutes of gushing over the crazy sight I had just saw, saying, “You know what would be cool? If he came back. Then I would really know it was real.” About a minute later, I see the same dog turn the corner and walk right towards us!!!! No way! This was too real now. I wasted no time this go around. I took my camera, pulled my friend by the arm to come with me, and told her she was going to take a picture with me and the dog. Again, chasing the owner half way down the street, I tried to catch his attention. He finally turned around and I asked what type of dog he had, fully knowing what breed it was. When he responded that it was Old English Sheepdog, I explained that I had this kind of dog growing up and it was so strange to see this breed in South America. I asked to have a picture. He laughed and said yes.

Right after I asked to have a picture with the dog. I was so giddy and happy I couldn't even focus when my friend said she was taking the picture.

Right after I asked to have a picture with the dog. I was so giddy and happy I couldn’t even focus when my friend said she was taking the picture.
 

After snapping some photos, I said thanks, petted the dog one last time and then headed back down the street. That was the best moment of my life, I thought as I walked away.

This was the last night of our trip in Peru and although I had seen some pretty amazing things—one of the 7 wonders of the World, for goodness sake, Macchu Pichu—this was definitely the highlight of the trip. Seeing not only an Old English Sheepdog in South America, but one that was perfectly groomed, as if it could walk into a dog show at just that moment, was absolutely incredible and topped every ruin we had seen. To put this into perspective for you all, one of my good Chilean friends told me that people in Chile don’t buy their dogs from pet stores, they simply grab them off the street if their kids ask for one for Christmas. This means that pretty much all the dogs here are mixes, not full-bred poodles or Labradors. And this is in Chile, a much more developed country than Peru, meaning that it is even more strange and rare to see such a superbly bred dog here. REALLY??!!! And I had seen maybe the ONLY well bred and groomed dog in the entire country. No joke. It could be. This experience was one for the record books. I can honestly say I don’t think I will ever see that again—an Old English Sheepdog in South America.

The final shot. Literally the best moment of my life. One of the highlights of studying abroad. It's the little moments that count.

The final shot. Literally the best moment of my life. One of the highlights of studying abroad. It’s the little moments that count.
 

Traveling is funny like that, you see things that you would never expect and even though they have nothing to do with the reason you’ve come to this place, it’s the thing that you’ll remember the most about that trip. I’ve found that with a lot of my travels this semester thus far. Although you go to see the sights, and yes you’ll always remember these things, it’s the little things that are so unexpected that will stay with you for life. These are the things that when you look back on the trip you’ll say, “Remember when . . .” And that’s how this moment will be. “Remember when I saw that Old English Sheepdog in Peru . . .”

Because I felt like we couldn't have a post about Peru without a picture of Macchu Pichu

Because I felt like we couldn’t have a post about Peru without a picture of Macchu Pichu

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Mount Takao: Hiking, humidity and house abandonment

Awaking to the chipper, automated voice of a Japanese woman as she announced my train’s arrival at Takao Station, I sleepily looked out the nearest window to find a large stone tengu head, staring defiantly down the platform to my left.

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Primarily known for Yakuo-in, a Buddhist temple dedicated to tengu and other spirits from Japanese folklore, Mount Takao is Japan’s smallest recognized mountain, but nonetheless a very important one.

Since I hadn’t eaten before I embarked on the hour-and-a-half long train ride from Tokyo Station, I decided to remain at the mountain’s base and try some of the local flavor before starting the climb.

Following the town’s humble river, I didn’t have to walk far before I found a surprisingly cheap noodle restaurant, which advertised its fresh tororo.

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A specialty of the region, tororo is a type of Japanese yam that is often served raw and grated with soba noodles, according to the waitress.

After ordering my food, I chatted with the ojiisan smoking a cigarette to my right, first in Japanese, then in English since he was quite fluent.

Apparently, he had worked in Vancouver, Canada for a good portion of his youth, so we reminisced about the Pacific Northwest, particularly the rustic beauty of its scenery and the open-mindedness of its people.

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After finishing up my meal, I said my goodbyes to the waitress and ex-Vancouverite, picked up a walking stick in a nearby souvenir shop, then proceeded up the mountain path.

I had seriously considered also purchasing the shop’s yellow tengu boxer briefs but resisted the urge, mostly for fear of them being seen at an inopportune moment.

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My first memorable sight along the trail was a tiny, trickling waterfall, which had been designated as holy by the Shinto rope that crossed its middle.

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The waterfall proved to be a good preview for what was to come; as with many of Japan’s ancient sites, the sacred spaces throughout Mount Takao all seemed to encourage visitors to maintain a quiet reverence for the timeless perfection of nature.

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It was only by the moment I arrived at the halfway mark, where cable car and lift riders begin their hike, that the tranquility of the mountain path encountered any disturbance.

Due to the nauseating humidity and the claustrophobic amount of people now making their ascent, I then decided it was time to cool down and rehydrate.

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After spending a few minutes drinking tea and patting away some  perspiration with my handkerchief, I resumed my trek up the mountain.

I didn’t have to walk far before crimson lanterns and wooden plaques signifying forgotten families began to line up on both sides of the trail, welcoming me to the entrance of Yakuo-in.

 

After climbing the last of the temple’s ancient steps, I lifted my gaze up to the enormous, winged tengu statues that stood in front of me, cast in iron and looking fierce enough to best any enemy, whether god, demon or man.

 

 

Besides the various depictions of the tengu, there were many intriguing sights at the temple to sate my curiosity.

Although I couldn’t understand most of what was being said, I witnessed part of a tour during which a tengu priest, known as yamabushi, as he told the ancient origin story of Mount Takao with slow, sweeping gestures to a group of elderly Japanese sightseers.

 

I also admired the temple’s orderly line of stone idols depicting former boddhisattvas seated in eternal zazen, as I am oft to do since taking up the practice of meditation.

Eventually, once hunger began to set in again and a cone of vanilla ice cream suddenly appeared at the forefront of my mind, I left the temple and began to hurry up the final path that led to the summit of Mount Takao.

Apparently, I wasn’t the only one craving ice cream as I reached the top to find many exhausted hikers licking their soft serves, talking quietly and enjoying the spectacular view of Tokyo on the horizon.

 

Taking a moment to relax, I bought an ice cream cone of my own, texted friends that I needed to respond to and then decided on my next course of action, which was to walk about eight miles over to the neighboring mountaintop before heading home.

