Blogging from Abroad

An Ode to My Forgotten Blog

2011-05-02T20:12:00.000-07:00

Oh, my insanely forgotten about, neglected, left-out-in-the-cold blog. I've forgotten you, I've left you in the dust. We were doing so well--I would update you for all those people to read, and then I came home to the world of college and the papers and tests and projects and exams took over my life. And there you were, on the back burner.

I have no more adventurous stories to tell, no language mishaps, no moments where I'm challenged extremely beyond my comfort zone. I have many things to share, but the mundaneness of what I'm doing next weekend or how much I hate my Spanish class isn't what it used to be.

I guess I should just come out and say it like it is: I forgot all about you.

So for now, I will bid you adeiu (I know dear blog, I should stick to Spanish). Before we part, I will tell you this: I have no forgotten about the Dominican Republic--it's engrained in me and it's a part of me. I even went back over Spring Break (I know, I forgot to tell you that too!). And get this blog, I'm going back again in three weeks. In the end, know this: next spring, you will be written in much, much more. (Hint, hint).

Pico Duarte Recap

2010-06-14T17:03:00.000-07:00

Because my dear friend (and PD guide), Moises, has been reminding me about this post, I finally decided to do it...

My experience at Pico Duarte, the tallest mountain in the Carribean, was something I would equate to the volcano in Chile: I don't know how I got to the top, but I didn't die. Chris and I decided to climb Pico Duarte with a group called Camping Tours, who basically take care of all of the details so that you get to enjoy (as much as you can in that situation) your trip. I was extremely pleased with the guides and if you're deciding to climb Pico I would totally recommend them.

We left on Thursday morning of Semana Santa (April 1) at like, crack-o-dawn thirty. I think it was 3:30 AM, but early will suffice. If you know me, you know I don't do early.

We drove from Santiago to La Ciénaga and started with this route:

The goal was simple: get to the top, and get back down. And do it in four days.

We set off, and y'all--it was STEEP. It was never a straight up kind of path. It was up this mountain, down this one, around a curb, up again, slight down, etc. And for me, that was a huge mental block. To not be able to see where you're going, but to walk, and walk, and walk is disheartening.

We stopped Thursday night in Compartición at a little house looking thing.

We rolled out our sleeping bags on the cold, hard concrete floor, and drifted off into dreamland. There were complaints the next morning about bad sleep...I, however, slept like a baby. I was so tired from the day before that I would have slept just about anywhere. I opted for a mule to get to the top of the peak. It was 4 AM, and my knees were on their way out.

As we started to climb towards the peak, I saw the sunrise, and we were literally above the clouds. It was an amazing way to spend Good Friday.

Seeing the sunrise made waking up at 4AM totally worth it. Finally, we made it to the top! From the "Pico Duarte that way" sign, it's about another 45 minutes to an hour to the bust of Juan Pablo Duarte, the official top of the mountain. The views are breathtaking. Although we couldn't figure out which way to look, you can see Haiti from the top of the peak. I've also heard that you can see the lights of Puerto Rico if it's dark (but I would NOT want to be climbing that in the dark!).

Me with the man, Juan Pablo Duarte.

Reppin' Wofford College. I try y'all.

Day two was by far the hardest (even on mule). From the peak, we headed back toward Compartición where we had slept the night before to gather our stuff and head for Aguita Fria (I think?--The details are fuzzy at this point). Everyone was exhausted, and everyone had knee issues. The path down to Aguita Fria was basically straight down. (By the way, straight down on mule = NOT FUN.)

If you look really close in this picture--we're headed for the little red speck on the left cornerish. We spent the night in tents in Aguita Fria in a nice grassy field.

Day three, Saturday, was our play day. We relaxed in Aguita Fria and then went to the river--where I completely understood the term "Cold little water". Our guides and the mule owners had roasted a pig all day and it was dinner Saturday night. (The jury's still out on where the pig came from). We had campfire time and went to bed, ready to wake up and do it all again the next morning.

