Smog: The Small Blog

Cusco and Machu Picchu

2008-08-15T13:55:00.008-04:00

As I sit in the Bogota International terminal I realize that I have come full circle. February 1st I was laying on the floor across the hall for 9 hours as I anticipated the throngs of Rio, stumbling and mumbling as I tried to comunicate with airport workers over the location of an ATM. Now, over seven months later this terminal still sucks. No restaurant, no bar, two fuzzy T.V.s.

The past week was spent trying to pack Peru into a week. Impossible. Peru was excited and incredibly different from Chile. The strong influence of the ancient Quechua or Inka culture shares little resemblence to the westernized streets of Santiago. Small indigenous women, who only speek Quechua stumble up the hilly, narrow cobblestone streetes of Cusco carrying giant handwoven bags on their backs laden with crafts or food or babies. Often they are followed by their llama or alpaca, with whom they pose for pictures from tourists for a small price.

I could never have imagined the tourism in Cusco. Walking down the street I was excstatic to find a Vermont quarter on the ground, the first U.S. coin I had seen in months. Tour buses and taxis full of Gringos scream through the Plaza de Armas as they race to archeological attractions in an around the city. It is impossible to walk one block without having someone offering tours, massages, food, crafts, or just plain begging.

The history found in Cusco and the culture outweighs the annoyances of a high tourism destination. Molly and I went to many of the sights in city, which was the holy city of the Inkas before the Spanish knocked it down and built incredible churches. Outside the city lie the ruins of Saqsaywaman and other small fortresses, holy sites, and agricultural terraces. About an hour outside is the town and ruins of Pisac. On Sunday there is an impressive market in the square which is dominated by tourists but displays the incredible artisanal skills of the rural people. I was wholly impressed by these ruins, built way up on cliffs above the river and the city. We wandered and explored through the ruins for a few hours and glanced at the great views.

After exploring Cusco for several days we took a colectivo out to Ollantaytambo to catch the train, the only way to get to Aguas Calientes, or Machu Picchu Village. The train website, like most South American attempts isn't worth a damn so we ended up getting a confusing schedule and accidentally paid for one of the more expensive coaches to get there known as the Vistadome. There were six other people in our coach and we watched as the scenery changed from barren highlands into lush jungle forests.

Aguas Calientes is a testament to the awful things that tourism can do when unregulated. Its the Cancun of archeology. Sitting at the base of mountains in a small valley carved by the Urubamba river, the city has sprung up in response to the massive amounts of tourists that come through to see Machu Picchu. A multidude of restaurants line one of the two roads in town as locals call out in English, "Free Drink", "You like nacho?...Free nacho", etc. The buildings are all falling apart except for the facade on the street. The restaurants will do anything to get someone into the restaurant and then revoke the offer. We were lured by two free beers, free nachos, and a twenty percent discount which in the end they denied. I was able to bargain two free beers and two dollars off my pizza as the waiter literaly sweated at my offers. Everything is expensive and disgusting, including our hostal where we found a tarantula sitting on the steps outside the bathroom.

It's really sad because the city has such potential. The lushus green mountains are lined with dramatic cliffs that shoot upward into a canopy of clouds. The day we went up to Machu Picchu we woke up at 4 a.m. to catch the first bus up at 5:30. The line was incredible still but and as we drove up the steep switchbacks the excitement of the passangers was tangible. Unfortunately, something had taken up residence in my G.I. tract the night before and was unleashing its formidable claws upon my insides, thus rendering me sleepless and miserable. Although the pain continued for the most of the day, I was able to push it aside as the sun came up over the ruins and we were given tickets to climb Wayna Picchu, the mountain recognizably in the background of every Machu Picchu photo ever.

The ruins were otherworldly. The detail and care of every rock was astounding and the surrounding scenery breathtaking. It was easy to lay on the grassy terraces or in the giant quarry and imagine the glory of the city in its peak or the moment when Hiram Bingham first discovered the overgrown hidden ruins in the early 20th century. The hike up Wayna Picchu was steep but rewarding with ruins atop and new views of Machu Picchu that don't grace the postcards.

We stayed until the whistling guards kicked us out around 5:30 p.m., taking the last bus down to the town. In all it was a day to remember. The massive size of the sanctuary was hypnotic and a perfect way to end my traveling.

Rapa Nui

2008-08-06T22:40:00.003-04:00

I just arrived at Sergio's house in Santiago after an incredible week on Easter Island, one of the most isolated places in the world. Easter Island, or Rapa Nui, is a Polynesian island owned by Chile, 3,600 km from the South American continent. The island is famous for its moais, the giant stone statues that mysteriously dot the island. I was always awed by these massives stone heads but was surprised to find that there are about 900 on the island. Everywhere you go on the island you find stone platforms, or ahus, with fallen or re-erected moais. The only town, Hanga Roa, is small and pleasant with a very laid back vibe. We camped at the only legal camping site at the island in town and fell asleep to the waves crashing right next to our campsite every night at Camping Mihinoa. A week on the island was the perfect amount of time to relax and explore the island.

We flew in on LAN Chile, the only airline that services the one strip airport on the island. A local told us (not necesarily true) that LAN's contract with the airstrip was just up and as of recently they were sending in a flight everyday, which would account for our dope discount. The sudden increase in flights to the island is to prevent other airlines from sending in flights, thus robbing LAN of its monopoly on the island. It seems to me that this "undiscovered" place will soon be flooded with tourists and with five star hotels, but for now it is a sleepy island in the south Pacific balancing a Polynesian and Chilean lifestyle/culture/language.

The week started off simple and from there became more 'baller.' The first day Molly and I rented bicycles and took the northeast route out to Rano Raraku, the moais quarry. On the way we saw a handfull of fallen moais, their giant noses in the dirt along the coast and sometimes a restored platform with standing moais, their backs to the ocean facing the interior of the island. Most of the moais on the island were carved from the volcanic crater at Rano Raruko and hundreds are still buried in the slopes of the volcano.

The next day we hiked up to Orongo, the old village on the other side of the island on the crater of Rano Kau, the volcano at the opposite side of the island. The village is parcially restored and views three small islets seen from over giant cliffs. We went up on a rainy day and say a ton of rainbows coming out the water and the volcanic crater.

On Sunday we took a tour and went back to some of the sites we had already gone to on our own and got a great history lesson from a local. The barren landscape of the island is startling and even more so when we learned that all the trees were cut down in order to transport the giant moais to their resting places. The Rapa Nui people had become so preocupied with the moais that they ignored the obvious damage they were doing to their home. Without trees they could not build houses nor boats. The land became eroded, the rivers disapeared, and the animals began to die. A once prosperous civilization had fallen to its knees because of their preocupation with building bigger and better statues. The largest moais, still partially carved into the stone mountain face at Rano Raraku is 21 meters tall (69 ft). Without trees they could not transport the moais from the quarry and work stopped suddenly when sustaining life became an immenent preocupation.

Renting a car is a great way to explore the island. We explored some sweet caves with out Suziki Grand Vitara. In the middle of the island are a few giant lava tube caves and on the coast, Dos Ventanas, has a small entrance but once inside there are two windows overlooking the sea from large cliffs.

The last day on the island we went self contained breather appartus (SCUBA) diving. I had never gone before and it was amazing. Molly is certified and apparantly was not impressed by the safety regulations of the company, afterwards she told me that she was instructed never to dive with a company that takes first-timers underwater...However, despite being dragged, literally, by a guide through coral and schools of tropical fish, I survived and definately can see myself getting licensed in the future.

Easter Island is an incredible place that I see changing very quickly. Just recently a 5 star hotel, Explora, was built on the island and construction is under way for more giant hotels. I can easily see the place turn into a top destination spot quickly for the beautifully clear waters, tropical climate, beaches, seafood, surfing, and archiological significance. We were still able to go some of the archeological sites without any other people around. To be alone with seven 4 meter moais standing over your head is an incredible feeling and one that may not last much longer. Just this May the first signs were put up warning visitors not to climb on the ahu and moais. I expect that in few years time the restrictions will be more stringent and the atmosphere changed. We met a guy at our campsite who arrived in December of last year and decided to stay when he learned that a solar eclipse would be visible in 2010 from the island. Trying to find a bed on the island for the event is nearly impossible but I would highly recommend it. He told me he would send me a picture for the extra food we gave him but frankly, I'm not holding my breath.

Up next, Cuzco, Peru and Machu Picchu.

Bluebird with a Side of Freshies

2008-07-28T18:19:00.004-04:00

Powder days are every skier's unicorn, metaphorically speaking. Powder days come and go, usually when the skier has some unavoidable compromise or is somehow physically unable to get to the mountain, i.e. broken legs, decapitation, wrecked car, or natural disaster. Seeing that I missed an incredible snowy Vermont season last winter due to extreme distance so the powder itch was still in full force.

When we arrived in the small town of Farrellones to cloudy skies and very little snow on the ground. We stayed at La Cornisa, a small family run hotel with about 10 rooms, a nice fireplace, and delicious meals. The owners told us that it had not snowed in quite a while and that the slopes were pretty skied off; they were not too happy with the season so far. As we sat by the fire after dinner enjoying a delicious whiskey ( I hadn't seen Jameson in months) we joked about how awesome it would be to have fresh snow, as we do every night before skiing.

The next morning I woke up to perfect bluebird skies and 23 centimeters of fresh. The chances of travelling half-way around the world and getting a powder day are approximately 10239:1, but we lucked out.

Faceshots and virgin slopes where on the days menu and we skied until we couldn't walk anymore. Valle Nevado's impressive wide open geography made finding untracked powder too easy and I can easily say that I didn't ski a groomed trail all day. Luckily for me, about 75% of the people skiing Valle Nevado are Brazilians who have never seen snow before so the idea of skiing steep powder is extremely foreign to them.

My father and I shredding the gnar

The next day at Valle Nevado the snow had gotten a bit heavier due to the previous sunny day but there was still powder to be had, although the skies had gone back to the overcast that has defined this Chilean winter.