On the way, I took a quick peek in the Visitors’ Center but didn’t find anything particularly interesting besides a butterfly that had landed just outside the door.

Then, about five minutes into walking toward the next peak, I noticed something very peculiar in the woods, lying just off an unmarked trail.

It was an old two-story house, suffering from the trials of age with a few of its windowpanes knocked out, moss growing over its rotting wooden beams and rubbish strewn all across its front porch.

 

It might have been a very comely mountain home, back in its heyday, but clearly something must have happened for it to be left in such abandon.

Perhaps I’ve watched The Goonies one too many times, but mysteries like this always bring out the daredevil in me because as I soon as I laid eyes on that house, I knew I would end up inside; it was simply a question of how I would do it.

 

I walked around the perimeter of the house, weighing different options, and then looked for a place outside to leave my backpack and walking stick; the camera, of course, would be coming with me.

I decided to enter through the second-floor sliding doors, which I could get to by climbing up a rock wall then crossing over to the rain gutter with my right foot first.

Having left my things down by the rock wall, I managed to get onto the gutter with no trouble.

Then, prying the squeaky doors apart with both hands, I emerged into a dark and hideous room, smelling of soggy paper and mold.

 

Everything looked like it had been sifted through by a schizophrenic.

Dust-covered tea cups and plates hid beneath faded newspapers, cotton from a bed comforter lay scattered across the dining room floor and a box full of business cards was situated on the edge of a table.

 

Just under an illegible Japanese script written on the wall, I discovered an antique television face down with its glass screen shattered and spread across the room.

 

 

Then using the camera flash as a flashlight, I unveiled something even more disturbing: a gaping hole in the center of the room where a white bench dangled precariously, barely hanging onto the second floor.

 

This made me think that perhaps the house’s abandonment had something to do with the Great East Japan Earthquake of 2011, but that didn’t quite add up when I discovered other messages written on the walls, as early as 2005.

It really is difficult to imagine anything else that could cause that damage to such a scale.

Whoever these people were, it seemed that they had probably run into financial trouble due to the tax forms I found laying around and the small animal bones left on their largest table.

Having filched some tea cups, two intact black velvet tengu posters, a wooden plaque depicting Mount Takao, a flag for Takao National Park, a Kirin beer mug and a couple of cheap-looking manga, I gathered all my loot on the other table before heading downstairs to see what else I could find.

Besides more tea cups and empty bowls of ramen, I didn’t find much.

I mostly just found it interesting to imagine what the house must have looked like before it succumbed to years of neglect, especially the kitchen which was completely empty except for a few cast iron teapots remaining in the cabinets.

I then returned back upstairs to investigate an especially difficult room to reach: only by means of a single wooden beam crossing over the gaping hole in the floor could I discover what lay inside.

Again, heeding the tantalizing call of adventure, I went for it.

Although the beam often creaked, seeming to bemoan my weight on it, I slowly but surely made my way across.

I didn’t find anything especially interesting except for a couple of pairs of gloves, that looked so strangely ordinary in the otherwise extraordinary house.

 

The work gloves seemed to be waiting for their owners to return and take them out gardening, as if a day had never passed.

The door, leading outside, was still ajar as it might have been on pleasant summer days when the house was filled with people and light and warmth rather than an unbearable emptiness.

 

With my sense of wonder thus extinguished, I wasted no more energy on the place, gathered my belongings, old and new, and left to find lighter experiences.

However, when I checked the time again, I realized that I had spent well over an hour in the abandoned house.

Since I had heard that Lake Sagami was worth seeing from a friend who had recently climbed Mount Takao, I hurried over the vista point before returning to the train station.

 

Perhaps due to the inclement weather, I was unable to locate the lake but the view was majestic nonetheless, reminding me of the mountains depicted in the opening scene from Princess Mononoke.

I also discovered many sculptures chiseled out of wood along the way back down from the lake, one of which was, of course, a depiction of the tengu.

As I walked further down the mountain, reflecting on the luck of my day, I decided that I may as well pay the big-nosed devils some respect before heading home.

So, with my new wooden plaque in tow, I stopped by the temple to drop them a message.

 

With the help of some friendly young Japanese sightseers, I petitioned, “Since my parents are coming to Japan soon, please grant them safe passage. Gods of the mountain, truly, thank you for today!”

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A small taste…

Hello my long-awaiting readers! My deepest apologies for the long delay between this post and the last one. One thing led to another and I found myself so engaged in my life here that every time it crossed my mind that I should be writing more entries I found new things to do. In any regard, I’m going to try to give a recap of some notable past events; no guarantees that it’ll be in the correct order of when they actually took place, or that I will remember everything, but it’s better than nothing, right?

We took a weekend trip to Uruguay that was an absolute blast. We had to cross the Rio de la Plata, which is the river that separates Argentina from Uruguay (remember how I said they call the “dialect” of Spanish here castellano rioplatense? Well that rioplatense part refers to the area around the Rio de la Plata). I had no idea how big this river actually is; from the skinniest part it is about two miles wide but it can reach up to 140 miles wide! It turns out that there are two options to cross it, both of which are by boat. You can take the fast one or the slow one; the fast one crosses the river in about an hour, the slow one takes about 3-4 hours. Going to Uruguay we were on the fast boat, which allowed us to cross the river in no time at all. We visited two towns in Uruguay; the first was a small pueblo called Colonia del Sacramento which is one of the oldest towns in Uruguay. It was founded in 1680 by Portuguese settlers and still has many remnants of its past inhabitants, including the walls and cobblestone streets. It was quite the quaint village, and it was completely dead. Apparently it is a summer vacation town for many Uruguayans and Argentines and because it was winter (and very cold and rainy while we were there!) there were not many people around. However, there were plenty of street dogs! They were quite entertaining and once we got over our original hesitancy about them they turned out to be fun partners. While our group did some silly games on the beach, thanks to staff member Goyo (who is a physical education teacher) the dogs watched us and tried to get involved. They more or less integrated us into their pack as well, which meant that as we were doing a walking tour of the town, they were constantly by our sides and always sought to “protect” us from any threat. This included chasing after and barking at passing cars, and almost getting into some gnarly fights with rival street dogs. They were quite sweet though to us, and even stuck around the hotel so that any time we would leave to go get food or walk around they would be right outside waiting for us. We stayed in a Radisson hotel in Colonia which gave us access to wonderful amenities that we don’t normally experience: for one, I got a full-sized bed, which was a nice change from my single in my host mother’s house. Also, the continental breakfast was to die for; a huge spread with all sorts of fruit, pastries, and most importantly, eggs (Argentines do not eat eggs for breakfast, or have large breakfasts in any sense, so it was a nice piece of home) was waiting for us the next morning.

