One Meatball

Here is one of my students who I affectionately call Mr. Ramone because he fancies himself as one of them. He’s performing at our school assembly de cantantes today. About fifteen of my seniors, some in pairs and some solo, bravely got up in front of a rowdy audience and belted out a song or two. If that’s not exciting enough, Dan was the headliner, making his concert debut with lots of fanfare. He opened the event with Victor Jara’s Te Recuerdo Amanda and yet again stirred emotions with his beautiful rendition. He followed with One Meatball after an elegant introduction in Spanish about its significance of scarcity and poverty during the depression era.

Meanwhile, I’m riding high on waves of appreciation and admiration for the talent and courage of today’s artists, Dan included. As I witnessed my students standing on the stage baring their souls I was struck by how multifaceted they are. I have to preface all of this by saying that there are days when my enthusiasm wanes considerably. Teaching 400 seniors in their last months of high school doesn’t always bring out their best attributes—or mine for that matter. Senioritis reigns. When Gustavo is ignoring me and bobbing his head to his mp3 player, Luis is stonewalling me with “no entiendo inglés”, Carolina has her cosmetic accoutrements strewn all over her desk and is curling her eyelashes with that scary looking contraption, and Maria is ignoring the spilled perfume pooling all over her desk and soaking her assignments--- ahhh, let’s just say that it takes a will of steel to refrain from grabbing my backpack and departing with “hasta luego”. And I’m being kind here. This honest –to-goodness scene is hardly the worst of it.

Yet I glimpsed the best of it today. It was a One Meatball moment! My current epiphany is that I’m being served a full course meal this year in Chile and sometimes I reduce my experience with my students to one meatball. I only see a small part of who they are--often just minor details in the complex collage of their beings. Some of my challenging students performed this morning and exposed their veracity for life and love. It is a poignant reminder to avoid the myopia of one meatball and to consume the entire feast offered to me.

Here’s the link to a video of Dan singing

Siete Tazas

We just got back from a three-day weekend. Catherine and Pam and I headed northward about two hours to Casa Chueca, a beautiful little cabaña situated in the countryside just outside the town of Talca. Casa Chueca is run by a German couple who also run a lot of outdoor camping treks in Chile. Most of the other guests were also German, some on holiday and others living and working in Chile. The setting was lovely and it was great to get away from the noise and exhaust of city life for a couple of days.

We arrived on Saturday afternoon, hung around for a while, and then headed into Talca for a late lunch. We ended up at an unassuming place along the river that had great food, and lots of it. The place was really crowded when we arrived, but thinned out as we ate since we arrived at the tail end of the lunch time. By the time we finished we were so full that we didn't even think about dinner later.

On Sunday we hired a driver for the day to take us to Siete Tazas, a forested national park with famous waterfalls. The drive there took over two hours, mostly on dirt roads, and we saw almost no other cars, so we figured that we would have the place to ourselves. Wrong! When we finally got to the national park, it was actually very active with lots of people camping out with tents and barbeque grills. We are finding that the Chileans love to get out into the country, and this three-day weekend, with spring weather finally here, really brought them out. We're all in this together.

But the crowds weren't so bad, and we spent several pleasant hours hiking and sitting by the river and the falls. Eventually we made our way back to the trailhead and made the long drive back to Casa Chueca. That night we ate dinner at the hotel, served family style at one big table with the other guests, with conversations in German, Spanish, and English swirling all around.

On Monday, we woke up with big plans to rent bikes and go riding, but as it turned out we spent most of the morning reading in hammocks in the shade, which was just what we needed. We arrived back in Chillán Monday night refreshed and ready to charge ahead with activities in the coming weeks.

More photos of the weekend can be seen at this link.

Valparaiso

Last weekend we took a trip up to Valparaiso to celebrate our tenth wedding anniversary and also to visit with Teresa and Nigel. What a great city, and what a great way to start our next decade together. We walked the hills and narrow streets, ate our first non-Chilean food in two months (Indian), and tried to relax and enjoy the spring sunshine. Teresa and Nigel were wonderful hosts, and we plan on returning to Valpo next month for their wedding.

To see more photos of the weekend, click here.

The poet in the marketplace

This morning I was listening to the radio in the kitchen, which is part of my usual routine, when I heard the deep sonorous voice of Pablo Neruda, his slow oceanic rhythms breathing phrases in and out, instantly recognizable. I was stunned. They're playing tapes of Neruda on the radio. Is Chile a great country, or what?

