Go-Directly-to-Military-Prison

One of the first rules I was told before traveling to Chile: do not burp at the table.
Second thing: do not stretch at the table.
Third: do not yawn.

I have never desired so strongly to do those three things as I now do.

Chilenos take their table manners seriously.

At home, you can always say "excuse me!" or "pardon!" if you burp, as though the belch surprised you by leaping from your mouth. (The same concept can be found behind the gossip that starts with "Well, bless his heart...") What comes out of your mouth is still foul, but by pardoning yourself after the fact, you get a kind of get-out-of-jail-free card.

Not so in Chile. If you burp, stretch, or yawn, if you partake in one of the three forbidden fruits at the dinner table, you get the do-not-pass-go, go-directly-to-military-prison card.

Actually, I do not know what happens to you if you disobey the rules of the dining room.

But I suspect it isn't good.
Probably a stringing up by the toenails, or something of the like.

I don't plan to find out.
Though my family makes it very hard by feeding me until I am fit to burst.
After chugging through three courses, how is a girl not supposed to let off a little steam during mealtime?

For now, I go to my room to burp after dinner.
As I sit at my desk, belching luxuriously on the 25th floor of a Santiago apartment, the whole city below me, I realize...

I am an uncouth, rude, disgusting American.

Welcome to Santiago.

!Bienvenido a Santiago!

So, here I am, in Santiago, Chile.

I am almost afraid to start writing about this experience, for fear I won't ever stop.

Oh well.
Perhaps I won't.

I'll probably loosely organize this blog by subject headings, gleaning the most from my collected days, sparing you, dear reader, from the monotony of such basic necessities as teeth brushing.
...although, I did just purchase an electric toothbrush before my grand voyage to Chile. And it's great.

For now, a few more pictures.

Cityscape

The View from the Top (of my apartment)