The next day we took a bus to Montevideo, the capital of Uruguay. Along the way we passed by gorgeous beaches and waterfront apartments. Apparently the city is quite the vacation spot for Uruguayans and Argentines alike who flock to the area during the summer to lie under the sun. In Montevideo we received a walking tour of the city by a guide who was very informative and showed us around the city. To be honest, it very much reminded me of Buenos Aires but a much more relaxed version. In Uruguay, in contrast to Argentina, drivers will actually stop to let you cross the street and the people there were much more friendly and willing to talk to us. Perhaps the fact that Buenos Aires is a big city, like New York or Paris, and bustling with people means that people are too much in a hurry to take the time to talk to foreigners but I certainly felt more at ease and calm in Uruguay. We also got to see the Presidential Executive Tower, which is where the President of Uruguay works. It is quite the sight; it is a modern glass high rise that is in the middle of the main city square, not behind fences or anything! The President of Uruguay, José Mujica, is also an interesting character. A former guerilla fighter, he has rejected any sense of a life of luxury and refuses to live in the presidential palace. Instead, he and his wife live in on a small chrysanthemum farm where they farm the flowers to make money due to the fact that Mujica donates 90% of his salary to charity. He drives a very old Volkswagen beetle and is publically an atheist. Such a thing could never happen in Argentina, a very very Catholic country. In any regard, I would love to spend more time in Uruguay and see more of the country, and of course eat more of the food! I ate my first chivito which is a Uruguayan sandwich that has beef, a fried egg, ham, lettuce, tomatoes and a mixture of other toppings. And it was fantastic!

Moving on, we also had some tango lessons in Buenos Aires that was quite a fun experience. I’m certainly not one to go dancing, but since it was an activity put on by the group and I’m in Argentina I couldn’t pass it up. We went to a dance club held inside an Armenian cultural center where we received lessons by two Argentine tango pros (any by pros, I mean pros, they were unbelievable to watch). I learned the basic tango steps and we all switched partners a bunch to switch up the dancing. I felt as though I was pretty competent at the basic tango steps but trying to do some of the advanced moves that our instructors demonstrated I realized that Yo soy de madera (the Argentine equivalent of saying you have two left feet, it means “I’m made of wood”). After our instructions in a private room we went downstairs to the actual club to watch some regulars dance the tango. The club serves as a local dance venue for people who live in the area and they regularly come to dance. The tango is certainly a beautiful dance and those who were very proficient at it amazed me with how smooth they could move around the dance floor.

I also signed up and attended the rugby game between Argentina and England. While I know nothing about the sport of rugby it was great fun going to a stadium filled with people to watch a sporting event. I made sure to wear blue (to support Argentina of course!) and while I didn’t know what was happening on the field, I made sure to cheer whenever the Argentines were cheering and to throw my hands in exasperation whenever the British scored a point (I’m sure it’s called something else though…). One notable experience from this trip was the reciting of the Argentine national anthem at the beginning of the match. Unlike the US national anthem, which is sung very solemnly by a sole singer while the audience stands in silence, the Argentine anthem is very much a participatory event. Seemingly the whole stadium was jumping up and down and chanting the anthem together which was quite the spectacle to see. To be honest, I rather preferred this performance because it brought the crowd together in support of their team and animated the crowd.

Obviously there is much more that I’ve been doing but as finals are due this week I can’t devote too much time to going over it all. I thought at the very least I owed you all a little taste of what I’ve been doing and I will certainly elaborate more upon my return to the States. Cheers!

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That One Time in Chile . . .

With classes finished and my soccer season with the Chilean team I’ve been playing with winding down, not much has happened in the last week. So I don’t have a grand adventure to tell you all about or something that has radically changed my life in the last week. But as my program is about to finish, and I’m preparing to leave for my last trip in Peru, I have begun to reflect on all of my experiences here in South America. I know I have written a lot about the experiences where I have learned something about myself or things that have made me look at the world in a different way; but for this blog, I want to tell you all about the experiences that I now look back on and laugh. These are the experiences that I will bring back with me to the States and I’ll say, “That one time in Chile . . .” And when I’m with a group of friends and they ask how living in a foreign country was, these are the stories I will tell them.

(I’m going to call these stories los cuentos, which is the word for a small tale in Spanish.)

El Cuento 1: I was driving to one of my soccer games with my friend Jenny and her boyfriend, Felix, was driving the car. We were in a VERY old car, mind you, and it was having a hard time starting. About every 100 feet, Felix had to restart the car and I wasn’t seeing us getting to this game any time soon. I couldn’t quite figure out what Jenny and Felix were discussing in the front of the car but all of sudden Jenny turned to me and said: “Vamos.” So I got out the car, all my gear for the game in my hands, expecting to run to the nearest bus stop to try and catch public transport to the field. Jenny went to the back of the car, which confused me at first, but I just assumed that she was grabbing her things out of the trunk. But instead of popping the trunk, she starts pushing the car. Oh, so we’re pushing the car, I realize. I get behind the car now and start to push. After about 30 seconds of pushing I realize that we’re pushing the car to the nearest gas station about 3 blocks down the road because it’s not the car ignition that is bad, but rather that it has no gas! About 3 minutes into the push, a Chilean comes over to us and helps us start pushing. He doesn’t say a word to either one of us but just joins in. By the third block we are all tired and start looking at each other and laughing as we take turns to rest. As we push the car into the gas station parking lot, the Chilean man who was helping us says Chao and we thank him. Jenny looks back at me and in Spanish says, “Well at least we’re warmed up now.”

El Cuento 2: Speaking in a second language is bound to have its mishaps. From misunderstanding words to not having any idea what is being said, there has definitely been some funny situations I have found myself in. One of the most memorable though was one day after I came back from class and was eating lunch with my host mom. We were discussing what I learned in the class that day and I proceeded to tell her how I had had a lecture in children’s healthcare in Chile. She asked what the presentation was about and I told her how we learned one of the leading causes of death in children in Chile was cancer. “Qué triste,” she remarked. She then started to tell me a long, drawn out story that of course I couldn’t fully understand. She was pointing at the ceiling a lot and I thought she was saying something about her mother’s sister. From the few words I caught I thought she was talking about how her mother’s sister had cancer and was now in “el cielo” (heaven). As I tried to relate this to my host mom, she looked at me very confused. After several minutes of discussion and trying to clarify the story, I realized she was talking about the little girl that lived on the floor above us who had just been diagnosed with cancer. Well, that was a little different from what I got. I proceeded to tell my mom what I had thought she said. As soon as she realized how I had understood the story, we both laughed for about 3 minutes straight. Over the next couple of weeks, my host mom continued to poke jokes at me about “la tia que vive en el cielo.”