The third day my father and I tried El Colorado and I was surprised by the completely different feel of the mountain. El Colorado and La Parva have a local vibe to them while Valle Nevado is the international destination with the luxury hotels and getaway packages. Given this, 95% of the skiers were Chilean and the majority were beginners.

A word to the wise. Skiing Chile is an incredible experience, however, BRING YOUR OWN GEAR! I told my family to bring there gear and they did not listen. I would say that the gear to rent in Santiago is from the 70's and 80's while the gear at Valle Nevado is from the 90's. If you are a serious skier and you travel half-way across the world to ski, even for a few days, do not expect to have the same choices of gear as you would find at other worldclass ski destinations like Aspen and Whistler. This is Chile afterall and like the hairstyles, the gear is straight out of the 80's.

Atacama

2008-07-20T19:20:00.007-04:00

The Atacama desert is like nothing I have ever seen before. I had no idea the extent of the variety in the desert. At sunset the colors of the mountains turn from orange to red to purple to blue. At different elevations the small plants turn from yellow to brown to red to nonexistant. The towering cactus that line the gorges are hundreds of years old, one meter is the equivalent to 100 years of growth. The little water that comes down from the Andes carves giant gorges and brings to life few oasis where life continues simply and slowly despite the swarms of tourists that flock the streets. The incredible rock formations made me jealous of my geology major friends. Just trying to comprehend the forces that went behind creating the Atacama is mind-boggling. When we went to see the Flamingos in the salt flats there must have been a thousand other tourists watching the sunset with us. I swear that there must have been four bus loads of Germans. I haven't seen so many blond-haired, blue-eyed people in months.

The first day here we went to the Valle de la Luna, an incredible spot just outside of San Pedro de Atacama where the salt formations and sand dunes give the impression of a lunar landscape. Other highlights included seeing the highland salt flats just 5km from the Bolivian border, seeing geisers go off as the sunrose, exploring Inca ruins at sunset, seeing the oldest excavated village in Chile, and drinking wine in a hot spring as my parents watched, bundled in their winter clothing bearing huge sandswept winds. Going to the all-inclusive resort with the parents was quite an experience, nah, a once-in-a-lifetime-experience. The service and accomadations were otherworldly, nothing like the hostalling that I am used to. As fun as the private guide and service was I am ready to start making my own adventures again. However, in San Pedro that seemed to be very difficult as everything was done by a guide service with 25 other tourists sharing the windy bus ride to the locals.

The desert was beautiful and unforgettable. So are the 400-plus photos that I took. Here are a few and the rest can be found on my Picasa Page.

More Updates to come on Valle Nevado.

An End and a Beginning

2008-07-18T15:16:00.004-04:00

Sitting on a plane while the sun comes up over the Andes out the window is the only way to fly. I spent the last week saying my goodbyes and living life to the fullest in Valpo. It’s strange to leave a place that you have called home, especially one as special as Valparaiso. All the crap that I had to go through in the colegio, the university, and daily life really made me appreciate the city in the end. The last few days the buildings seemed brighter, the people warmer, and even the rain was more enjoyable. My family arrived yesterday and we have spent the last few days eating and drinking the best Chile has to offer. Traveling with the parents is a completely different world. It was nice to do all the touristy things in the city that I had yet to do. Taking a boat tour of the harbor, riding up the Ascensor Artilleria to the Plaza 21 de Mayo, and visiting La Sebastiana were a few firsts for me. When you are living in a place and have a routine sometimes the opportunity to go see tourist attractions slips the mind. I rode past the ascensor Artilleria every day but never got out of the bus to see the famous mirador or lookout of the city at the top.

My Chilean family greeted my American family in true Chilean form: red wine and empanadas. Although few coherent conversation was had, it was incredible for me to see two very distinct parts of my life come together under the same roof. When it was time to say goodbye I saw a few tears in Katy's eyes and they watched, waving, as the van drive away . The lights from the cerros dipping into the water was our last glimpse. I will miss the colorful city but it is time to move on before heading back home.

My Chilean Family: (from left to right) Alfonso, Paul (otro gringo), Ivan, Me, Katy

The nanny, Rosy, and Me

Thus commences another stretch of traveling before heading home in a month. Right now we are heading north to San Pedro de Atacama. The Atacama is the driest desert in the world and, so I have been told, one of the most incredible. I've never been to a desert before so I am really looking forward to seeing the new landscapes and unlike Valpo, there is a slim chance of rain.

South American Gaper Gap

2008-07-08T15:45:00.007-04:00

Finally the cold and miserable weather has paid off.

Last weekend I went to Santiago and on Sunday Sergio and I climbed the unbelievable road to the Cordillera and into the Andes. Although the mountains are lacking in fresh snow I was astounded by the shear size of the ski resort. We skied at Valle Nevado, the most modern and largest ski resort in South America. Given the fact that the mountain is higher up and mostly west facing, the conditions are better than the other two mountains, La Parva and El Colorado. The higher altitude gave us colder weather and the fact that it is west facing hides it from the incredible strong South American sun. Even with the clouds and minimal sun screen that a cute liftie gave us my lips are still burning from the killer UV's reflecting off the snow.

I rented some gear down in Santiago and my fears (maybe delights) of South American rentals came true. At first the guy tried to rent me 150cm skis, which I haven't put on my feet since I was about 8 years old. I just told him to give me the biggest skis they had, which happened to be 170cm Saloman Scramblers...so dirty. Finally the boots scared the crap out of me: Rear entry, red Solomans circa 1979. If my toenail doesn't fall off in the next few days I will be pleased. The gear, complete with my beautiful green windpants and broken sunglasses, made me the sickest looking gaper on the mountain.

Given that the base of the mountain is at 2880 meters or 9449 feet and the peak at 3669 meters or 12037 feet there is not a tree in sight, only even bigger snow capped peaks of the Andes and huge rock cliffs that would surely make Shane McConkey a very happy boy.

Sergio and I stopped on the way back down from the mountains so he could try to sell some used snowboard boots at a roadside stand. As I stepped out of the pickup truck my eyes lit up in wonder. It seems that every amazing one-piece ski suit from 1970-1990, that Haik Kavookjian has been looking for on eBay, has ended up in the Southern Cone. The rows of dayglo colors were unbelievable and I was so tempted to make a few purchases. However, having to travel halfway across the world with one of those suits in my bag ultimately dissuaded me and I left the suits for some happy Chilean.

The thoughts of this place on a powder day is a fantasy that I can only hope will come true in my final few weeks in Chile. I will most definately be returning to the mountains in late July with my family and hopefully I can get a few more days in.

El Profe y Los Estudiantes

2008-07-04T18:42:00.006-04:00

Happy Fourth of July!

While my parents gear up for BBQ ribs and baked beans in Connecticut I faced the reality that I only have 13 days left in Valparaiso.

I never thought the time would come when I would start to reflect on all of this. I feel like my life has been a rollercoaster since January and I have been constantly adjusting to the dips and curves. However, these last few weeks I have found myself content and comfortable in my surroundings, despite the inevitable frustration that living in Chile can sometimes deliver.

As I sit in front of my computor trying to write a Latin American Philosophy paper I am reminded of our constant discussions in my Filosofia Latinoamericana class in La Universidad de La Playa Ancha. The class is taught by an incredible human being, by many accounts the most reveared profesor at La UPLA, Sergio Vuskovic Rojo. Recently I found out that Profe Vuskovic was the mayor of Valparaiso from 1970 to 1973. When the dictatorship came to power he was arrested and tortured on the Esmeralda, an incredible four masted ship that was actually moored in the harbor earlier this year. Vuskovic lived in exile after his imprisonment and returned to teach in the public university. Although he usually can't hear what the students are saying and his lectures aren't what we would call "coherent" or "organized," his presence has been extremely dear to my experience in la UPLA.

Vuskovic was a strong supporter of Allende and the socialist movement in Chile before the military coup. The discussion of politics here in Chile is rare and everytime it has come up I have felt unnervingly uncomfortable. The other day I was asking my Chilean father, Ivan, about the Chilean currency. I was asking about the old system and I used the word "dictadura" (dictatorship) instead of the "el gobierno de Pinochet." His eyes got narrow and said, "Dictadura, no habia una dictadura...fue una dicta-blanda." Etomologically speaking, dura, means strong while blanda means soft. It has been pretty evident throughout my stay here that Ivan was a supporter of Pinochet. He obviously did well under the dictatorship as he works in the city government, was never exiled, and is extremely well off. The divide between politics here is scary. He always calls la UPLA communist, which wouldn't be too far from the truth. The student body is radical to say the least.

I recently read an article in the New York Times about a new trend towards the political moderation of professors on college campuses as professors from the 60's retire. I guess going to college now isn't about radical ideas but rather about making a ton of money. In Chile, the majority of the student body is radical but I am unconvinced that it is a trend that can last. There are some students who come to both philosophy classes ever week (imagine that!) and give passionate speaches about socialism and the repression of the masses. There are other students who come in for the rare test and are otherwise absent class. There are the students that love the strikes because it allows them to sit in bed all day and watch telenovelas and finally there are the students that love to throw rocks at the cops.

The president of Chile is a member of the socialist party, not too mention the first Latin American woman president. Is this a sign of moving left-ward? Are the students' voices being heard? That completely depends on the electorate and there is no way the current electorate is going to change the direction of this country. Futhermore, I have never met anyone happy with Michelle Bachelet, it seems to me that she is not socialist enough for the socialists and the fact that she is socialist makes everyone else hate her. If the students of this generation can sustain their revolutionary attitudes until they start running for Congress they might have a chance. For now, they can take it too the streets.

Pow! Bam! Smack!

2008-06-20T13:21:00.006-04:00

Sometimes I forget where I am because I can watch House and Law and Order SVU on the tele.