But wait, listen to the words more carefully, the poem is talking about taking digital photographs, and now the spell is broken and I realize that this is all a hoax, and that it was a Neruda impersonator and this is a commercial! They have hijacked the voice and spirit of Don Pablo for the dirty business of selling! What an outrage. What kind of country is this?

But wait, think again. Try to imagine which poet's voice would be instantly recognizable in the USA, so that such a trick could even be attempted. Alan Ginsberg? Billy Collins? Robert Frost? Here in Chile, it seems to me that everyone would immediately know that the voice in the commercial was supposed to be Neruda, and the conceit, wink, wink, knudge, knudge, of using the voice of a communist poet to sell stuff would have a certain cheeky resonance. In the USA, there is no such single shared literary awareness on which to base the joke.

What a great country is Chile!

You can listen to the commercial here:



Better yet, you can listen to the real Neruda reading Love Poem #20, recorded in Washington, DC in 1966, Note the obvious similarity of the lines in the commercial to the initial lines of this poem.

More Fiestas Patrias

During the Fiestas Patrias celebrations last week, we were lucky enough to be invited to two family gatherings. The first one, on Saturday night, was at the house of Maria Angelica, who is an English teacher at Catherine's school. At her house we met her husband and two kids, her mother and father, her three sisters, a nephew, and a couple of other friends. Early in the evening, I ended up outside with the other men, tending the barbeque and chatting. This was really good practice for my Spanish, and the talk ranged from charcoal to meat to futbol to wine, and then suddenly we were talking about the poetry of Pablo Neruda, and then about the music of Victor Jara and how he was so brutally murdered by Pinochet's troops during the coup in 1973. I was moved by the deep sense of culture and history that lurks so close to the social surface here in Chile.

At one point during dinner the nephew asked me if I liked McDonalds, and I, of course, protested strongly that I hated McDonalds, bahhh! There was a pregnant silence at the table, and then I learned that his mother, Maria Angélica's sister, who was sitting across from me, works at McDonalds. DOH!!!! Why can't I learn to be a little more diplomatic? But, then the discussion deepened, and the questions turned to why did I not like McDonalds. Was it the food? Was it the politics of big business? (Obviously it wasn't because I was a vegetarian because I had just polished off a big plateful of grilled meat.) In the end I think I was forgiven and I confessed that I do sometimes indulge a craving for McDonalds french fries.
Unfortunately I forgot my camera that night so there are no photos.

On the last day of the four-day weekend during Fiestas Patrias, we were invited to a gathering at the house of Omar, another one of Catherine's colleagues. He lives out in the country, about 25 km east of Chillán. It was a beautiful spring day and it felt good to get out into the countryside and breathe the fresh air. As the afternoon progressed, more and more friends and family arrived. There were games, lots of asados, a horse to ride, and, of course, music and dancing. There were a couple of guitars there and several people took turns playing and singing. I even sang the one chilean folk song I know, Te Recuerdo Amanda, and I guess it was good enough since everyone sang along, and then demanded an encore performance later when more guests had arrived. It was a relaxing afternoon spent in good company with warm and fun-loving people. We felt welcomed and accepted.

More photos can be seen by clicking this link
A short video of the singing is here

Fiestas Patrias

September 11th marked the beginning of Fiesta Patrias week – the celebration of Chile’s independence from Spain – culminating on September 18th. Our July 4th is tame in comparison and from what I can tell, these are the high holidays of the year. This is a family centered time that reminds me of Thanksgiving. Long standing traditions define this holiday and include making empanadas, asados (barbecues), playing Chilean folk music and most important, dancing the Cueca. The Cueca is the national dance of Chile that takes center stage this week. It’s a courtship dance that evokes the mating ritual of hens and roosters. The dancers wave a handkerchief and use it skillfully to be coy, clever, and above all, creative.

Here we have my fourth period class on Monday. They came prepared to teach me the Cueca and launch the week in grand style. By midweek all classrooms were decorated for Dieciocho.

On Wednesday we had a huge fiesta with the seniors. Each grade level had their own celebration. Students all chipped in and helped with the food prep (asados) and organization. We had a Cueca dancing competition between classes (there are 12 in all). Dan and I got to be judges which I didn’t especially find fun because they were all winners. Here we have Romina and Nataly from an all girls class who adapted the Cueca beautifully. They got high scores for charisma and afiatamiento pareja –strong partnership. They eventually took third place. Notice the smoke in the background, testimonial to all the feasting to follow.