El Cuento 3: Early on in the semester, I went out with some friends for a spontaneous night of salsa dancing. I was having a great time dancing with some local Chileans and they were all super nice to me, teaching me the different steps of salsa. One of the guys I danced with, who was probably the only one within 20 years of age to me, seemed to really like me. He kept coming up to my table to ask me to dance again and again. He was really cute and I ended up giving him my number at the end of the night. When we walked out of the club though, I admitted to my friends that I hoped he didn’t call, simply because he talked so fast that I couldn’t understand a word he was saying. A couple of weeks later, I noticed that I kept getting a call from someone in my phone named Frank. Not recognizing the name, I thought it was just a contact that had already been in my phone before I received it and that if I just ignored the calls they would eventually stop. One day when I was eating lunch with my host family, the phone rang again, and Frank’s name appeared on the screen. My host mom urged me to answer it and so I did. After about 2 minutes of me trying to figure out who the voice on the other side of the line belonged to, I realized that I was talking to the guy from the salsa club. We arranged to go out that night. However that night was Easter mass, which I had not realized would go so long. After the mass ended about an hour after I expected, I called Frank and told him I was too tired to go out that night but we could do it another time. The next day he texted me asking me to meet him in the metro just for like 15 minutes to talk. My personal red flags went up. This was strange that he just wanted to meet up (very late at night, I might add) and just “see” each other. I told him I couldn’t but every night for the next week, I received the same text. Each time I replied no, now very turned off by this guy and not wanting to hang out with him at all. Over the next couple weeks, I would continuously receive calls from Frank and even text messages that said “Llamame” (Call me.). After a couple weeks of not receiving any calls or texts, I thought he had finally got the message that I didn’t want to hang out. But no. A casual Tuesday, riding home from class on my bike, I heard my phone ringing for a solid 20 minutes straight. When I got back to my apartment, I checked my phone and saw that I had ten missed calls from Frank and about 3 text messages all saying “Llamame.” This was getting out of hand. I had a bit of a stalker on my hands and it needed to stop. Although I felt extremely rude, upfront, and quite honestly a little mean, I proceed to send him a text message saying, “No quiero pasar tiempo contigo ahora o más tarde. Para por favor. Gracias.” (I don’t want to hang with you now or later. Stop, please. Thanks.) He replied back saying, “Ok. Sorry.” I’m not translating this. That is exactly what he said. I never received another call or text message from Frank again.

El Cuento 4: One afternoon my friend and I decided we wanted to get out and go to the Pablo Neruda’s house that was located in Santiago. When we got there, we decided to take the tour in English, simply because the next Spanish tour wasn’t for another 45 minutes. We enjoyed the tour and afterwards my friend and I were standing at the front of the museum, deciding what we wanted to do next when a couple guys from our tour came up to us and introduced themselves. They told us how they were all traveling around South America, and we told them that we were studying in Santiago for the semester. We got to talking for a couple minutes and when we asked what they were doing with the rest of their day, they asked if we wanted to accompany them to a fair that they had heard about. We said yes, and continued to walk across the city with these boys. After a couple of hours, we found ourselves in a famous bar in Chile where they primarily serve a Chilean alcoholic drink called Terremotos. This place was unlike any I had ever seen before. The definition of a hole in the wall. The floor was dirt, the tables had food on it half eaten, with no waiters in sight to clear it off. We ordered drinks and since the place was so crowded (it was only 3 in the afternoon) we stood in a corner next to a half eaten order of French fries and empty plastic glasses. We were conversing with our new friends when a clown came over to us and asked if we wanted a balloon animal. Yes, you heard right. A clown. In a bar. We kindly declined. After about 2 minutes he returned, this time with a man dressed in attire that looked as if he had just come from a war in the 1800s. What was going on??? These costumed men continued to gush over me and my friend, telling us how “preciosa” we were. They asked how we knew all these men that we were with. We thought it would be funny to make up a story that two of the men in our group were dating. This freaked the clown and military man out and then continued to back away from us while still trying to converse with me and my friend. After we finished our drinks we had to inform the two costumed men that we were leaving. After many comments about how beautiful we were and many kisses on the cheek, we finally escaped from the bar. As we walked into daylight my friend quickly informed me that I had clown makeup smeared on my cheek. After wiping off the white cream on my face, we said goodbye to our new friends and walked home, reminiscing about the funny situation we had all just experienced.

El Cuento 5: Looking back on this experience, I would definitely constitute it as one of the strangest experiences I have had. With the same friend from the story above, we decided to go to a fair on the weekend that we had heard about. We weren’t quite sure what the fair was for but once we got there, we saw there was a lot of food, dance and music performances, and some traditional Mapuche ceremonies. The first strange thing we saw there was a hut in the ground where people would crawl out of, in tiny bikinis and covered in sweat. They would kiss the ground and start crying, hugging the people around them. Me and my friend, Nadeen, didn’t really understand and even asking a few bystanders what the scene was about, all we really found out was that it had something to do with the Mapuche culture. (The Mapuche are the native people of Chile). In the afternoon there was a workshop being held called Bio Dance and me and Nadeen thought we would check it out before we left. We walked into a crowded room where everyone was huddled in a circle. The teacher turned some music on and we started to walk around in a circle, smiling brightly, as she told us. Through an hour and a half class, I did some of the strangest things I have ever done, with strangers no less. For one minute I had a boy touch me all over my body, breathing on my hair and running his hands over my arms, legs and feet. I continued to do the same to him. The point of the exercise, I’m still unclear on. Another exercise involved the class splitting up into girls and boys and each of us bowing to each other to symbolize how we respected the other sex. At the end of the class we went around to everyone, hugging and kissing one another as if we were family and whispering in each other’s ears what we appreciated about one another. Having to tell a stranger what you appreciate about them, in another language, was quite a challenge. I would say things like your smile, your hair, your love. And at the end of every very awkward interaction, we would tell each other “Te quiero” o “Te amo” (I love you). Leaving the room, I felt very uplifted and like it was one of the coolest things I had ever experienced. Now looking back on it, I simply laugh and ask myself what I was thinking. What a strange hour and a half I lived where I was crowded into a tiny room with at least 35 other Chileans, kissing them and touching them. Whispering things in their ears as if they were my mother. What can I say, they’re a little more affectionate with strangers down here.