But then I am ripped back to reality when:

all the public school teachers in the country go on strike for a week
there are puddles in the classrooms because the glass windows are shattered
I kill an insect in the bathroom that my family assures me is not a scorpion
men ride horses down city streets alongside cops who look disturbingly similar to green storm troopers.

I'm in Chile afterall. The TV is heavily influenced by the US but the internal problems are all Chilean. This week has been marked by massive protests and marches in Valpo by over ten thousand public school teachers from around the country. The protests were in response to the Congressional vote on a new education law, the LGE (Ley General de Educacion), which would replace the LOCE. The LOCE is a law remaining from the days of the dictatorship which supports a private, merantile system of education.

Under LOCE, the poor attend public schools, don't get an education, don't get into college and remain in the same position. The rich (all the polititians) send their kids to private schools, get into the best private universities, and continue the system.

This is Chile right? Sounds like some problems are international.

The LGE was passed but the professors don't believe that anything will change. For now, classes resume and the future is uncertain.

La Radio

2008-06-12T16:41:00.003-04:00

In the spanish language each word has a feminine or masculine gender, an incredible characteristic because some would argue that many human beings lack such distinctive qualities...

Most words correspond wonderfully and easily like the following:

la cama

la computadora

el rio

la musica

el auto

However, some words suck and break the rules:

la micro

el problema

la radio

For any and all that are interested, I am now writing on the WRMC Middlebury College Radio 91.1 Blog.

There is truely no one more excited about this than I am.

www.wrmc911.blogspot.com

It was Mr. Green in the kitchen with the rope

2008-06-09T16:48:00.005-04:00

I feel like my internal clock is completely screwed. My body is craving the beach and the killer heatwave that the east coast is having but my mind knows that the ski areas of Chile are opening this week.

Recently I have realized why I haven't had work all semester. Apparently the end of the Chilean semester is a scramble to get all the work done that was put off while the students where marching in the streets and throwing rocks. Nonetheless, I am not concerned.

This past weekend Middlebury treated the students in the program with an all inclusive trip to La Cascada de las Animas in Cajon de Maipo. Though it is no Sandals resort and the temperature sure as hell did not coincide with Jamaica, it was great to have the whole group back together again, sans Ed Quish, the other token Milford resident in Chile.

The trip was marked by good food, a nice jaunt to a waterfall, a puma siting (possibly caged), and board games in spanish. When I learned that no one had seen the movie Clue I was deeply upset that they all had missed Tim Curry's performance of a lifetime.

I also spent the fastest 12 dollars I have yet to spend in Chile. The zipline across El Rio Maipo was only worth the incredible views in the middle of the river. The sun setting over the snow capped peaks of the Andes while the river raged 30 meters below was quite a moment.

Chill-oé

2008-05-29T19:58:00.006-04:00

Last tuesday night I hopped on a 14 hour bus south to enjoy the fruits, or shellfish rather, of Chiloé, South America's second largest island and a pleasant Chilean refuge. While the western/modern/McDonald's influence can be felt in msot of Chile, Chiloé serves as a traditional oasis. The island feels frozen in time, clouds, and endless green hills spotted with sheep. Fishing is the major occupation there while tourism brings in money in the summertime. However, the winters are cold and rainy and mostly ignored by tourists. While my travels in February were defined by the high season, this trip was a perfect example of the wonders of traveling without other tourists.

The first stop was the main city of Castro, the capital of the region renowned for the palafitos, houses built over the water on stilts. Chiloé was known for these houses but after the 1960 earthquake most were destroyed and the people of Castro were the only ones crazy enough to keep up this impractical style of living.

After a few days of exploring Castro and some more surrounding towns and islands we found ourselves in Quemchi, a small, pretty much one road town in the northern half of the island. El Chejo, the local restaurant was most definately the pearl of Quemchi. When we walked into the restaurant the owner was waiting to shake our hands and within a few minutes he had decided what we were going to eat: seafood emapanadas and salmon. All of a sudden while we were enjoying the food, the earth began to move. Everything shook and no one said a thing, shock and disbelief rattled inside our skulls, as the giant invisible locomotive drove through the wooden restaurant. My first tremor...I'm not in Connecticut anymore. The Chileans laughed at Molly and me and a few minutes later all the lights went out; when the tremors are strong enough they cut all the electricity in the region to avoid fires. We then spent the rest of the night in the kitchen with the owner and his wife talking about who knows what while tasting local liquors made from berries. Every topic was covered by the light of the candle and the wood stove. At one point he warned us of a prophecy that says the end of world will began when a black pope is elected. He then told us he was afraid of Barack Obama and that if he were president the world might end. I was about to tell him who I voted for in the primaries but I decided I would rather be served more of his liquour so I shut up and kept listening.

We planned on returning to Valpo Saturday night but Chile was struck by the heaviest rains in many years. Bridges in the regions between Chiloé and Valpo had collapsed due to swollen rivers and the buses were cancelled. Oh man, I can't get back to classes and I am stuck down here for more days than I had planned. Damn, how awful...

We stumbled into another wonderful evening in Puerto Montt, one of the most important cities economically in southern Chile. The hostal we wanted to stay in, Hostal Suizo, was closed and had a sign on the fence advising us to try the house next door, which turned out to be the owner's parents. While we were sitting down for some bread and ham (classic Chilean onces) the owner from next door entered and we began to chat. Rossy Oelckers is half Swiss, half Chilean, an artist, collector, hostal owner, storyteller, and an incredible host. We spent the evening touring her incredible home, full of her art and prized belongings and sharing stories over a bottle of Chilean red.

We left Puerto Montt happy for Valdivia. Valdivia is a slow paced fishing town to the north and was once an important Spanish colonial town. Everything was super tranquilo in the town and we spend most of the time watching the sea lions fight over fish scraps next to the market, which was breathtaking. Other highlights include the Kuntsmann Brewery, Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, finding strange fruits in a bottle of local beer, and more seafood.

In the end the four day journey turned into a week and Valpo was waiting here, finally with clear skies, class, and "normal" life.

Anarquists?

2008-05-17T13:18:00.002-04:00

Twice a week now myself and a few of the other gringos in my program have a private literature class with our teacher. Her office has a great view from the sixth floor of a building at that bottom of a hill on the University of Playa Ancha campus. The other day we were sitting in class discussing the life and works of Gabriella Mistral when the secretary entered the class.

"Pardon the interruption, but a group of anarquists have entered the U and we need to evacuate immediately."

Anarquists? I thought. That's a new one. As we were packing up our bags laughing about the ridiculousness of our situation I looked out the window. There, in the middle of the street, students with bandanas covering their faces were breaking branches off of trees and lining them in the streets, sort of like garnish on a fine plate of ham. While these students were working, others where collecting rocks from the construction site near by and arranging their amo as school children pile up snowballs in anticipation of a battle. Then I noticed the thick black cloud of smoke coming from somewhere up the hill. "Moltav coctails?" I asked the professor.

"No, they're probably just burning tires," she said.

We left the building as the anarquists began throwing rocks at another group of students. We all got into the professor's red Suzuki station wagon and drove around the campus. On the other side of the soccer field we saw the large truck tire burning in the middle of the street. A few Carabinieros stood by, watching the scene as black, thick smoke swirled into the sky, undoutbably making many Vermonter environmentalists cry.

The professor took us to a small park near the beach about two minutes drive from la UPLA. There we sat down and continued talking about Mistral as if nothing had happened. After about ten minutes of discussion I started to notice a strange feeling in my face. My cheeks and nose started to burn and my eyes began to water. Looking around I noticed that the others were in the same discomfort. Evidently, more Caribinieros had arrived. Tear gas choked the campus and spread to our park via the wind. Hurriedly we got into the professor's car, rolled up the windows and left Playa Ancha for cleaner air.

Someone call Captain Panet

2008-05-12T13:57:00.004-04:00

Is it just me or is the earth seriously pissed off at us. Earthquakes in China, volcanos in Chile, Cyclones in Myanmar?

And I thought the U.S. was going to destroy the world...

La Marcha

2008-04-24T18:57:00.000-04:00

Politcal activism is something we take for granted in the United States. We all know that we have the right to protest and that is just dandy. When we have a problem with legislation we write to our Representatives and Senators in Washington. Sometimes, a vocal minority actually goes down to D.C. and marches, as has occured in the past few years in protest to the war in Iraq. The Chileans, however, take protesting very seriously.

On Tuesday I went to class as normal and when I showed up there was a mass of people standing outside of the main building on campus, La Casa Central. I walked up to the doors and found a wall of desks and chairs blocking the entrance. I asked a student what was going on and he informed me that one of the majors at the school had started a "Toma." (The verb tomar means to take). Literally, they had taken the building in protest of recent government legislation to raise the student bus fair about 100% in an effort to assist the struggling public school systems. This was just the last straw for the students as the government has also been threatening to privatize UPLA. Also, there has been a strong student movement since I have been down here to have a public school at the same caliber as the expensive private schools in Chile. All this has lead to "paros" or strikes in a few of the majors, thus, I only had one class this week.

Today was a nation-wide day of protest for the students and naturally I couldn't resist a little jaunt with my camera right into the thick of it all. The National Congress is located here in Valparaiso and today there was a giant march, of all the college and high school students in the city down the main avenue, Pedro Montt. The students marched from one end of town to the Congressional building, blocking off the entire street. At the Congress the Caribinieros (Police) waited with riot gear and some crowd control equipment as seen below.

Those intimidating, green, military-esque vehicles blocked the road to the congress. The one to the left is known as a Guanaco. The truck is loaded with water that smells like sewage and has a high pressurized super soaker on top.