Yasmin and Rodrigo in traditional dress—as are many of the students in the background. We saw scores of students wearing these outfits all over Chillán this week. They ranged from pre-K to high school students. I’m trying to imagine my students in Portland embracing folkloric traditions in a similar way and then going public. Somehow the picture is not taking shape.

We’ve all danced, feasted, laughed, and hugged. Here is the winning couple with some of their classmates. The collective enthusiasm is amazing to witness—not only with students, but with colleagues as well. After students left for home on Friday afternoon the staff had our own party with empanadas and dancing. Despite having several Cueca lessons this week, Dan and I didn’t have the confidence to dance until the music changed to salsa. Now that’s what I’m talking about.

Here are two Cueca videos. See if you can figure out the dance steps:

Stephanie and Luis--second place

the three finalists

More photos of cueca dancing at Dario Salas can be seen here

Nine Eleven

The earth is shivering
will she sneeze?
Suddenly without warning
buildings crashing down
horror undammed
gushing forth in violent rushes
while we desperately search for life jackets
floating devices in an unlikely event

My how we’ve changed
Homeland Security
for the hidden evil
that lies within us?
No No
you are misguided
wayward preachers of fear

We remain as true as the moon
facing forward
with a hand reaching backward
Hold my hand
tie the strand
knit the soul strings into a blanket of solidarity
warmth is ours when we embrace our true goodness

la leña mojada

Last night, with the return of the full moon, I realized that I have been in Chile for four weeks now. It has been long enough for the novelty to wear off a bit and for some of the realities to step forward. While I want to emphasize that I still love being here, I think it is only fair to talk a bit about some of the more challenging aspects of living abroad, just so you don't get the idea that it is all wine and roses everyday (although the Chilean wine continues to be superb, and I expect that as spring arrives the flowers will be spectacular).

Number one on the list of challenges is just staying warm. Our house has two wood stoves, and numerous loose fitting doors and windows for cold air to enter. There was a large pile of wood here when I arrived, and I joyfully split and burned it at a merry rate, keeping the house toasty. As the cold nights continued, and the pile began to dwindle, we began to realize that the wood pile, which our Chilean hosts has assured us would last for the rest of the winter, was not going to make it until the weather got warmer. It seems that their calculation was made with the average Chilean's tolerance for cold in mind, and our American ideas of how warm a house should be meant that we were using a lot more wood than they did. OK. We can slow down our consumption a bit, but we still need to order more wood because spring is not here yet. (There is a whole other discussion that could happen at this point about energy consumption and global warming, but let's leave that for another day and stay focused on the personal here)

No problem, I thought, Rodrigo left me the phone number of Señor Miguel. I'll call him and order some more wood...except that when I called he told me that he had no more wood. He was done for the season. So, I began to look around and found a place selling wood on one of the main streets in Chillán. I talked to the guy and he told me that he had wood, but that it was not completely dry. I figured that I still had some dry wood from before, and anyway, it would be spring, and warm, soon so I went ahead and bought some wood, which they delivered and stacked that afternoon.

I don't feel like there was any bad faith. I mean, the guy warned me that the wood was 'not completely dry', but a lot of it was really wet inside. It was basically impossible to start a fire with the new stuff, although if you got a nice hot fire going with the older, drier wood, it was possible to burn the new stuff. Each day became a new experiment in crafting subtle blends of my dwindling supply of dry wood with the slowly drying new wood. I began splitting the wet wood into smaller pieces and laying it out in the driveway on the infrequent sunny days. The neighbors must have thought I was crazy. I started stressing out about wood and fire and keeping the house warm.

So I had to ask for help. I asked Luz María, our wonderful local support person, to look around for another source of dry wood. Catherine called our friend Pam to see if the folks she was living with, Don Arturo and Señora Luz, had a good wood contact. Catherine and I are going to walk by a wood seller that she has seen up by her school this afternoon. One way or another we will find enough wood to get us through to warmer weather. At home this was something I would have just handled myself because I know how to navigate in that world, but here I have had to let go of PRIDE and ask for help, and that might be the biggest challenge of all for me.

We take so much for granted in our comfortable lives back home. When problems arrise, we typically know how to find solutions. Living abroad, that sense of competance can be stripped away. Matters that are almost automatic back home can take up huge amounts of time and energy here. On the other hand, many things that consume our lives back home have almost no significance here. So, I take it day to day here, approaching each day's 'learning opportunities' with humility and humor, learning to live outside my comfort zone.