There are so many more cuentos I could tell you all, but this blog post is becoming very long and I’m sure you all are tired of listening. These cuentos, I believe are the real experiences that define my time here. They’re the times that although they may have seemed insignificant when they transpired, they are the things that I will look back on and laugh. I will look back and think, “Wow, I miss that time. I wish I could do it again.”

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Leaving Quito, Trip to the Volcano, and Heading to the Galapagos

I had a great last week in Quito. While much of the rest of friends in my program headed to the adventure or resort town of Banos, a few hours from Quito, I decided to stay back and enjoy Quito while working on my independent study project for the next semester. My project for Fall 2013 at UPS is based on my study abroad trip here in Ecuador, studying peoples attitudes and the sustainability of garbage as well as the collection of trash in Ecuador. I had planned a visit to the headquarters of Emaseo in Quito, their garbage collection service. Located in Western Quito, I took a short cab ride over to their facility and they had much security to get in. I explained to the guards that I was doing a project for my school on Emaseo and filled out an official document to gain entry. On their site, they have a small, modern looking building for office, and I would later learn that their dumps, which they have three of located strategically in the outskirts of Quito, are not nearby. I checked-in, explained my story again, and given a woman to talk to, Claudia, their special projects organizer. I asked her many questions about new initiative that Emaseo has in Quito and received all kinds of flyers and places to go online, along with her email for any further questions that I have. This was a very successful visit and I ended up walking home because it really was not that far and wanted to stop by my favorite lunch spot.

The next day, I was talking to my host family and they said that something I should not miss is the Teleferiqo, a cable car attraction that scales up the side of the Pichincha mountain to the West of Quito. My Ecua-dad drove me up the steep hill of the cable car area, a struggle for his 1981 Fiat F50, only a 1.6 liter, but still much appreciated. They have a fairground in the area as well with kids attractions and carnival games. I hiked up, paid my fare for the cable car ride, and got in line, very excited to see the city from above. While waiting, I saw a few people with their mountain bikes, attaching them to the cable cars because there is a trail to take on the way down, I was very jealous of them! Anyways, the way up on the Teleferiqo was amazing and I could see more and more of the city every meter we climb. Getting to the top, there was a visitor center, and at 4100 meters, or over 12000 feet, it was somewhat hard to breathe. I headed on one of the numerous trails that they have up there to take as many pictures of Quito down below as I could. I could see some of the other mountains in the distance and a few similar places that I had visited in the past few weeks. There was also a beautiful, small church up there that I went in and saw a few people praying in. The Teleferiqo was truly a great experience. I took a bus back to central Quito, after first getting on the wrong one, and walked the short distance back to my host familys house, with them ready for dinner as I returned.

We had to get up very early the next day to go on a long ride to the Chimborazo volcano, about 4 hours south from Quito. It was a nice ride filled with Ecuadorian snacks, and we arrived in the indigenous community that we would be staying the night at the base of the volcano, and we picked up our guide Maria Jacqueline with and her cute 1 year old daughter, Carly, on her back. She would be our guide for the Polylepis forest, about half an hour closer to the volcano. The Chimborazo area is considered a Paramo ecosystem, a desert-like region with spotted shrubs and high endemism, meaning these plants are generally found nowhere else. Our bus took us off-road to a dry dusty area and finally arrived where we would be hiking. When we got out of the bus, it was the most wind that I had ever experienced and my hat instantly flew away, later to be found by my friend Ben, luckily. Even so, we hiked an hour through the rocky area and arrived at the small Plylepis forest on one side of a large rockform. It was not as windy here, blocked by the rock, but very high up and also hard to breathe. The Polylepis trees are sometimes also known as paper trees because their bark resembles paper. We did not sede too many animals on this hike besides one bird because it is hard for them to adapt to this environment. We hiked back, rode back to the samll farming community where we would be staying and got ready for dinner. We were in a very small town where everyone knew each other and the elder women prepared us a great meal with chicken. After we were done, they told us that we would be trying the delicacy of known as cuy, or guinea pig. They had a pen of a bunch of guinea pigs and we picked one out and saw the woman prepare it for the fire, something not so elegant and I will not describe in detail here. They were all very happy to be eating this special treat and roasted it on the fire for about 40 minutes with one elderly lady manually turning it to perfection. She cut the small amount of meat there was into many section and we all, excluding the one vegetarian, tried a portion. I got a few ribs, and personally, I did not love it and this was sort of the common consensus among our group. After this, they turned on some music and taught us some indigenous dances and some of the local girls asked me to dance with them which was a very fun experience. Once it was time to go to our cabins, we collected sticks for fire wood and started a large fire to keep us warm. This was successful and a great end to a long day. We got up early the next morning for breakfast before our climb up the mountain. Our bus took us the the first refugee camp and some of our group was not feeling that well so they unfortunately stayed behind. We had two guides with us for the hike to point out various wildlife and information about the area. It was once again very windy and somewhat cold at this high altitude. We walked for a while and finally came upon a cave, roughly 5000 meters, or 15000 feet up, that the guides told us used to be used as a temple for sacrifices. They also explained that this is the tallest mountain in Ecuador and it can be said that the snow-capped top is the highest in the world as it is furthest for the Earths center because we are close to the Equator. After this cave, it was mostly downhill, but very hard on our knees. We could see far into the distance where we would be eating lunch and I was happy each time I would look and it was closer. We saw a couple packs of alpacas on the way down as well as a sole tree which has apparently been the source of much hope for the indigenous and is somewhat famous. After our long hiked, we got to the lunch spot, a beautiful lodge with a large window looking out at the volcano. We had a hearty meal, much deserved after the long hiking expedition and then we were on our way back to Quito in the bus. Our bus driver decided for some reason to go a different way than came and we ended up back in Quito a bit late.

The next week would be our last week of classes in Quito. On the Tuesday, the much anticipated Ecuador vs. Argentina soccer match was in Quito at the Olympic Stadium and we all very much wanted to go. We went to the central area of Quito where the stadium is located and tried very hard to scalp ticket along with one of our advisers from IES and they were all way too expensive for our budget, so we decided to go home and watch it there with our families instead, which was still very fun. At the end of the week, we had tests and papers for our Ecuadorian Ecosystems and Spanish classes, so we had to study a decent amount, and then it would be time to head off to the Galapagos.

