Farwells and Fur Walls

We gringos just had our last she-bang, carrete, shin-dig, fiesta, blow-out, whatever you want to call it, we did it.

I am writing this at 6:30 A.M., and words fail me.
Or perhaps my brain is failing me.
Or maybe the Spanish has finally squeezed out all the English skillz from my cerebro.

But that won't stop me from trying to express what's about to come.

As I sit here, the sun rising behind me, my ears pounding, my clothes reeking of bar, and my breakfast waiting in the wings, I could not be more thankful for mis amigos, mis experiencias, o mi vida. Those were some fuerte goodbyes we just gave, but the friendships are todavía más fuertes.

But I will try not to dwell on the mushy stuff.

I love you all very much. And you know it.

So.

Allow me to describe the scene of our farewell.

Primero, as I was riding the bus last night, I counted at least twelve people cracking open beers as we tooled along in public transit.

I took this to be a good omen. And it was.

So we met at the firestation to kick off the party. Yes, the firestation. Through friends of Chilean friends of Chilean firemen, over the semester we became good buddies with the men of the First Company of Firemen of Santiago.

FYI, these bros really know how to get down. If it's four in the morning, these sonofaguns are just getting started, pleading for the sleepyheaded gringos to keep the spirit alive and shoving drinks in hands like it was their job.

But seriously, they do have a job to do, as we found out last night. We were so used to hanging around with the firemen, we forgot they actually fight fires. At the beginning of the night, two of our friends had to scramble from the station to answer a call; a building down the street was in flames. Meanwhile, we gringos were setting up camp in the hang-out room of the station, playing pool, chatting it up, and starting to realize that this would be our last night all together.

Now this firestation. Consider it more of a frat house. A very nice one. Very clean (Did I just negate my first comparison?). Anyway, this place has bunk beds and video games and pool tables and a schnazzy bar. And so we partied.

From this firestation, the brave-hearted proceeded to a club (less than a block away).

Now this club. It's called El Tunel (The Tunnel), and it was a former strip joint. The walls are covered in fur. Dwell on that for a moment.

Many stripper-poles still remain for those so possessed by the demon water as to need to self-exorcise (exercise, also).

The music was funktastic. Think "Jungle Boogie" and "Robot Rock."

The scene was a little Shady-McGrady, with oodles of ogling chileno-bros, who looked as if they half-expected El Tunel to still be a strip club instead of a regular club.

Regardless of the creepy drullets that seemed to be lurking closely behind us every time I turned my head to pull off another stylish dance more, I had the time of mi vida, dancing, grooving, boogieing, and saying all those things you say in a farewell that you have been meaning to say for a long time.

After a wonderful night in El Tunel, I saw the sun come up this morning, over the mountains whose faces I feel like I know as well as my own, from the 25th floor of an apartment, from the right side of the clock.

I live a blessed life.

Thanks for the love, the friendship, the adventures, the laughter, the support, the readership, the everything.

This experience has truly changed me. So thanks be unto you, and you, and you, and you, and you, and you, and you, and you, and you, and you, and you, and you, and you, aaannnddd you.

And now, I guess I will stop delaying the inevitable.

This is my final post from Chile. I promise to continue blogging about the reverse-culture shock/about the holidays/about random adventures/about Crunkle Mike/etc.

Ya me voy, y a Chile, te echo de menos ya.
No es adiós para siempre.
Volveré.

And to the gringos, expect to come around the corner of your abode one fine morning and see a redhead drooling on your couch cushions. 'Cause I'm coming for a visit!

Whoowhee!!!

Haiku

Now I need to pack.

For real.

In the meantime, enjoy this haiku inspired by the Chilean affinity for adding eggs to every dish, showcased in last night's dinner (lump o' mush with corn bits, topped with an egg, sunny-side-up):

Throw an egg on top.
Fried or hard-boiled: call it done.
Chilean dinner.

Packing

This morning I awoke from a nightmare.

A "packing" nightmare.

In the dream, I was late for my flight, and I was careening down the street, loose socks trailing behind me, strapped down with more weight than a Mexican mule on moving day.

I had waited until the last possible second to pack my suitcase.

I suppose my subconscious is telling me to get to work.

And so I will blog.

As I survey the contents of my room, I realize my stuff has multiplied like a room full of fourth graders studying for a math quiz.

And yet my luggage remains unchanged.

Although I can fit into my own suitcase (Yes, I tried. In the name of scientific discovery. And curiosity. I had to know, ok? What if I needed to be smuggled home?), it still looks painfully small in comparison with all the things I am about to shove into it.

I guess this is problem to be solved logically and spatially:
Cram what you can, and when all else fails, cut your pants into shorts.

Oh yeah, and watch this video of the great philosopher Mr. Bean as he packs his suitcase.

Moving Pictures

I have now seen my first Chilean flim: Post Mortem.

It was... strange.

But good.

And it was in Spanish.

Thank goodness it was one of those modern films that has five-minute scenes dedicated to silence, broken only by the sound of an egg frying or some other mundane thing.