At first the March was peaceful, people where chanting, clapping, even sitting down in the street as they waited. They had submitted a letter to Congress earlier that day with all of their wishes and concerns and where waiting for a response. I was accompanied by a friend from my Philosophy class, Lizardo, and he was able to fill me in on everything going on. All of a sudden a group of people to our right began to throw rocks and bottles at the Carabinieros. Lizardo informed me that these were all the high school students. None of the college aged kids where looking for violence and they shouted and booed the agitators. The kids continued to throw rocks and Lizardo and I were surprised by the restraint the Carabinieros showed. When the kids broke down the barrior and threw a barrage of rocks, glass, and wood they got the reaction they were waiting for. The trucks revved their engines and moved quickly at the assailants. The Guanaco shot the shit water in the direction of the crowd and a mass stampede ensued as the Carabinieros chased after the aggressors, arresting a few and ultimately breaking up what was once a peaceful protest.

We hung around for a bit afterwards and watched as kids continued to mess with the police. I saw one of the my more worse behaved students from the Colegio pick up a piece of sidewalk and smash it on the road into smaller pieces for ammo.

This is the second day that I have seen a violent clash between citizens and police. Yesterday I witnessed a group of protestors throwing eggs and rocks at the Municipality building. They were protesting the construction of a proposed mall here in Valpo. It was broken up when a Guanaco rolled in and sprayed the protestors, followed by Carabinieros wrestling people into a paddywagon. This country faced serious repression under the dictatorship of Pinochet. Some people suffered tremendously, some benefitted, some disapeared, and some died. Political activism was a crime and taken very seriously. Today it is still taken very seriously and these students are going to fight until someone listens. Unfortunately, in every large protest there are going to be people who are only there to start trouble. To a sixteen year old, angry teenager there is nothing more beautiful than a rock in a cop's face. Some high school students will have a story to tell tomorrow, other's will be in prison. Unfortunately they did nothing to achieve the goals of the protest and ultimately tarnished the goals of the student majority.

Coast to Coast to Coast to Coast

2008-04-22T16:52:00.000-04:00

As April draws to a close I am ashamed at my lack of posts. This is not due to a lack of activity, on the contrary, the month did not dissapoint. A few weeks ago I was under the impression that my schedule was pretty set in stone. Monday and Tuesday I would wake up early and head over to the school down the street to teach English. Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday I would trek across town to La UPLA and sit in class, trying to pay attention. I have a hard enough time paying attention to classes back at Midd but during a lecture in Spanish it is impossible not to let the mind wander to things that I can actually understand without an Espanol-Ingles dicionario.

This was all upset on a normal Tuesday when Sage, another student here from Midd, explained to us that the following week would be the week of Mechones, a week celebrating the first year students. She informed us that there would be no classes after 11 A.M. each day and that she planned on traveling. With this my mind began to wander. If I left Thursday after my last class I could have ten days before my next class. My own personal spring break was thus formulated and set into action. Two days later Molly and I sat on an overnight bus peircing the Andes at death-defying speeds; cheap wine and steak ahead of us, Valparaiso behind us.

We spent two days in Mendoza and sampled the fruits of the region. One day we rented bicycles and cruised through the vineyards, stopping to take tours and sample wines. At the last vineyard someone took Molly's bike and switched it for a bike with a flat tire. The ride back was long and unbearably uncomfortable as I felt every pothole and rock under the bare metal rim in my crotch. As I was peddling and sweating profusely I heard someone yell, "Go home Jacky" as a Moped cruised by. It took quite a while of confusion until I finally realized that he had not confused me for his thin female cousin but had recognized me for the patriotic, red-blooded, live free or die, American that I am. I wish I had been able to inform him that in reality I support the Mets.

We arrived in Buenos Aires on Sunday morning and spent the day walking through the San Telmo Antiques Market, a giant gathering of mimes, clowns, artisans, antiquers, tourists, Tango bands and dancers, and more people trying to sell mate gourds than there are monedas in Argentina. To explain this simile: there are no coins in Argentina and thus Molly and I spent the week hording as many as we could get our greedy American hands on. I've been told it is because the metal is worth more than the actual value of the coins so people take them to Paraguay and sell them. In reality, nobody knows. In spite of this, Argentina now lacks more pesos. Booya.

We spent the week taking advantage of the economically unstable country, fueled by copious amounts of dead animal, wine, and mate. We met up with other Midd students and went out in style. On Monday night we went to La Bomba, an excellent weekly concert of a large percussion band. They played for two hours as the crowd rejoiced over music and the two dollar-a-liter beer.

We went to the zoo on Wednesday with Forrest. I love animals, even if they are in cages and presumably miserable, so I had a great time. That night we also noticed a strange scent in the air as we left a bar around two in the morning with Pujan and Will. It smelled like smoke; how strange.

The next day we went to El Tigre in the delta region north along the coast of the Rio del Plata,

the largest river in the world. We took the public transportation, a sick old wooden boat, to one of the islands where I ate more steak and we walked into a field of spiders that were probably raised by Hagrid and grew up eating intruding wizards in the Forbidden Forest.

When we returned to the city we could barely see anything through the thick smoke that had blanketed Buenos Aires. It turns out that the farmers in the delta are protesting the price at which the government was planning to buy their crops. In Argentina products are exported through the government, the idea being that the farmers will receive a fair price and the government can take a nice little treat for itself. This year however, when the price the government set was lower than normal, massive protests ensued. At first the farmers blocked all the roads into Buenos Aires and then they began burning all their fields, literally suffocating the country's capital. By the end of our week it was miserable outside. I felt like I was in a seedy bar the entire time; I never saw the sun, my eyes were watering, and my throat felt like an ashtray. I was actually excited to get on the 24 hour bus on Sunday and get the hell out of Malas Aires for the cloudy, dreary skies that were waiting for me here on the other coast in Valparaiso.

Dead bodies smell funny

2008-04-02T12:44:00.000-04:00

Last weekend I went to Santiago to stay with Sergio again. The weekend was full of great activities such as climbing, eating meat, seeing dead bodies dissected and placed in silly positions, watching Catholics drink at ten in the morning at a religious parade on Sunday, and more climbing.

To clarify some of that.

Rest assured the dead bodies were in a controlled environment. The Bodies Exhibit is in Santiago for the next few months and I could not pass up the opportunity to see a complete circulatory system outside of a body and fetuses (what is the plural of fetus? Is it like cactus: feti?) in jars. At first I was wondering where someone could find so many bodies to play with but then I realized that they were all Asian and it probably isn't that hard to find a plethora of unclaimed bodies in China.

On Sunday we went to the Quazi Moto parade near Sergio's house to see some caballos (horses), Santi's favorite animal and word. The parade happens every year after Easter and traditionally it was the day that the Catholic priests brought all the money down from the local churches to the main casa del Dios. All the huascos, or cowboys, would come out and escort the Priests, protecting them from robbers, along their journey. Today the priests don't really need to worry about robbers, just drunk guys on their horses.

What do sixth graders, four letter English words, and Pablo Neruda have in common?

2008-03-27T12:21:00.000-04:00

I have been thinking a lot about this newfangled "blogging" and I am in a bind. I am always torn between writing a ton of detail about my life down here or short and sweet reviews. Its just a bit hard because I don't like writing summaries of my weekends/weeks/days/etc.

With that in mind:

Last weekend I went with my family to Quizco, a small beach town about and hour and a half south of Valpo. We rented a Cabana about two blocks from the beach and spent the weekend eating delicious food and playing cards and dice. The weather was cold and overcast for most of the weekend but the sun did come out for a few hours on Saturday and I got to go to the beach for a few hours.

On Sunday we went to Pablo Neruda's house in Isla Negra for a tour. Pablo Neruda is Chile's most famous poet who traveled the world as a diplomat for the country. He filled his house with ecclectic collections of everything to pipes, rare insects and butterflies, masks, to a large collection of figureheads from the bows of ships. The house is build on a cliff overlooking the giant Pacific waves that crash in front of the house. This house is officially baller-steaz.

On Monday I started my internship at El Colegio de La Republica del Paraguay, a public school down the street from my house. I am assisting a teacher with English classes and I will work about fifteen hours a week there. The first two days were eventful and crazy. The classes completely vary in the behavior of the students. In sixth grade class the only English sentence they knew was "eh, fuck you meng," which they yelled constantly when they weren't drawing pictures of pot leaves, pretending to snort coke of their desks, or punching each other. Seriously, I have no idea how these kids know so much about drugs. One of the kids even walked up to me in class and tried to give me a rolling paper as a gift.

The other sixth grade class however was completely different. They sat at their desks and drew their family tree complete with pretty colors and translations of grandmother, father, brother, etc.

Needless to say the public schools are underfunded and thus, on a whole, the kids lack any sort of discipline which puts them at a serious disadvantage for their future education. My host mom told me that out of the forty or fifty kids who graduate from public school, three or four will go on to a university. Hopefully, at least some of them will learn some English.

Classes...well kind of

2008-03-20T12:50:00.000-04:00

My first week of classes came to a close today. On Tuesday I went to a Latin American Literature class that I never really planned on taking. I didn't have anything to do during the day and I figured I would just go and see what classes were like. The class was interesting and after the class the Professor told all the Gringos that we would only have to read one book for every four that the other students would read. Although this definately made the class tempting, as of right now I am not going to take it.

Wednesday I went to a Philosophy of Latin America course that I am definately going to take. The professor is this old man who talks incredibly slowly. The class is small and it seems like there is going to be a lot of participation and discussion. After that I went to History of Chile and the Americas, which was sans professor and thus cancelled.

Afterwards Maria, Sasha, and I went downtown to hang around while I waited for my five o'clock Photography class back at UPLA. A few hours later when I returned I found a teacher's assistant sitting behind the Professor's desk and a sign in sheet again sans Professor. So to wrap up the first day: Professors 1 for 3.

Today the Professors made a better showing and attended both my classes! Again Philosophy and for the first time a bit of history. History will prove to be interesting because I probably understood 5 to 10 percent of what the Professor said. What I did understand was that there is a chance that the Wednesday class will change to Monday. This however, does not fair well with me because as of right now, I have classes Wednesday and Thursday, thus affording me a five day weekend. Stop, its hammertime.