We woke up very early once again, a common theme here, to catch our bus to the airport so we could come to the Galapagos. Our plane first made a stop in Guayaquil, the largest city in Ecuador south of Quito, and then took us to the airport on San Cristobal, at the capital of the Galapagos, Puerto Baquerizo Moreno. We are staying here for three weeks, with at the end a boat Island Hopping tour around the Galapagos Islands. We went to GAIAS (Galapagos Institute for the Arts and Sciences), Universidad de San Franciscos campus here in the Galapagos Islands. We received an orientation and general information about our stay here, and then our hot families picked us up. My family is my host mom and dad and their two boys, Eric, aged 15, and Anthony, aged 19. This is great to have host brothers, and great for my Spanish as nobody in their family speaks any English, however they are apparently learning. Spanish here is spoken very fast and with an accent that I have never heard before, so I often have to ask them to repeat themselves. Our second day we had a free day to explore and we hit the beach across the street from our school, Playa Mann, over looking the boats in the perfect-blue water of the bay. It is a small town that can be walked in about 20 minutes, so it is easy to get around, especially compared to Quito.

On Monday our class begun with our professor, Diego. Our class is on the Galapagos Ecology, however we are first covering Social and Biological Evolution, very related to the study of the islands here. I love learning all about this new information to me and very relevant to where we are living. Each day this week, the first week of class here, we are discovering a new beach such as La Loberia, where we snorkeled with turtles, as well as Playa Corolla, and Tijeretas, the bay where Darwin first came when we arrived at in the Galapagos, which overlooks the famous diving spot, Kicker Rock. On the beaches as well as the town square, sea-lions often take over and there are sometimes hundreds in the area, playing, basking in the sun, and making interesting noises. This are great animals to watch and learn about, however do not smell too great. I still cannot believe I am here in the Galapagos, and the nature is unbelievable, but I am definitely enjoying every second of it and will be sad to leave. I have already seen and learned about many of the lizards, finches, infamous blue-footed boobies, Galapagos sea gulls, poisonous apple trees, orchid flowers among others. There are still many things I have planned for my time here in the Galapagos and I will keep you updated.
MORE TO COME!

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The End of a Semester. The Beginning of Something New.

I’m writing this blog post just one hour before my last class of the semester. It seems crazy that in just under a couple hours I will officially be able to say I finished a semester in Chile. Although my program won’t end for a couple more weeks, the 5th of July to be exact, I will be done with all my work for classes here after today. Looking back on the semester, I can see how much I’ve grown from my first day here. Over the last week or so, I’ve really noticed these changes and started to reflect on how I felt in those first few weeks and how I feel now.
Language is the obvious area where I have noticed myself grow. When I first got here, I could understand more or less. But a lot of times I really struggled to know what was going on, especially in my house during meal times. In class when I didn’t understand what the teacher said and when all the other students would nod their head with the look on their faces that they had understood perfectly well what had just transpired, I wouldn’t speak up and say that I didn’t understand. Even though I realized that sometimes in classes in English, I would need to ask questions to clarify, I felt that if I asked a clarifying question, I would come off as stupid. But now, I don’t hesitate to ask a question if I don’t understand a word or need more explanation. Although I’ve noticed I need this explanation less and less, because my listening skills have improved immensely, I no longer have a fear to admit I have no idea what’s going on. I know that if I speak up, I will learn something new and also feel more included in the conversation.
Along with my newfound acceptance to ask questions, I’ve noticed that I no longer have a fear to speak the language, especially in front of a group. During orientation, I basically said absolutely nothing when we were together as a group, scared that I would make mistakes, and knowing that my Spanish was far worse than a lot of the group. In classes, I wouldn’t say much and for presentations I would be extremely nervous, practicing so much and still having butterflies in my stomach when I actually had to present. Now, I talk in all my classes a lot and really like participating. The last couple of presentations I had, I noticed that while I was still a little nervous right before I went up, I could speak fairly fluently with little practice and I felt much more confident about my speaking skills in general. This really showed when we had an oral test the other day where we received a topic 5 minutes before we would have to present on it. With three professors sitting in front of me, ready to evaluate every mistake I made, it seemed like a really intimidating situation; but I answered all the questions more or less seamlessly and walked out of the room feeling overwhelming confident about my performance. I realized that I no longer have to think about how to conjugate my verbs or think long and hard about how to say something, but rather only what I want to say. Such a difference from the beginning of the semester! Obviously, I still have a lot to work ahead to become fluent in Spanish, but the improvement I have seen over the semester has been outstanding.
With this newfound confidence in language, I’ve noticed that my confidence in everything in my life has boosted. When having to communicate in a second language with people you don’t know, I feel like you really have to put yourself out there and really embrace all your failures and mistakes. At the beginning of the semester and even back at Puget Sound, I would consider myself an outgoing person but I wouldn’t necessarily be extremely talkative around someone I didn’t know very well. For example, at a party or an event where social mixing is expected, I wouldn’t go up to random group of people and introduce myself and attempt to make friends and interact. This Saturday though, I went to birthday party of one of the girls on my soccer team and I didn’t really know anyone. Yes, there were a few other girls from my team there, but for the first hour or so it was all people I didn’t know. Usually, I wouldn’t even go to one of these parties alone, and second of all I wouldn’t take the initiative to talk to people I didn’t know, especially when they all knew each other already. However, I took no hesitation to introduce myself to almost everyone at the party and converse with several different groups of people. It ended up being one of the best and most memorable nights I have had in Chile. It was a night where I really saw how much I have grown in my time here and was able to reflect on some of the great friends I have made here as well.
As my classes begin to come to an end and my program winds down, all my friends are getting ready to enjoy their last couple of weeks in Chile and then head home to the States. However, earlier in the semester, I decided that I wanted to really take advantage of my time here and thus, I have decided to stay in Chile for an extra month after my program ends, hoping to get a volunteering job in a health center or hospital to learn more about the treatment of patients here. Over the past couple of weeks, I have been emailing different organizations and hospitals furiously to see how and what I could do during my month here. While I haven’t found anything concrete yet, I’m hopeful that something amazing will come and that this month will allow me to grow and learn even more.
The transition from classes to working will be interesting one. I will be moving out of my host family’s house in about 2 and half weeks, which I am absolutely not excited for. While I will be moving into the house of one the girls on my soccer team, which I think will be a very fun experience, I’ve become very close to my family here and I’m very sad to have to leave them. I’m sure that we will still get together during my time here, but it will be a change to not see them every day. Also as all my friends from my program leave to go back to the States, I feel like I will lose a little of the support system that I have built while I’ve been down here. As they leave, I’m hoping that I will be able to weave myself even more into the Chilean culture, as I won’t have my fellow gringos to remind me of my American culture constantly. This month will bring a lot of new challenges, but I’m ready to face them with my new confidence, not only in the language, but in myself as well.