Drying off, iguana style.

Happy Easter! Day four, Sunday, we woke up, took down the tents, and headed off for Santiago. Once we reached Los Tablones, we knew we were close. Everyone was exhausted. I ended up going to the hospital right when we got back in Santiago for my knee (I wanted to experience the health care system, but this was not my idea of doing it!)

Me and my mulo.

Llegamos por fin! We made it!

I was really surprised by the weather during the trip. I knew it was going to be cold, but I had no idea. I'm the kind of person that thinks 100F (38 C) is hot, 90F (32 C) is comfortable, and 80F (27C) is reason to break out the parka. I hate being cold. Well since I was packing for the country with the eternal summer without giving thought to cold weather, I was extremely unprepared. I basically begged people for warm clothes before going (which is why you may look at pictures and be like.."You don't go to Kenyon College", or "Who's hat is that?" or "Who's pants are those?!")..but even then, it was extremely chilly. Camping Tours recommended a scarf and gloves, and I thought that they were just exaggerating how cold it would be--I was so wrong. If you climb Pico, take some gloves! All weekend we rocked the socks and flip flops trend during down time.

I can't exactly remember what we ate during the trip, but it was good. Camping Tours definitely took care of us. They had guides and guys that cooked and it was phenomenal. No one went hungry!

I was really surprised at the vegetation in the area as well...In 2003, there was a forest fire that took out a lot of the trees in the area. So you get to a point where everything is burned and not exceptionally pretty. A little disappointing, but beautiful all the same.

The group dynamic amazed me during the whole trip.

Going in to it, I knew Chris. There were 5 other gringas, all English teachers in Santiago. There was also the Tres Locos, or three crazies. One lives in Connecticut, Amaury in Santo Domingo, and one in Azua (near Santo Domingo). There was also two doctors, one works for Camping Tours, both from Santiago. We also had the tres amigas..three young girls from Santiago. And get this--one of them had her dad, and her SEVENTY SOMETHING YEAR OLD GRANDMOTHER with her. Seventy something people!! Holy Cow! I hope when I'm in my seventies I can make it up Pico. There were two men from Spain and also two other women. Plus our three guides. I think that's everyone--so so sorry if I forgot you!! It was amazing. I definitely had a great time with the other American girls and it was nice to spend some time with new people! After our trip, we had a "Pico Duarte Reunion" and Chris and I went to see Amaury afterwards as well.

During my time in the DR, but especially during the Pico Duarte trip, I realized that I am stronger than I think I am. I can also always push myself further than I think and do more than I'm willing to admit. Funny how you find that out in a completely different atmosphere.

All in all, it was an amazing trip. Will I do it again? Probably not. Should you do it?

DEFINITELY.

Running Around

2010-06-01T19:07:00.000-07:00

So since I'm still unemployed (do you know of anyone hiring??) and have very little no life, I've started something new.

If you know me in real life, you know that I jump around. Not literally--I do that too sometimes--but figuratively. I jump from hobby to hobby to hobby like it's my (unpaid) job. If you know my dad, you know that I inherited it. It runs in the family.

SO. Without further ado, my new "thing": a mini-triathlon.

300 meters swimming, 20 K bike, 5 K run.

Sounds horrible, no?

The worst part (or maybe the best?) I'm stuck with it. A friend and I are planning on doing it mid-September through the YMCA. I'm excited.

If I can stick with it for that long.

Week Three

2010-05-27T22:35:00.001-07:00

Short posts are overrated. It's a long one. But a good one. (I hope).

I've been home now for exactly three weeks, and this is truly the first time that I've felt like I could be coherent enough to blog.

Coming back has been terrifying, heart-wrenching, inspiring, difficult, and humbling. The first week, I was at a complete lost--I didn't want to hang out with people, didn't want to talk about my experiences, I simply wanted to be. I wanted to be alone and sort out what was going through my head.