Immediately after classes I booked it across town back to Cerro Las Placeres for a meeting at the public school that I will be working at. I met with the Director of the school and the English teacher and I start on Monday. When I walked into the school all I saw in front of me was a mass of children craving recess. It looks like I will be teaching English in the morning with the teacher and if I need more hours I will help with other activities in the afternoon like sports or tuturing. This makes me a bit nervious because I suck at soccer and I feel like these kids are going wreck me. I fear that I will have to relive my short stint playing soccer as a child. My only real memory of this is of some kid named Jason kicking the ball straight into my stomach, sending me to the ground in tears. That was the first time I ever got the wind knocked out of me and I will never forget it. To me, soccer signifies running confused and desperate behind everyone else for ninety minutes. Now I just have to do that in another language. Sweet.

The other day I walked around town with my camera for a bit. The following are some selected images.

Perfect example of a normal street in Cerro Alegre

Graffiti in a the ruins of a charred house

One of my favorite murals

View of the city from Cerro Concepcion

Cajon de Maipo

2008-03-11T23:40:00.000-04:00

Early Friday morning Maria and I met at the bus terminal to catch a bus over to Santiago. Maria, formally known as Molly, is a friend from Middlebury who is also studying at UPLA in the same program. We had planned to get away for the weekend on a simple camping and backpacking trip to Cajon de Maipo. My friend Sergio recommended to me this area as it is only about an hour and a half outside of Santiago with plenty of places to camp and a beautiful National Park, El Parque El Morado. It all seemed very simple. All we needed to do was get a bus to Santiago, buy a stove, get a bus to San Jose de Maipo, and finally take one more bus to Baños Morales. We planned on getting to the park in the early afternoon, hiking for about two hours to a glacial lagoon and setting up camp.

Needless to say, we are naive gringos in a land where flexible plans are a necessity.

When we arrived in Santiago we rode the subway and then a bus to a mall on the other side of town where Sergio recommended that we buy a stove. In addition to buying the stove and a thermos I was tempted by a glorious foodcourt full of all my favorites: Burger King, Taco Bell, Subway, and yes, the glorious McDonald's. Immediately I got in line with my giant purple backpack and ordered a Cuarto de Libre con Queso (Quarter Pounder with Cheese Whatup!). After feasting, we returned to the Metro and when we got to our intended stop we where informed that the buses for Cajon de Maipo were now at a different station on the other side of town. Finally we arrived at the station that we were told was correct.

We walked around, confused and all geared out in our backpacking clothes for a while until we finally asked a guard where the buses left for Cajon de Maipo. He told us they were in front of the building but when we went to find it there were about thirty buses honking their horns in a two lane highway. So, Maria asked another guard where we could find our bus and after consulting his amigos on his radio he replied that we needed to go to the back of the building . So we returned to the other guard where he insisted very sternly that he had been working at the station for many years and that he was sure that all the buses for Cajon de Maipo where out front. Assuredly (kind of), Maria and I entered into the maze of buses and consulted some chicos which bus we needed to take. They were very helpful and pointed out one bus that said "Buin-Maipo." Ah, Maipo, this must be our bus. After missing one or two of these buses due to our confusion we finally hopped on the bus and I asked the driver, "This goes to Cajon de Maipo, right?" He nodded his head and asked for 700 pesos which we were glad to give for our reassurance that all we had to do was relax as our destination approached.

About an hour later I looked out the window and saw signs for Buin. I consulted the small map that Maria was smart enough to tear out of her Lonely Planet guide and saw that Buin was not at all in the direction of Cajon de Maipo. Ah no matter, I thought, the bus must go there next. The driver did after all say that we were on the right bus.

Slowly all the people on the bus began to trickle off and eventually it was only Maria, me, and another hombre. I asked the man, "Are we close to San Jose de Maipo? We are trying to get to Baños Morales, can we take a collectivo from here?" He assured me that we only needed to walk a few blocks more and we would be there. Great, I thought. However, as I looked out the window and only saw fields of green I couldn't help but wonder what this man meant by "walk a few blocks."

Finally we pulled into a gravel parking lot. I tried to talk to the driver but I'm still not sure if he spoke Spanish. I can understand some Chileans but others don't move their mouths when they speak. Even when you ask them to repeat something slower, nothing changes except your level of frustration. Finally we figured out that we took a bus in the completely wrong direction. The drivers at the rural terminal got a good laugh at us and I couldn't help but wonder why this driver didn't tell me that we were on the wrong bus when I asked him about our destination two hours ago.

In retrospect, Maria and I did get to see a part of Chile that we weren't planning on seeing: more rural nothingness. Not to mention now we know the public transit buses from Buin to San Jose, about a two hour journey, so if anyone ever needs some advice in this sector, I am your source.

Finally, as we were riding our bus to San Jose we were informed that there is only one bus to Baños Morales and it leaves in the morning. In San Jose we ended up finding a hostel with a gracious little old Chilean lady host. Just as we arrived to the hostel the skies opened up with pooring rain, thunder, and lightning. We smiled as we saw huge bolts striking the mountains where we had planned to sleep that night.

Later we decided to explore the town for a restaurant. San Jose is extremely small and situated along the Maipo river which carved a giant canyon through the Andes. As Maria tried to pump out a quick email to our program directors about our trip a large flash of lightning was followed by complete darkness. A few teenage girls screamed in the street and all the computor screens in the internet cafe went black. After about three seconds of silence we both burst out in laughter. Abandoning the internet cafe we walked down the pitch black streets, lit sporatically by lightning and a few car headlights. Finally we arrived to the center square and found a restaurant with some candles inside. We went in, having no idea what the name of the restautant was nor what it looked like, sat down, order two beers, and laughed over the ridiculous day. The dinner however was delicious complete with a perfect atmosphere of candles, lightning, and steak.

When we finally found our hostel in the darkened streets we learned that the son of the owner had gone out looking for us in the dark. It seemed that the family was worried about us and wanted to make sure we returned to the hostel safely. Not bad for a ten dollar a night place.

We woke up ealier and got a ride up to Baños Morales. When we arrived we walked straight to the entrance of the El Parque El Morado and learned from the CONAF agent that camping was not permitted inside the park anymore and that we would have to camp in the small town outside the park.

Finally we were outside of the city and out of the snares of public transportation and misguided advice. The hike was beautiful and was a perfect day trek although it would have been awesome to camp in the park. The hike runs along a glacial moraine forming a canyon between two steep mountain ranges.

Eventually we got to the glacial lagoon and saw all the would-be-perfect camping sites. The clouds began to clear and Cerro El Morado came into view at a staggering 5060 meters.

After about another hour or so we crossed over a ridge and we stood at the base of the San Francisco glacier that fell from the base of El Morado. To our left we could hear a thundering waterfall which looked to be extremely muddy. As we looked closer we realized that the bulk of this fall was not water but was actually rock. At the base of the cliff, a large bulk of rocks was slowly moving down the slope like a mass of lava, slowly bubbling and crawling down into the valley. We stood in awe as the landslide carved its way through the rocky ground and eventually met up with the river of snowmelt in the base of the valley.

The return hike was easy and dinner was burnt lentils at our campsite. The next day we hung around and explored the small turist village of Baños Morales. The town is known to Santiguinos for its natural thermal baths, high in sulfur and other unknown but probably important minerals. We found the muddy holes in the ground and decided to give them a try. The water was a bit chilly and we stood uncomfortably in the water while Chileans swam around us in glee. I am not going to say that we enjoyed the thermal pools, but we didn’t hate it. It was mostly entertaining to watch all the weird people wading in the dirty water.

The rest of the day we hung around the campsite and drank mate as we waited for the afternoon bus back to Santiago. Which, thank Dios, was not as eventful as our ride from the country’s capital.

Necessities

2008-03-06T21:35:00.000-05:00

Today I bought toenail clippers from a man with one tooth in a restaurant. That is all.

How I Learned the Word "Ceniza"

2008-03-04T17:25:00.000-05:00

When you study Spanish in school you learn the really important words. Baño means toilet. Pantalones are pants. Cerveza is beer. These are important words that one uses on a daily basis, of course with moderation Mother...The word ceniza, however, is not a word that I had the opportunity to learn in school. Cenizas are ashes. I learned this word when I woke up one morning to see a dusting of ashes in my room below the open window. As I sat down for breakfast I looked outside and saw a carpet of black and grey on the patio. And as I looked to the sky, ashes were falling like a flurry of snow. "This is odd," I thought to myself. The previous day when I was downtown I remembered seeing a thick layer of dark clouds above the hills that line the city but I thought it was just an inland storm. It turns out the west coast of this continent and its northern brother are not so different after all. About an hour or so away from Valparaiso there are some nasty forest fires flaring and spitting ashes in the surrounding areas as well as filling the sky with dark smoke. It is a most strange feeling to be sitting in a cafe and smell smoke when no one around you has a cigarette between their fingers. It is equally strange when you have to brush ashes out of your hair after walking down the street. What is the world coming to? Is it the apocalypse? Is this one of those darn plagues? Well I say, bring on the frogs.

My first few days living in Valparaiso have gone nice and smooth and I have been adjusting myself to the Chilean lifestyle. A bit about the dining style of the Chileans is in order. In the morning we have desayuno. The Chilean breakfast includes coffee or tea (té para mi), bread, butter, cheese, ham, and some fruit. For me this meal has been often late and by myself because when I don't have to wake up in the mornings, sleep is my number one priority. Almuerzo, lunch, comes at around two in the afternoon and is the biggest meal of the day, usually a full course meal. Today we had salad, soup, ravioli, tea, and ice cream. The other day we had salad, salmon, and fresh fruit. I usually find myself eating all that I can as the food is delicious and perfect to break up the day with. In the evenings, at around eight, we have once which is a light meal of bread and ham or the like. The other day I had quiche, which was scrumptious, and yesterday a few of the students in the program and I had once at La Cafe del Poeta in the Plaza Anibal Pinto where I enjoyed an Austral Lager and a open faced sandwich with ham, tomato, asparagus, and cheese.