So I understood most of it.

The lead role had a haircut like John Paul Jones at his finest. Or Prince Valient.

There were gratiutious sex scenes, albiet the awkward kind.

The plot took place right around the time of the rise of the dictatorship. The lead with the tragic haircut participated in the autopsy of Salvador Allende.

The film was impresionante, especially because the theater was full of older citizens who likely lived through the time of chaos portrayed on the big screen.

It ended with a ten-minute single shot of the lead stacking chairs against a door.

I left feeling confused.

The movie was distinctly Chilean: less-than-sexy actors, depressing ending, bland food prominently featured, and ridiculous amounts of Chilean slang.

Needless to say, I enjoyed it.

And I recommend seeing it for yourself; it was the only Chilean movie playing in the theater. The rest were Disney knock-offs or dubbed-versions of Harry Potter #7.

This feels like the end of a Reading Rainbow segment, where the kids tell you a bit about the book, then they say something like "But don't take my word for it. See for yourself!"

But seriously. Lamar Burton aside, "See for yourself!"

Learning

My semester abroad is drawing to a close - approximately five days until I fly out of Santiago.

What have I learned? Lots.

What do I have yet to learn? Lots more.

Algunos ejemplos.

I am still a complete dunce at the metric system.

• Is a liter of beer equivalent to a 40?
  
• Are we really suppoesd to be travelling down this road at 100 km/h?


• I am two kilometers away from school; three minutes until class starts; will I make it?

I don't know what I am eating 79% of the time.

• ¿Cómo se dice "mush" en español?


• Does mayonnaise really belong here?


• What's the word for "goat" again?

I still get lost on the bus system.

• The 427 goes right by my apartment, right?


• Or was it the 421...?


• Crap! This is not the road I wanted to turn down! Hey Bus-Driver, can we pull over?!
  

Things I have learned?

• To cross a busy street, follow the lead of the stray dogs because they know when start walking, otherwise they would be dead dogs.


• Avoid the completo.


• "Sin mayonesa" or "without mayonnaise" is a useful phrase.


• The Simpsons are shown at 7 p.m.


• The metro is faster, but the bus is more fun (fun in the way of a rickety carnie-ride at the country fair).


• The omnipresent voice of the metro is saying, "The doors are now closing."


• During mass, Catholic priests are hard to understand, even for native speakers.


• Avocados can be sliced with house keys.


• Don't look too interested in anything a street vendor is vending, lest you want to be wrangled into buying it.


• When you don't know what is going on in a conversation, smiling and nodding is the safest bet.


• If you mention that you are sick to a chileno, they will launch into a dissertation about home remedies.


• Kissing on the cheek is a must.


• Chileans dress drably; to fit in, dress like you are attending a funeral. Every day.


• The food can be as bland as a chileno's outfit; for a country shaped like a chile pepper, this nation certainly detests spiciness.


• Chileans will give you directions, even if they don't know how to get there. Beware.


• The only way to become really intimate with a city is to get lost. A lot. I have. And I do.

That's all for now.

I will continue posting about life in Santiago in the following days.

Today I was just feeling pensive.

And now I am off to learn some more!

More Kissing

And now, to reflect upon another, more palatable, family-friendly type of kissing: the cheek-greet.

Before I journeyed to this land, handshakes were my default "Hihowareya, mynameisHannah."

Pero ahora, I greet with a kiss on the right cheek.

At first, I found this incredibly awkward.

Should I kiss everyone?
Which cheek do I kiss again?
Does my breath smell?
Should I make the kissy noise?
Where do my arms go?
Does this person have the swine flu?
What are my odds of incubating a contagious disease?

My most awkward cheek-greets?

A mouth full of kiwi at the breakfast table

Missing the cheek and performing an "air-kiss"

Kissing an extremely short host parent on the eye

Now that we are in December, this form of greeting has become second-nature.
Of course I am going to kiss everyone I meet on the cheek.
And I will kiss everyone on the cheek as I leave, too.

Sometimes the cheek-greet does get cumbersome or time-consuming or over-whelming.

"Great. I just walked into a room of 40 strangers.

Now I have to introduce myself 40 times and kiss 40 cheeks.

By the time I am done with those tasks, I should be leaving.

So I turn around and re-kiss and say goodbye."

But overall, I really enjoy this custom.
It is more intimate than a handshake.
It makes me introduce myself to everyone.
And in turn, I think it builds a special kind of camaraderie.
The blanket, sterile statements "Hello everyone! and "Goodbye all!" just won't cut it anymore.

I should also mention that there are different greeting between the sexes.
Women always kiss women.
Men always kiss women.
Men shake men's hands.
Unless those men are very close, in which case they fully engage in the bro-kiss.
(The latter is my favorite, especially if both men have mullets)

...

Revelation: maybe the x-rated Chilean couples think it is okely dokely for them to kiss in public because everyone around here participates in the cheek-greet!

I am here to put a stop to that false assumption.