Watching one of the soccer games with my Chilean friends, Caro and Jenny.  Through these friends, I've learned a lot about myself and gained the confidence to converse in a second language and be more open in social situations.

Watching one of the soccer games with my Chilean friends, Caro and Jenny. Through these friends, I’ve learned a lot about myself and gained the confidence to converse in a second language and be more open in social situations.

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An afternoon in the ancient city

Before I started taking Japanese culture classes at Puget Sound, it was hard for me to imagine Kamakura without calling to mind scenes from the samurai revenge tales I used to read as a young teen, many of which were set in the former shogunate capital.

Seeing it today, I understood how in Kamakura, as in many historically significant Japanese cities, hordes of hasty sightseers seem to push time ever forward with their very presence.

Yet in a few small pockets, where crowds are not, time feels at a perfect standstill.

Alone with the ancient places, imagining the monks who used to bow and pray there, the samurai who used to pass through red torii to pay homage to their gods before battle, my mind feels free enough to forget what Japan is and consider what it used to be.

 

However, at the first stop of my trip with fellow IES Tokyo students, which was ironically a Zen temple known as Enkaku-ji, I discovered this was a difficult state to attain.

The temple grounds were beautiful, full of eroding, moss-covered bodhisattva icons, immaculate gardens and humble shrines, but it was hard not to misstep and nearly clip someone’s shoulder with the amount of people shuffling throughout every space.

In the cemetery, I was particularly struck by the “triforce” symbol which adorned many of the headstones and nearby roof tiles.

 

As a huge fan of Nintendo’s popular series, The Legend of Zelda, which features the triforce as an object of immense power, I was overjoyed to see so many of them in one place.

“Holy triforce!” I said as I saw this one in particular.

 

Needless to say, many jokes about finding the entrance to “The Water Temple” were promptly made.

Later on, I found out that the triforce was the symbol chosen to signify the family who built Enkaku-ji.

My favorite moment occurred while passing through a quiet garden at the top of the temple grounds, where there were many tiny shrines and blooming flowers to admire.

On my way out, what I had assumed to be merely a couple of tree stumps at first glance turned out to be beautiful carvings of some bodhisattvas.

 

Something about their minimalistic, preserved natural beauty really struck me, much more so than any other bodhisattva icons I’ve seen elsewhere in Japan.

Then, drawn down the hill by a thick waft of incense, I stopped by a small temple on the way back to our bus where a monk was leading a Buddhist service.

 

Having ten minutes to spare, I watched and admired their solemn procession, without knowing what was being chanted or what it meant.

But most of all, it was quiet and that was what I felt I needed at the time, after a morning of such commotion.

After a quick bus ride, we arrived in central Kamakura where most of us split off into our respective groups of friends and headed off to lunch.

Thinking of our wallets more than our palettes, we chose a place off of the main drag where we were (miraculously) able to purchase a meal for under $10.

I enjoyed a full plate of delicious fried rice for $7 while my friends, primarily, bought ramen and curry.

Our stomachs full but not full enough, we got some ice cream and then checked out a few random shops.

 

The most notable place we visited was a top-tier soap shop where we tried out their squishy, gelatinous soap which somehow felt more effective than any regular soap I’ve ever used.

 

It being Father’s Day on the June 16th, I also began window shopping for something my host father might want around the area.

Eventually, with the help of my Japanese friend Yuna, I decided on some sleek but masculine red and black chopsticks, handmade in Kamakura.

 

Not long after, it was time for us to visit Kamakura’s most renown monument: daibutsu or “Great Buddha.”

Naturally, we had to take both a normal and silly group picture before we even reached the steps.

I think the falsely projected weather report of a typhoon went to our heads because everyone seemed much giddier than usual, even for a beautiful sunny day.

Maybe the Great Buddha simply decided to bless our visit with good weather for the day.

The sheer, awesome size of this Buddha was enough for me to remember it as one of the more impressive monuments I’ve ever seen; his face alone is about 9-feet-wide.

 

I made sure to submit my offering, bow and pray earnestly for enlightenment before I headed back to the bus.

Finally, we reached our final stop at Hase-dera Temple, featuring mysterious cave shrines, vivid flowers and beautiful hilltop views of the entire area.

 

First, I shambled around the opening shrine area and perused the iconography, looking for something new to learn about.

 

I found this, unfortunately without finding out what it represented, but I would take a guess that it has something to do with walking the Eightfold Path, as Shakyamuni Buddha once did.

“You have much to learn, young grasshopper.”

 

I couldn’t help but think of that line when I met this not-so-young-or-little grasshopper in the garden.

Then, as I began climbing up the steps to the temple’s topmost site, I noticed many jizo statuettes along the way.

 

These ones in particular reminded me of the cute, bobble-headed forest spirits, also known as kodama, from Hayao Miyazaki’s acclaimed environmental fantasy, Princess Mononoke.

However, further up the steps, I found many of the statuettes in perfect formation, which struck me as vaguely unsettling and creepy.

By the time I reached the top though, I was relieved to find a mist machine and a row of vending machines to settle my dehydrated delirium.

Peeling away from the group, I took some time to appreciate the neighboring flowers which were so bright that they seemed as if they would be more at home in Alice in Wonderland than in real life.

Circling around the temple’s archaic rotating barracks, the flowers formed a stunning wall of purples, pinks and blues.

 

Before heading to the gift shop, we all met up again to pass through the temple’s cave shrines.

 

Although the entrance was guarded by a fierce, fiery oni, or “demon,” icon, we ventured inside to find a variety of holy deities from the Buddhist pantheon.

Having to crouch down through most of the tunnels, I was reminded how small people must have been when they started using them for worship thousands of years ago.

The idols looked old and the cave itself smelled even older.

Rainwater dripped down through the cracks of the rocks and dribbled over many of the icons, given them a worn but smooth appearance.