The night life here is very different than that of the United States, at least for me at Middlebury, where all the parties start at eleven and are promptly shut down by two in the morning by a stern public safety officer. Here, it is ludicrous to be home before two in the morning, in fact, this is when many clubs open their doors. However, being the new guy in town I haven't really tasted my share of the night life yet and need to get in good with some locals in order to really check things out. The past few nights have been spent mostly walking around the plan, the downtown area, exploring, and usually coming home early. In fact, one night when I returned at around two I was surprised to see that I had arrived for bed earlier than my host parents. To say the least, I was ashamed.

Yesterday, all the students in the Middlebury program that are studing at the University de Playa Ancha, or UPLA for short, went to the University for a meeting with the office for foreign students. There, we were told very important information in indiscernably fast Spanish that I understood maybe ten percent of. However, I did catch one interesting fact: classes do not start until March 17. Interesting. It was at that moment that I began making plans for the weekend...

There are some pros and cons to this unexpected vacation. For one, I get to do some traveling for now and am hoping to check out a National Park for some camping and hiking east of Santiago this weekend. Also, with few priorities during the coming week, hopefully I will be able to get out to the beaches if the sky actually turns blue again. On the other hand, it will be a lot harder to meet Chileans in these next few weeks if I don't have class. But another juicy piece of information that I managed to salvage from the speeding lips of the university employees was that the six students in the Middlebury program are the only foreign students studying at UPLA this semester. This is definately good news, as one other student studying at La Catolica, the private university in Valpo told me yesterday that there are five hundred foreign students in her university. This will make integration a must within classes, once they start of course.

Now that I am so involved in the world of Blogs I have been purusing the Blogosphere and have tried to make mine a little more advanced. I added a few new features and pictures. I hope you like it. I can even put the music that is stuck in my head on here! Wow, technology is rad huh?

"Young Folks" by Peter Bjorn and John

Whistling is an international tongue, making this song a perfect choice.

Una Vista Bonita

2008-03-01T18:49:00.000-05:00

This is the view from my window. Not bad to wake up in the morning too...

Some Corrections

2008-03-01T14:10:00.000-05:00

I entered in the wrong links for Eric and Jeremy's blogs in an older post. Here are the corrected links:

Eric Harvey's Blog

Jeremy Martin's Blog

Sorry if any inconvenience ensued.

Mi Casa Nueva

2008-03-01T12:54:00.001-05:00

I have finally arrived at my final destination for the next few months. Today I moved in to my new house with my Chilean family. I have a beautiful big room which makes up the second floor of the house. On one end of the room there is a view of the street and on the other I have a great view of the Pacific, as the house is situated on a tall hill, Cerro Los Placeres, like all of Valparaiso.

I arrived in Valpo on Thursday with the rest of the students that will be studying in Chile. The ride from Santiago is short, only about an hour and a half and cuts through vineyards and more arid hills. All the students stayed in a hostel in Cerro Bellavista and our orientation meetings took place down the street at a restaurent called El Gato Tuerto, which is visible in this picture above the colored buildings (Note: I haven't busted out the camera here yet and this is just an image I found online). Everything from here on in is in Spanish and it is very funny to be seeing friends and to only be able to speak in Spanish with them. It is also interesting to meet new people enrolled in the Middlebury program and never have the opportunity to speak with each other in our native language.

The orientation days were filled with meetings about everything from how our internships work, to Chilean slang, safety, and overviews of Chilean society. The past two days have been a flood of information in Spanish and it is quite easy to become exhausted with all the thinking. However, I think that the first few weeks down here, integrating Spanish into my life slowly, has really helped me. I am much more confident in my Spanish than when I was back at home. I have finally learned to allow myself to concentrate less on each word that everyone says and more on the general point of the converstation. I am really excited to be taking things slow, thinking in Spanish, and experimenting with new ways of saying things. It is easy to say this now because it is my first few days here and I am sure that within a week or so I will detract this statement and denounce Spanish as the tongue of Satan. Yesterday afternoon after a city tour and all the classes the last thing I wanted to do was hear more Spanish. Fortunately I got over it and spent the night with the others in the hostal stumbling over our words and laughing at each other's mistakes.

As I said, yesterday all the students went on a two hour walking tour of some of the better known parts of the city, Cerro Alegre and Cerro Concepcion. These areas are located on steep hills that come out of the downtown of the city and have sweeping views of the ocean. All the houses and buildings on the hills are painted in different bright colors and seem to grow out of one another. This is a common theme to this city, as it is the only city in Chile without a city planning department. Many of the small streets that steeply wind up the hills have sharp corners that reveil terraces with small hidden restaurants, hotels, and overlooks of the city. I feel that it is impossible to really learn these parts of the city and it is definately impossible that a map could chart all these secret passages and walkways. The city has a very organic feel to it setting it apart as the most unique city that I have ever seen.

Finally I have some free time and tonight I may go out and see what a Saturday night is like in Valparaiso. For now I will adjust slowly and take things easy.

Sergio's House

2008-02-27T16:14:00.000-05:00

After staying one night in a hostel in El Barrio Brasil in Santiago we met up with Sergio Juarez, a good friend that Eric and I met on our NOLS course a few years ago. Sergio is from Mexico and moved down to Santiago with his American wife Kara. They have a baby boy, Santi, who is just over a year old. Kara teaches science at an International school in Santiago and Sergio is a professional guide. He most recently was leading trips up Aconcagua but is now trying to only do local trips so that he can spend more time with his family. They live in a beautiful house in the hills outside of Santiago surrounded by trees and overlooking a small river in the backyard. It had been almost three years since Eric and I saw Sergio but as soon as we hopped into his green Nissan pickup truck it was as if we were back in Patagonia, laughing and carrying on like old times.

We came back to his house and made some delicious pizza, hung out, and when Kara got home from school we drove up the road ten minutes for a hike. Sergio put Santi in a special backpack built to carry babies and we walked along a river picking fresh blackberries. Santi fell asleep on the hike and was dreaming and drooling with blackberry juice smeared across his face as we admired the cacti and mountain views. At one point, Eric jumped about three feet straight into the air and screamed like a little girl. We turned around and saw a giant tarantula, or a pollito, scurrying across the trail. It was as big as my hand and had orange hairs all over its body. Sergio and Kara were not surprised as they said they see them around all the time, they have even found them in their bathroom before! With this, the three gringos were a bit unsettled but we got over it rather quickly with more great scenery and conversation. We hiked and talked for about an hour until we got to a gate that impeded our return to the car. Instead of a ten minute hike out we had to retrace our steps for about an hour. It was getting dark and Santi woke up from his nap, however, despite the dark and the coming cold he was content and starred wide-eyed the five experienced outdoorsmen stumbled through the dark looking for the trail. That night Eric cooked delicious Gado-gado pasta with fresh peppers and onions.

The next day we sat around in the morning. Eric and Jeremy tried to figure out their plans for the coming days while I played guitar and Santi ran around smiling and screaming. We drank lots of mate and hung around. Santi saw us all drinking mate and wanted to join. First he tried some cold mate and when we saw that he liked it so much we filled a gourd with water and let him drink out of the bombilla. Now he is a fiend and is chasing Sergio around for the mate right now. In the afternoon we hopped in the car and drove five minutes, walked for ten minutes, and arrived at some excellent rocks. After Sergio gave us a refresher course in belaying Sergio roped in and lead climbed to the top of the 5.10 route, setting it up for top roping. He flew up the rock with ease and style, as we in the business call: steaze. Once the route was set I threw on some shoes an barely made it up a fifth of the route before having to come down, my legs shaking and the veins in my arms stiff with blood. Jeremy gave it a try and got a bit higher than me before he had to come down as well. Unfortunately, Eric hurt his shoulder last year climbing and was not about to throw away eight months of physical therapy so he belayed us and watched, giving heckles and words of encouragement when necessary. After a few tries and many rest breaks in between, I made it to a nice ledge about halfway up the route, the farthest I was going to get this time around. We hiked out as it was getting dark and came back to Sergio's house. We started a fire on the grill, opened up a bottle of Chile's famous Carmenere and hung out, grilling amazing vegetables and steaks.

Today, Eric's twenty-first birthday, Sergio has been helping Jeremy and Eric get ready for their next adventure. They plan on summiting El Plomo, a mountain just outside Santiago at an altitude of 5400 meters, about 17800 ft. With their combined knowledge and Sergio's massive amounts of gear, they have been busy getting ready for a hard hike. While they went grocery shopping today I went to the Middlebury Abroad office in Santiago and met with Jeff Stevenson, the director. We chatted for a while and I told him that I would be staying at Sergio's again tonight as opposed to staying in the hotel. I want to spend another night here with Sergio and his family and tomorrow morning I will go to the hotel and meet up with the rest of the group before we get on the bus for Valparaiso, my final destination. Jeff said that we will be staying in a hostel for a few days for orientation and on Saturday I will move in with my family. Valpo is only a two hours away by bus and I will definitely be coming up to Santiago to hang out with Sergio and get outside for some adventures. Yesterday was my first time climbing outside on real rock and I am very excited to get outside more. With a friend like Sergio around, it would be crazy not to.

Sergio and I drove Eric and Jeremy to the drop off point at the base of El Plomo and I said good-bye to my compadres. The drive up was incredible, the narrowest switchbacks I have ever seen. After reaching the bases of all the ski mountains, including Valle Nevado, we jumped on a dirt road and zig-zagged up the mountain. I really want to see these mountains in the winter. Everything is above the tree line and up above the lifts there are giant bowls and chutes, all above 3500 meters. We got to the snowline and Sergio gave the boys some last minute advice and direction. It would have been great to get back out with Eric and Jeremy but unfortunately, reality calls; Its back to school for me. On second thought, it won't be any reality that I have experienced before. In any case, Sergio will pick them up on Thursday and hopefully they will get to summit, weather permitting. They will be studying in Montevideo, Uruguay, across the continent from Valpo and I will probably not see them for quite awhile. Eric will be down here for the year and hopefully we will be able to meet up in July for a few more adventures before I head back up north.