Cobquecura

After spending Saturday morning at Dario Salas (see previous blog post) we headed home for lunch, and then Pam came by to pick us up to drive over to the beach at Copquecura, about an hour and a half away. We arrived there in mid afternoon and checked into our small hotel/cabaña in town. The town was small and quiet, and the first thing we saw out our room window was a man plowing a small field with two oxen.

It was a 10 minute walk down to the beach, and what a wonderful 5 km long beach it was. We headed north along the beach, passing by the Loberia, a large rock formation with a colony of sea lions. We could hear them barking above the wind, and when we got downwind of the rock we could also smell them. We continued along for about an hour and a half - it was a long beach and the going was slow in the soft sand.

Finally, we got to the far northern end of the beach and the Iglesia Piedra - a large natural rock cavern carved by the ocean. Inside it was like a dark cathedral, with religious statues and various inscriptions on the walls. The cave opened out to the beach in three different places, and the tide was obviously rising, so we didn't get to spend too much time inside. Just to the north of the iglesia was another beautiful cove with wild windblown waves.

About this time we were getting tired and hungry, and the sun was just about to go down, so we decided to take the long walk back to town along the road. The wind was fierce, and it was getting colder as night fell. We were going to hitchhike, but very few cars were passing by. After walking along the road for about a half an hour, we overtook a man with an ox cart full of hay. He offered to give us a ride back to town, and after a bit of negotiating about the price, we climbed on board.

The driver was either going deaf, or thought that since we didn't understand his spanish too well that it would help to talk REALLY LOUDLY. He was a bit drunk and very friendly. We never did quite catch his name, but he proudly told us the names of his two oxen, Elegante and Flagrante. It wasn't much faster than walking, but it was a very entertaining mode of travel. He proudly proclaimed, "fui militar!" (I was a military man), "Cuando?", we asked. "1973! Pinochet, Pinochet!". OK, right, I'm not sure how to follow up on that. A few months from now when my Spanish is better I might be able to really have the rest of that conversation, but for now we just kept jostling along in the cart. He sang us a Chilean song. A partial video is here. You can see that by this time it was quite dark.

Note, if the embedded video doesn't work for you, try this link
Eventually we got back to the edge of town and he explained that he had to let us off here because the Caribineros would give him a ticket if he went too far into town. We said our goodbyes. He was hoping for goodbye kisses from Catherine and Pam but they demurred. We then walked the last kilometer or so into town and found a place to eat some hot seafood soup to warm up.

Links:

• More pictures of the weekend in Cobquecura


• soundtrack of the frogs that sang to us as we walked that last dark kilometer into town after our ox cart ride
  


• Link to a google map of Cobquecura
  

Colegio Dario Salas 'Big Band'

On Saturday morning Catherine and I went over to the school to help with the entrance exams for next year's prospective freshman. Over 600 eighth graders were on hand to take some addmissions tests and also tour the school and see what it had to offer. There was a lot going on for both parents and students. Catherine was featured as the new "native speaker" English teacher and was asked to get up and say a few words to introduce herself (in Spanish, of course) to the parents and to the students. The school fife and drum corps was putting on a show in the patio, the chess team had matches going on, the choir was singing in another room, the swim team was practicing in the pool. The hightlight, at least for me, was a performance by the school's Big Band. Earlier in the morning they had played several tunes for the parents, and they were great. I was impressed.

But, a bit later in the morning, with all 600 prospective students packed into the auditorium to hear speeches and more music, the band unveiled their secret weapon - a singer. WOW! This kid could really sing and he worked the crowd like a pro. He is going to be a star. It was over the top, and the crowd loved it. I have some video here that will give you a taste of the event. The whole event ended up being really fun and showed off the school's many talented students and teachers.

Note, if the embedded video doesn't work for you, try this link

The kindness of strangers

Since arriving in Chile we've had to do a bit of paperwork to get everything all squared away. We are practically on first-name basis with the folks at the nortario where we have gone repeatedly to get notarized copies of passport pages and teaching certificates. It is all a bit of a blur when you don't speak the language so well.

Just this morning I had to return to the Registro Civil to give them some additional papers needed to complete my application for a Chilean ID card. I had applied originally last week and all seemed fine, but the application went to Santiago and came back with a request for additional documentation. Catherine got the call yesterday at the house from Sr. Fuentes at the Registro requesting that I come back today.