As we emerged into the sunlight again, we were disappointed to have forgotten how hot it had been before we entered the cool dampness of the cave.

So without further ado, we returned to the bottom and browsed around the gift shop.

Since one of my friends is technologically inept and therefore difficult to reach, I decided to write him a postcard and correspond that way instead.

 

As an admirer of all things kawaii from Japan, I thought he would appreciate a postcard depicting this cute jizo statue from the temple.

Strangely enough, just as we got on the bus and started heading back toward Tokyo, rainclouds rolled into the bay and delivered a downpour.

Maybe the Great Buddha really had blessed us after all, just so that we could see him in all his glory, with the sun projecting halos behind his back.

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Witnessing Life

I have had a life changing experience this week. Not that this whole trip hasn’t been life changing, but I haven’t stopped thinking about this event since it happened and I can’t wait to share it with all of you. Part of the reason I chose to come to Santiago specifically was because Puget Sound has an affiliation with an exchange program here that has a program focused on health. My program—IES—offers a Spanish class for health practitioners, teaching us the vocabulary we would need to know for a hospital setting, and also a class with observations in local hospitals. About half way through the semester, we started the observations, going to various locations and departments to get a feel of how the health system works here in Chile. Already I have had some amazing experiences with this observation, seeing a gastric bypass surgery and a removal of a gallbladder, learning about the challenges that clinics in poorer areas in Santiago must face, and many more. This week was my last observation and while I was very sad to see it end, I was extremely excited for the observation that I had—labor and delivery.
The observation was in a public hospital, which is very distinct from the private system where I had done most of my observations beforehand. While the private hospitals pretty much resemble the health care we have in the States, the public system feels like it is from a totally different country. With little resources, medical professionals, and money to improve the facilities, the wait times for these hospitals are extremely long, the number of beds limited, and the overall healthcare poorer in general. Although I couldn’t wait to see a life birth and get to know the labor and delivery unit, I was more excited to see the differences between the public and private system.
As soon as we got there, the head midwife walked us around the unit, showing us where the patients check in, the beds for the women in labor, the delivery room, recovery room, and the room for the newborn babies. Although I loved seeing the stark differences between this facility and the facilities I had seen in the private healthcare system (the thing I had been most excited for), I felt an interest spark in the birthing process. It really hit me when we walked into the newborn room, seeing the babies sleeping peacefully, bundled in colorful blankets in beds that looked like they were designed for a little girl’s doll. I could stay there all day, watching their little chests move up and down, their mouths open wide for a yawn, and their little fingers coddling the edges of the blanket. The newness of their life striked me. Only a few hours old, they represented something new, exciting, and fresh; a change in the lives around them. I was beginning to fall in love.
In the morning we watched the consultorios where the doctors see patients from the emergency room. With cases from infections to problems with the pregnancy to appendicitis, there was a wide variety to see and learn. Some med students took us under their wings, telling us about the medicine behind each case after the patient left. I was learning a lot about the different cases that this hospital saw and the many types of things that can happen when a women becomes pregnant. It was a very interesting morning, but I couldn’t help but want to see a birth. I asked the med students what we needed to do in order to ensure we witnessed a delivery. They took us over to the labor area and we asked the midwives to tell us when a birth was happening.
After lunch, the midwives told us to hang out in the labor room, saying that a few women were close to giving birth. Within our first 10 minutes of being in the room, a woman shouted that she needed to push and they quickly rushed her to the delivery room. As we shuffled down the hall, I was filled with excitement. I was going to witness a real, LIVE, birth! How many people get to do that in their lives?
Once the patient was on the table and the midwife was ready in her gown with gloves and mask on, the midwife instructed the mother-to-be to push. In just a few seconds I could see the head of the baby between the mother’s legs and with each push it came closer and closer. I became completely overwhelmed at what I was witnessing. I was seeing life—LIFE—come into the world. The mother continued to push and as the head emerged I felt like I could almost cry. The midwife pulled the baby out as soon as the head fully emerged, holding the child in her arms until it cried. With one look at her baby, the mother starting crying too. She turned to the father, kissed him, and then took the baby from the midwife’s hands. I felt so overly happy. This couple’s life had just completely changed. They now had a new child, a tiny beautiful baby that they had created. A baby that they waited 9 months for and now was sitting and breathing in their caring arms.
This whole experience, as I’m describing it probably sounds cheesy and cliché, but I simply have no words to describe what I saw. While the actual process itself was much more grotesque than I first thought, the experience of watching a birth and feeling the emotions run through me, was the most beautiful thing I had ever experienced or witnessed in my entire life. My whole world seemed to turn upside down in the most refreshing way possible. It was as if the world had split in two and I was now seeing the inner core and with simply one glance, could understand everything. Witnessing a child come into the world, seemed to put everything in perspective.
Over the course of the afternoon I watched two more births, each one making me more excited and curious than the last. Although I had never thought about going into this type of medicine before, with each birth I began to fall more and more in love. While most people think of doctors as people who save lives, midwives and the doctors who deliver babies give a totally different meaning to the word—people who give life. I began to think how amazing it would be every day to witness life coming into the world, one of the most joyous occasions in a mother’s life. It seemed unreal that someone could get paid to not only witness but to help this process that I had found so profoundly beautiful.
The days that followed the observation I continued to think on the births that I had witnessed. I couldn’t stop thinking about them, acutally. With every blank space, I thought of those tiny bodies, emerging from the women. The images ran through my head at all hours of the day and every bone in my fiber told me that I needed to go back to witness some more. I had fallen in love.
The few short hours I had been in labor and delivery seem to define my experience here. I went to a place that was totally foreign to me, hoping to learn something new. The things I saw changed my entire life, putting everything into perspective and making me realize a passion that I never knew I had. After this observation, I’ve decided that while I still want to keep an open mind of what I will do in medicine, I definitely want to explore this beautiful process of birth and how it is performed and perceived in different countries. I’ve known for a while that I wanted to take at least a year off between college and med school and while I’ve explored a few options I don’t have anything set in stone. After this observation though, I’ve decided that I want to look for an opportunity where I can go and learn about the delivery process in different countries, and possibly even work in a clinic or hospital with pregnant women. This experience has completely altered my world and I wish I could explain it in more elegant and precise words but the excitement that overtakes me when I think about what I saw, hinders me from explaining it at all. I’ve attempted to explain it here, but the true reality only lives in my heart. A passion has been born.

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