Pictures of my stay at Sergio's

If your interested…

Eric Harvey’ s blog

Jeremy Martin’s blog

Until Valpo...Chaio.

I really like pictures...

2008-02-26T13:22:00.001-05:00

Well, unfortunately Blogspot has been giving me a lot of difficulty with uploading pictures straight to the blog. As I am an expert at averting difficulties, I have created a Picasa photo page where my pictures can be displayed. I have been a bit conservative as to when I have busted out the camera due to my paranoia of rain/theft/natural disaster/etc. However, here are some choice pictures and I will throw in links throughout my subsequent blogs. Without further adieu...

http://picasaweb.google.com/davidtoddsmall

Arrival In Santiago, Chile

2008-02-24T18:37:00.000-05:00

Well I am now in my new home country. The last few days in Mendoza were slow and wonderful. On Friday Lizz, Eric, Sage, Jeremy, and I went on a wine tour. We visited two vineyards and one olive oil factory and got to taste all the goodies. We went to one large commercial vineyard and another smaller family run operation. We took tours of the facilities and learned how to taste wine, raising our levels of pretention a few more notches. That night the boys went out to dinner late, as everyone does in Argentina. We probably didn't get to the restaurant until midnight and stayed outside at the restaurant for a while observing the active nightlife of Mendoza. I really enjoyed Mendoza; definately my favorite city so far. It is a low-rise city with about a million people located at the foot of the Andes and surrounded by vineyards. The pace of life is slow and relaxed. Many times when we needed to find out information or visit a store, they were closed due to siesta. Despite the fact that we were frustrated at times by the desire of the Argentines to close up shop in the middle of the day to take a nap, there is something very charming about the whole custom. Something like this would never be possible in the United States because no one would sacrafice three or more hours of business during the day. It seems the Argentines aren't really concerned with making money and success like our megacapitalist society. They are simply busy enjoying themselves and feel that everyday day everyone should have a nap-time. It's like preschool really. However, it is a custom that I see threatened by the overwhelming business pressence of the west. A country cannot get ahead in the international business world if at every day at three o'clock everyone decided to go to bed for a few hours because they ate dinner at midnight the night before.

The next day Jeremy, Sage, and I hung out at the hostel while Eric and Lizz went for a day hike outside of Mendoza. We hung out by the pool and met some Australians who invited us to grill some steaks for lunch on the asado. We spent the rest of the day talking politics and travel, our main topics of discussion with everyone we seem to meet. That night I met some British girls and another Australian who invited us out to dinner with them. Seeing that Jeremy, Eric, and I had to wake up for a six-thirty bus taxi to the bus station, Jeremy and I stayed up with them making fun of the ridiculous things British people say. A few choice expressions: "ripping the piss out of someone," "taking the mick out of someone," "bad banter," amongst many others that have escaped my memory from lack of sleep and red wine.

Today we said good-bye to Lizz and Sage and hopped on the bus for our ride up and over the Andes. Lizz and Sage stayed in Mendoza because Lizz will head back to Brazil in a few days while Sage will come up over the Andes for orientation on Wednesday. I passed out for the first hour or so but I woke up to see Aconcagua, the highest peak in the Americas, right out of my window. The road from Mendoza to Santiago, Rt 60, is insane with countless switchbacks, breathtaking vistas, and scary roadside cliffs. At the border between Chile and Argentina we all had to get off the bus with our luggage and line up in a room where a dog jumped up on the table and sniffed everyone and their bags. The customs was one of the most inefficient systems I have ever seen at a border, but like all the other inefficiencies of South America, nobody but the Americans seem to mind. No one else here is in a rush, ever. We sat back and laughed with sleep deprived eyes and observed the multitude of mullets and pint-sized women. I don't know what it is here, but everyone is obsessed with the mullet. I have never seen so many styles of the mullet and there are quite a few that can look absolutely stunning on some women. I will never retract that statement as ridiculous as it may seem.

We have not seem much of the city tonight but tomorrow we will meet up with Eric and I's good friend, Sergio Juarez who lives here in the city with his wife and kid. We met Sergio a few years ago on our NOLS course and I cannot wait to see him. Until then we will do a bit exploring and try to compare Chile's Carmenare wine with Mendoza's Malbec now that we have such sophisticated palates.

Mendoza: The Andes with a Little Vino Tinto

2008-02-22T10:01:00.000-05:00

The bus trip to Mendoza was easy and comfortable. Jeremy and I reclined in large leather seats and were served whiskey and steak while watching a western movie. When I woke up in the morning and groggily looked out my window my decision to leave the city was reaffirmed. Rows and rows of grapes went on forever and in the distane the giant snowcapped peaks of the second highest mountain range in the world, the Andes, erupted from the plains. Jeremy and I knew that we had to get into those mountains immediately.

The first day in Mendoza was spent rushing around and trying to get our backpacking gear and a ride organized. The hostel we stayed in, Itaka, was hot and crowded but the staff was great and we found time during the day to kick it and go for a swim in the small pool in the backyard. The next morning we caught a nine a.m. van out to the mountains which passed by some beautiful scenery. We drove through vineyards until we entered a desert that resembled the American southwest. The rocks are all red here, with cliffs showing the sedimentary layering of thousands of years of dry rock. The vegetation is all small with a few cacti poking out of the ground.

We took a long dirt road, full of switchbacks, up into the mountains and were dropped off at the Refugio San Antonio in the Vallecitos region. One of the guides who worked for the bus company, Laurena asked us what we were doing and if she could accompany us for a while on our hike. We also met a wonderfully eccentric Canadian man named Rafael who wanted to come along for a short gaunt. Rafael hails from British Columbia and gesticulates everything he says. He had just bought 30,000 dollars worth of land down the road from the refugio and wanted to walk around and check everything out. After hiking for about and hour and a half with our new friends, Laurena gave us some great advice about where to camp and where to hike the next day. The counsel was much needed and very welcomed by Jeremy and I. Since I have been in South America I have received wonderful and helpful advice from complete strangers that has really added to my experiences. I have no doubt that much of the success of this trip can be attributed to other´s sense of charity.

We left our friends and started hiking up into a glacial moraine. After a few hours we were convinced that it was getting late so we set up camp in this green valley. Our spot was beautiful with great views, flat ground, and a flowing snow melt stream right near by. As we were setting up camp we saw wild horses on a ridge next to us and huanacos (llamas) grazing near the stream. On the other side of our tent was a steep, rocky face leading up to impressive snow covered peaks. Most of the time our surroundings were sheilded from view by the thick clouds that rolled in from the valley but sometimes we would get openings that revieled the incredible faces of the Andes. We were camped at around 3400 meters and, feeling the altitude, I took a nap only to be woken up by a British man named Steve knocking on our tent. We chatted with Steve a bit as the clouds would open from time to time. Steve lives in Bariloche, Argentina and teaches skiing and sailing. Not a bad life.

I tossed and turned for most of the night with the craziest dreams. We had mate and oatmeal for breakfast and packed some day bags for our hike. We climbed for most of the day over ridges up into the moraine, deeper into the mountains. We hiked slow and steady as the air got thinner and thinner. It was very easy to get out of breath so you have to walk with a ¨rest step,¨ where you pause and put all your weight on your bones before moving on. We got up to above the snowline and stopped at a high base camp, at around 4200 meters, almost 14000 feet! It was so exciting to have each step be the highest I had ever been. From this height we could see glaciers coming down from the mountains and crevasses cracking through them as the ice falls into the valley. Jeremy has done some serious mountain climbing in Bolivia and Ecuador and was knowledgable company. We cruised down and had mate and pasta while relaxing. We heard thunder in the distance and began to bomb-proof our tent in the anticipation of a storm. It began to rain and hail and did not let up for much of the night. We had a few discussions on how to tell how far a storm is from you by counting the time between the lightning and the thunder, although we never figured it out. The closest it got was four seconds.

In the middle of our sleepless night, when the rain and hail had stopped Jeremy went outside to pee and told me I had to see something. To our right and left the peaks were all covered with fresh snow. Below us, in the valley, a huge dark cloud sat, bolts of lightning exploding from all sides. As we admired the storm from a distance I looked up to the full moon. ¨I is just me or is the moon disapearing?¨ I said to Jeremy. Sure enough, slowly the moon began to go dark as we stumbled upon a lunar eclipse. We sat out, shivering as the sky got darker and darker swigging whiskey. Soon the sky was full of stars and the moon was only a sliver. We saw shooting stars, the milky way, and the southern cross. We waited out until the moon completely disapeared and the clouds rolled in again.

The next day we hiked out and took a bus back into Mendoza. Here we met up with Eric, Sage, and Lizz again and we will spend some days in town before we split up on our seperate ways. I have only five days left until school orientation begins and although my travels have been full of adventure it will be nice to settle down in a house with a family.

Montevideo and Buenos Aires

2008-02-17T15:50:00.000-05:00

So it has been a while since my last post but I will try to sum up the past few days of travel and adventure. Doing a blog is a bit difficult because, although it is a great source of public reflection, it is difficult to manage. I have had many experiences that have stimulated thought, from the favelas in Brazil to the people of Uruguay to the massiveness of Buenos Aires, but it is hard to express everything in a blog when all that has only taken place within a short period of time.

Despite this...

After arriving in Montevideo, Uruguay we traveled into La Ciudad Vieja and grabbed four spots in a great hostel. Hostel life has been really fun and the first night the hostel had an asado, a large BBQ. There was a patio on the roof of the hostel, overlooking the busy city streets where many travelers in the hostel gathered for some serious steak and wine. The company at the table was so diverse. Sitting around me were Argentines, Norwegians, Swedes, Spaniards, Irish,
Brazilians, and probably more. Everyone was speaking in different languages, some sentences composed of multiple tongues, dialects, and hand gestures. Eric and I ended up staying up there until three talking politics, customs, anything and everthing with a Norwegian girl and an Irish guy. Everyone here has been asking us about the election in the United States and our opinions on the matter. I have been surprised by the amount of interest but I have really relished the opportunity to give someone a view of America that they might not have had otherwise.