Week two was by far the hardest. I went to school to visit my friends, and it was hard to see how they had changed, how I had changed, and how we meshed differently than we have in the past. I realized how much I had missed out on in their lives, and it was difficult to share my experiences with people who can't fully understand them.

This week has been bearable. I've started to adjust more. I've made plans with friends from both high school and college to hang out and to get back in the swing of things. It's hard going from being busy every single day, having tons to do and little time to do it, having friendships and relationships to maintain, and trying to process it all to coming home to nothing, friendships that need to be rekindled, no job, no school, no nothing. It's hard.

I didn't realize how much I was leaving behind until I came back. Don't get me wrong, I knew I was leaving lots behind. I just didn't realize how much I would miss my life there. I get caught up in the details here, in the complications and requirements, while there I was more care-free and live-by-the-day.

During our trip to Bahía de las Águilas, I journaled one day on the beach. This was during my last week, and I want to share a little bit of my thoughts:

"There have been very few moments in my life where I have felt right where I needed to be doing exactly what I needed to be doing. And then I came here. I've gone back and forth on this since I've been here, but I feel in my heart that this is where I belong. How do you leave that? How do you willingly walk away from a place where you feel absolutely right? I know one thing, you do it with tears in your eyes and a broken heart.

How do you go back to a life that wasn't satisfying, when you've found something incredibly satisfying? How do you return to a comfortable place when you've been constantly challenged for the last four months? There was not a single day here when I woke up and thought "Today is going to be easy". Maybe there were days that were easy in comparison to the days before them, but there was never an easy day like I have at home. How do you return to a life of complacency, of ignorance even, after you see some of the things I've seen here? How do you leave behind people that you've formed bonds with, come to love, and feel like you belong with? How do you leave behind compañeros, who you've struggled with, laughed with, cried with, and learned with? How do you leave behind a place where you learned more about yourself than you ever thought? How can you leave a place where God daily revealed himself to you? How do you go back to searching for beauty when it's been evident in so many people and places for the last four months? How do you leave behind a family that has become your own? How do you return to what you were, taking with you who you are now and continuing that life?"

Although I've found temporary answers to some of these questions, I still go through this struggle every.single.day. And my final conclusion to all of these questions is: I don't know. But I'm finding out.

And on my next to last day, I wrote again:

"Tomorrow is the day that I've both dreaded and feared. In some ways, it's both a blessing and a curse. At the beginning, I counted days. 'I've survived 10 days, I can make it 10 more'. By mid-February, I had stopped counting and starting enjoying. And recently, I've started counting again, but in the other direction.

Before I came here, someone told me that I wouldn't want to go and at the end, I wouldn't want to come home. I cried when they told me I had to go. And I'm crying when they're telling me that I have to leave.

I think about how far I've come in just four short months.

Before coming here, I didn't know what it meant to listen. Learning another language forces you to do that. It forces me to listen to what people are telling me. I've become less reliant on people around me and more reliant on myself. I don't feel like I have to be surrounded by people 24/7, doing nonsense things just to pass the time. I'm content just sitting and being alone and without distractions.

I know that I'm going home a better person. I've learned and lived, but mostly, I've loved. I've tried to take every experience and every opportunity for what it was. I've tried to say "no" and took everything as it came. While I'm not ready to go, I know that in time I'll be okay.

And I know that I'll be back."

I feel like everyone's favorite question to ask me is "How did this change you?". (Everyone's other favorite question is "What did you miss the most?" And the answer to that is Sweet Tea. I mean really, was that even a question?) I feel like the best answer is how DIDN'T this change me. I know that's super vague. But really, I feel different in every aspect of things. I feel like I've really been stripped down to WHO I am during the last four months. I intentionally left home behind..and although that's a hard thing for a lot of my friends to hear, it's the truth. I knew that the drama would be there when I got back. I knew that I wouldn't miss anything of super high importance. I also knew that I would come back and people would love me just like they did before I left. (And they did). For my sake, I had to leave behind the Wofford World. (Or Wofford Bubble as it's affectionately called).