Sr. Fuentes is the same person who I dealt with for my original application. This morning he was very helpful in getting my augmented application in order (and, of course, taking my picture and fingerprints again). Although Sr. Fuentes spoke no English with me, he did take the time to speak Spanish slowly so that I could understand what was happening. He is everything that you hope a civil servant will be; helpful, considerate, and compassionate. He made my experience relatively painless. He, along with so many other people here, have been kind and tolerant and helpful. It is humbling to be dependent on the kindness of strangers, yet it reaffirms my belief in the basic goodness of people.

I also have a renewed and enhanced appreciation and respect for the immigrants who come to the United States with limited English language skills and successfully navigate our own bureaucratic maze, find jobs and housing, survive, and even prosper. I hope the people of our country are as kind and helpful as the Chileans have been to us.

Girlfriends

Friends come easily, readily, and sincerely here in Chillán. As our community grows, so does our contentment. For more on our housewarming--birthday party--pisco sour tutorial go to: piscoparty

Meanwhile, here's to building community. Cheers!

La Cocina de Laura

Chilean schools have a very civilized protocol--time for almuerzo. We have an hour at my school, which enables us to go to a nearby restaurant for lunch and socializing. Thanks to Laura and her team I feast on traditional Chilean culinary delights on school days. Hearty dishes such as cazuela, porotos con riendas, pastel de papa, and various types of pescado, along with lively and animated conversation, replenish my spirit. This is an ideal recipe for promoting contentment and esprit de corps among school staff. Are you listening Portland?

Feliz Cumpleaños Miss

My day got off to a grand start when students insisted on singing happy birthday to me, first in English and then in Spanish. Of course they would have been thrilled to continue with festivities for the entire period in each of one today’s classes. Given that I had 3 consecutive 3 hour classes, it would have been a bit hedonistic to follow that path and throw the lesson plans out for today. I’m saving the self indulgence for a party this coming weekend. Meanwhile, both students and colleagues alike are generous with their affection and I am still wearing the hugs and kisses of the day. Lucky me, I came home to more from Dan.

Las Termas de Chillán

This morning we got up early to catch the bus up to las termas de Chillán, the natural hotsprings about 70 km up into the Andes from Chillán. It was a national holiday, the day of the annunciation of the Virgin Mary, so there was no school for Catherine. The tourist office had told us what bus to catch from which bus terminal, but told us that it would only take us as far as Las Trancas, a small village about 7 km from Las Termas, where we could transfer to another bus to go the rest of the way. No problem, we thought.

We got to the bus terminal a few minutes before the 7:50 departure time, only to find that the small bus was packed to the gills (of course, since it was a school holiday, there were lots of kids going skiing). We got the last two seats, and 8 or 10 more people got on after us and spent the trip standing in the aisles or sitting on the steps. The trip from Chillán to Las Trancas was uneventful, although we couldn't see much in the early morning light with the windows of the bus completely fogged up.

When we got to Las Trancas, we asked for directions to the next bus to Las Termas... oh no, they said, there is no other bus, you just have to hitch hike. OK. So we stuck out our thumb and soon had a ride. Most of the people on this road were headed for skiing, but we explained to our driver that we didn't want to ski, only soak. No problem, he would drop us at the right spot. bueno.

Soon enough he dropped us at the Gran Hotel. We went inside to ask about the thermal pools. Oh no, they said, the pools are only for overnight guests. OK, so where are the public pools? Oh, you have to walk back down the road 1 km to la Valle Hermosa, they have public pools. OK. Start walking...

So, we walked back down the road a bit to the fork in the road to Valle Hermosa. Several men were standing at the bottom of the road, and we asked about the public pools... Oh no, they said, you need a car to get to them...but, but, we were told us that there were public pools at Valle Hermosa. True, they said, but you can't walk up the access road, too dangerous, cars only. But we have no car. hmmm. After a moment of awkward silence, one of the men said, come with me, and drove us up the access road in his truck. What generosity! Once we got there we paid a small entrance fee, changed into our bathing suits, and sat down in the pool, which was warm, but not too hot.
There was a gorgeous view of the snow covered mountains and steam rising from the surface of the pool. For the first half hour, we were the only ones there. Gradually, people started arriving, so that by noon there were almost 20 people in the pool with us.