Montevideo is a very relaxed and often overlooked city. The pace of life is slow and the weather iss warm and beautiful. We dropped off Eric´s bags at his host family´s house and sat with them, talking about our travels and school life. It was great to meet Eric´s family and really made me excited to meet mine in a few weeks.

We met a Norwegian named Tom our second day and found an incredible indoor market. There were about twenty different restaurants within the building all with giant exposed grills. The cuts of meat were so tempting and the smells so scintilating that we sat down immediately and ordered a huge portion of meat, vegetables, wine, and beer. We ate to our hearts clogged and the Chimichurri sauce ran empty.

We crossed the Rio de la Plata to Buenos Aires where we have been the past few days. We met up with our friend, Jeremy Martin, at a hostel in the Recoleta neighborhood. This city is huge and reminds me a bit of New York. One thing that we have noticed is the amount of beautiful women here. I have never seen such a gathering of talent in one space. The women of Brazil were stunning, of course, but the Argentines are more my speed. We went out to dinner with some friends of Jeremy´s that he met at the hostel. Jorge and Andres were from Brasilia and we all enjoyed another cheap dinner with great wine and meat. That night we went to Maya´s georgeous apartment in Recoleta for a party before going to a bar in Palermo. Lizz and Eric met Maya and Lucy, two Porteñas, while traveling in the northeast of Brazil in January. They were great hosts in the city and very generous, as all of our acquaintances have been.

The next day we were kicked out of our hostel, rudely woken up at ten (after we went to bed at five) and were told that our bed´s were filled, but not by us. If you are in Buenos Aires I do not recommend the Hostel Recoleta because, although it is a beautiful, converted mansion, the staff is horrendous. A blessing in disguise, we packed up our things and made about twenty phone calls to different hostels around the city with no luck. Eventually I called the Hotel España and we managed to get two beautiful private rooms for about fifteen U.S. dollars a night per person; not bad at all. We spend the day walking through the city. While we were walking through Puerto Madero we saw a Hooters and we couldn´t resist. We laughed and took pictures with the Hooter´s girls and drank Mohitos and beer with our less-than-great wings. That night we went out to Lucy´s house for dinner where we hung out and practiced our Spanish, learning a bit about the politics and people of Argentina.

Today we walked around the city a bit more and found a great outdoor market in San Telmo. Tonight Jeremy and I will get on an overnight bus for Mendoza. I have been in the city for my entire time down here and I decided that I wanted to take it slower for a few days. Mendoza is a beautiful region full of mountains and vineyards in the western part of the country; everyone who I have spoken to about it says it is amazing and I am very excited to get there. Lizz, Sage, and Eric will come Tuesday night and arrive Wednesday morning, giving Jeremy and I some time to chill out and maybe even go backpacking. Our plans are very loose but I am not worried, I am sure we will keep ourselves occupied.

More Pictures from Rio

2008-02-13T11:20:00.000-05:00

Sage and I at the Sambodromo on our first night
One of the Samba schools
Another float, just one of many in each school
Celhao, me and Eric at the beach in Niteroi
Me, Eric, Sage, Lizz, Ana Laura, and Celhao on our last day in Rio

Florianopolis

2008-02-12T09:49:00.001-05:00

After Carnival I thought Rio would be tame. However, that is not how this city works. We spent the next few days relaxing and taking in the city. We went to a marketplace downtown and stopped by a museum. The museum is famous because it was the house if Getulio Vargas, one of the most renowned Brazilian presidents. Vargas was in power for many years as a dictator and was known as the president of the poor. He was loved by all the people and after his dictatorship he was elected a few years later as president. When he feared that his beloved country would fall into the hands of the military he killed himself, in this museum, in the name of the people and democracy. His house was preserved perfectly and they even had the gun, the bullet, and his blood stained shirt on display.

We also went to the top of Pão de Açucar. This large mountain comes right out of the mouth of the harbor with shear cliffs dropping straight to the water. You get to the top via two gondolas, rewarding us with incredible views of the city. In the distance you could see Christo, the giant stature that overlooks the city. We also had the oportunity to take in a day at the beach. We took the bus with two of the people we were staying with, Celhao and Ana Laura to Itacoatiara in Niterói. The beach was gorgeous with large waves coming into the beach between large cliffs. Brazil is full of beautiful people. I was stunned to look around and not see one mildly unattractive person. We body surfed and drank out of cold, sweet coconuts. I got a nice sunburn but the pain was worth it having come from Vermont.

That night we took at 3:40 am flight out of Rio to Florianopolis, an island in the south. The island is a popular getaway for many Brazilians and Argentines, with 42 beautiful beaches and a lively nightlife. We spent yesterday at the most famous beach, Joaquina, where Brazil hosts its national surfing competition. I rented a surfboard and tried my luck at the waves only to be destroyed. Despite only getting up a few times on the short board, I had a blast in the warm seas.

Today we get on a 20 hour bus for Montevideo, Uruguay and from there we will take a ferry to Buenos Aires, Argentina. I am looking forward to practicing my Spanish but I am reluctant to leave this stunning country.

Photos from Rio de Janeiro

2008-02-12T08:44:00.000-05:00

Here we have Eric and I drinking Caipirinhas on top of Pão de Açucar with Copacabana Beach in the background. Ipenema Beach is past those buildings. We stayed on top of Pão de Açucar for most of the sunset but it started to rain.
Lizz, Sage, and I pointing at the giant statue of Christo which is situated on top of that giant mountain overlooking Rio. You can see a tiny part of Rio´s harbor which is absolutley gigantic and impressive. The mountains come right out of the water here and the city is built within this maze of water and mountain.

Brazil: In the streets at Carnival

2008-02-07T13:48:00.000-05:00

Every time I told someone that I was coming to Carnival in Rio de Janeiro I got the same response: “That’s going to be ridiculous!” Unfortunately, this is one of the most vague statements. What does “ridiculous” even mean? Most of the people who said this to me had never been to Carnival, much less to Brazil; how did they know that Carnival would be “ridiculous?” The day before my flight I went to the dentist to have three cavities filled. With my mouth full of hands and metal devices the dental hygienist told me that she had been to Carnival when she was sixteen. I managed to ask, “How was it?” with a strange gargling noise. In a thick South American accent her response was, “Wooo woooo woooo.” Looking back, this was the best description and the best way to sum up my first few days in Brazil.

There are a few ways to enjoy Carnival. One of the biggest events is the Samba parade at the Sambadromo, a giant stadium that resembles a street in the middle of Rio. Different neighborhoods in Rio form Samba schools and practice throughout the year for Carnival. They create elaborate costumes, build giant floats, and write songs all about one theme. On the night of the Samba parade thousands of people in each school perform in the Sambadromo for a gigantic audience. We went to the first night of the parades, my first night in Rio, to the B class schools. This parade is much cheaper and is frequented by locals as opposed to the mostly tourist crowd on Sunday night. We only stayed until about one in the morning and only saw three schools, even though the parade goes until six a.m. I was exhausted after about 35 hours of traveling and a full day in the streets of Rio.

Lizz Heron-Sweet has been studying here in Rio for the past semester. Actually, she has studied in Niterói, which is across the bay from Rio de Janeiro. Through her history class last semester she met Vanessa, who is graciously letting us stay in her apartment in Niterói for a few days in Rio. Also living here is her boyfriend Renan, Ana Laura, and her boyfriend Celhao. Eric Harvey, Sage Sipchen, Lizz, and me have a room to ourselves and with two mattresses and a few sleeping pads where we have been very comfortable. It is great to be staying with locals down here and it is has really shaped our experiences. Every day of Carnival we went out with our friends and they showed us all the good spots. All around Rio during Carnival there are street parties called blocos. At each bloco there is a truck full of speakers with a band playing on top. They trucks drive slowly down the streets and blast music as a large crowd dances and sings all around, following the truck on its route. People sell beer, caipirinhas, costumes, and street food to partiers. There is always a bloco happening somewhere during Carnival: morning, afternoon, evening, and night. It wasn’t hard to find one.

One of my favorite blocos was on the main avenues, Rio Blanco. This street, somewhat similar to a Broadway or 5th avenue was full of people on Sunday night drinking and dancing. People of all ages come out to the blocos, we saw a wide-eyed baby dancing on top of a parked car with the help of her father; smiling ear to ear as she bobbed back and forth to the pulsing samba. We watched as four samba schools went by, all in costumes with their own drum section amplified through a truck full of speakers. We waited for our favorite school to go by and then we followed them down the street. After this bloco we went to Lapa, a favorite party area, for a large outdoor concert where we danced until four or five.

During the days of Carnival we mostly slept. We lived in cycles: twelve hours of partying followed by twelve hours of sleeping. Vanessa said that she wished that they could have Carnival three times a year; she was upset that it was ending so soon. I had different feelings, I was exhausted and it was good to a have some easy days of rest and relaxation after a turbulent start to my long trip. Yesterday we made our way to Santa Teresa, the Montmarte of Rio, to visit my roommate from school Angela Evancie who was living there for January. We hung out, talked, and ate pizza while listening to Brazilian folk music.

I am extremely grateful for the friends that we have made here. Having Vanessa, Renan, Ana Laura, and Celhao showing us around the city for Carnival has made the experience so much more than what I was expecting. Vanessa speaks very good English and she has taught me a lot about the culture and the history of Rio. Despite the language barrier we have still managed to become close friends with the others, sharing many laughs as we try to teach them English and as we mutilate words in Portuguese.

It’s good to see the city without a million drunk people in the streets; for a few days I had no other impression of the city. Now people are back to work and on with their lives, recharging again for next year’s Carnival. Hopefully in the next few days we plan on doing more touristy things. I may bring out my camera and post some photos if I get the chance.