One of the people in the pool with us was a man with his two year old daughter. We both ended up getting out at the same time, and I asked him if we could perhaps have a ride back down the access road to Las Trancas. Of course, he said. In fact, he lived in Chillán and would be happy to give us a ride all the way back down to Chillán. Along the way we found out that he was originally from Germany and had been living and working in Chile for nine years. As we came into town, he suggested that we stop for tea (and ice cream for his daughter). It would have been so easy for him to just give us a ride and drop us off, but instead he chose to make time to extend our interaction. After another half an hour or 45 minutes of conversation over tea, with him marking his favorite places to eat in Chillán on our map, he drove us to our house and dropped us off. I promised to email him photos of his daughter (which I will do right after I finish this blog entry). We were so touched that he took the time to help us out and connect with us on a more personal level. This is Chile.

la calle mojada...

I have been in Chile for 5 days now. It is wonderful to be here. As I flew out of Dallas late last Tuesday night, the full moon was rising in the darkness outside my window. All week long the moon had been waxing fuller and fuller, drawing me like a tide to Chile, and Catherine. After flying all night and watching the thinnest sliver of sunrise over the sawtooth Andes from 30,000 feet, we dropped down through the thick clouds and caught glimpes of vibrant green fields outside of Santiago.

After a 4 hour layover in Santiago and a one hour flight to Concepción, I was met at the Concepción bus terminal by Luz Maria, Rodrigo's girl friend. She was kind enough to meet me there and take the one hour bus ride back from Concepción to Chillán with me. As we rode the bus, the scenery outside the window reminded me of Oregon in the winter - green coastal range hills with small farms and vineyards (one difference here is the common sight of orange trees.) As we approached Chillán, we could see a dramatic bright rainbow lifting up out of the center of the city. That looked like a pretty good omen to me.

At one point on the ride, Luz Maria looked out the window and commented on la calle mojada, which transported me into the lyrics of the Victor Jara song te recuerdo Amanda. Actually, since I have been here I have felt like I am living inside Jara's images, including a woman with la sonrisa ancha at the Police Station who was registering my passport and visa.

At the center of this new world, it is most wonderful to be reunited with mi amor, Catherine, after a three and a half week separation. Despite almost constant rain and raw weather, our house is toasty with two wood stoves. After years of dreaming together and all the busy-ness of the past six months getting ready for this year's adventure, it is great to finally be here together, living in it instead of preparing for it.

First day of second semester and who's this new English teacher?

We are all wide-eyed (or in some cases, just barely open-eyed after a two week vacation) and wonderous about meeting each other for the first time. I am still reeling from my transition from Portland's heat wave to landing in Chillán's mid winter chill, compounded by the lack of central heat in my new school. This is my first class of the ten I teach each week and my first group of the 400 students I will interact with each week. They are lovely, curious, edgy, worried, distracted, accepting seniors. This class is one of three who are all girls, the remaining seven are co-ed. All of my students are seniors on a wide spectrum of interest and ability in English. Language barriers are transcended by a genuine desire to connect. I am in the unique position of teaching English in Chile while not being fluent in Spanish. There is something magical in sharing the same learning curve with my students. In many ways it levels the playing field and heightens the receptivity from both ends. Welcome to Chile, Miss.

Donde está La Presidenta de Chile, Michelle Bachelet?

Here we have most of the U.S. Fulbright teachers on a whirlwind tour of Santiago. Currently we are at the Palacio de la Moneda where it was intimated that we might actually meet President Bachelet. Of course I was ecstatic and replaying the script in my head of what I would say in my paltry Spanish. Alas, she had more important business to address (imagine that!!) than meeting a group of starstruck teachers from all points in the United States.

Buen viaje Catherine

Catherine left Portland today for Chile. As you can imagine, packing for a whole year presented some challenges, but we eventually fit everything into suitcases and got her on the plane. Whew! The past couple of weeks has been hectic and full of anticipation. Now the trip really begins.
Dan will be heading down to Chile three weeks from now after cleaning up the house for the incoming renters and hanging around to meet Rodrigo, Catherine's exchange teacher, when he arrives from Chile in early August.

First post

Catherine and Dan are just getting ready to leave for a year's trip to live in Chile. Catherine has a Fulbright teacher exchange and will be teaching English in Chillán, a medium-sized city in about 4 hours south of Santiago in the central valley. Dan will be hanging out and practicing his spanish with the abuelas en el mercado.

Click the map to the right to zoom in on an annotated map of Chile