I think more than anything, I'm more aware. Aware of situations going on around me. Aware of how I treat people and how people treat me. Aware of how blessed I truly am. My neighbor remarked to me the other day that knowing me, he knew that my heart bled for every single kid I came across in my community that was less fortunate. More than y'all know. I know I have a big heart, and I have a heart to serve. I've always known this. I just didn't realize how big it was, or how great that desire is to serve. And now I know. I've given the Peace Corps a lot of thought since I've been back, and I've also thought about Doctors Without Borders or Partners in Health in the future. For now though, I'm looking into volunteering somewhere in the area that I can continue to quench my desire to serve. (If you're local and know of a place--let me know!)

Y'all already know that I'm planning on hopping on a plane there the second I walk through the Wofford gates in my cap and gown. (Just kidding, Mom. Kind of). Y'all know that it's all about the people to me. I felt like I was in my campo the whole four months--everyone was that friendly. People accepted me like I was their kids best friend for 18 years--the way that my friends parents accept me here. I was in awe of the people.

And that awe has followed me back home. I have to admit, I was a little surprised when no one yelled "Rubia!" at me when I walked through Target the other day...but I digress. Through Facebook and through email, there have been so many people that have shared a piece of their hearts with me. I absolutely love it. I love that people have reached out to me and thanked me for writing my blog--it reminds me what I loved so much about the country.

But really, I need to thank y'all--all of my readers. Without y'all, I wouldn't be here. I would be writing for my mom and my aunt (love y'all!). I would have given up a long time ago. I hope you've seen that not all Americans are what the movies portray. Through this blog, I've been real--no facades, no expectations, no nothing. I've shared my heart openly and willingly, and truly, I owe all the thanks to y'all.

Because y'all are the best.

For all three of you that still read my blog..

2010-05-25T23:00:00.000-07:00

You can look at my pictures from the Dominican Republic in their entirety by stalking my Facebook, because Blogger is just TOO SLOW and I lack the patience to put 2,478 pictures on my blog. That's an exact number.

My Facebook.

If it wants you to add me as a friend, you can add me. I don't bite. (Usually).

Enjoy! :)

On Re-Entry

2010-05-10T20:19:00.000-07:00

I never thought that going back into the country where I was born, grew up, and generally happy (before I left it) would be so hard. The Dominican Republic changed me in ways that I couldn't have imagined...some of those changes I can put into words and some of them I cannot.

When I first came to the DR, I was SO shy. If I didn't know how to say something, I didn't. I usually faded into the background. If you know me, you know that I'm not shy, until I meet new people. Imagine me in a new situation--the people are new, the city is new, the country and culture is new--it was basically a disaster. In four months, I've become bold. Not overbearing or demanding, just more sure of how to communicate what I want/need. (I think if I had learned this earlier I would have switched families before I did).

I also realized how complacent I was. I (and the majority of my friends) can dictate my daily routine to you without problems. EVERY day for me is the same--wake up, eat breakfast, class, lunch, lab, dinner, homework, bed. Always. Without fail. I think this is better described as comfortable--and that's a hard thing to admit and to overcome. It's hard to force yourself out of the comfortable and into the unknown, but I did it. Now that I'm back into the comfortable situation that I left, I'm trying to force myself to not fall back into the same routine. I'm trying to find ways to challenge myself. In the DR, every single day held (at least) one challenge. Every day. There was nothing comfortable or familiar about my life there, and at the time I saw it as a challenge or something that was hard for me to get over. Now, all I want to be is challenged.

I was so ignorant, (and still am, in some ways). I look at my perceptions of what the Dominican Republic would hold for me, and I couldn't have been more wrong. I feel more educated, more enlightened. My only problem is how do I tell that to my friends and family? How do I share with them everything I learned and all of the lessons that I learned?

I hate starting every sentence with "When I was in the Dominican Republic..", but I feel like I've been doing a lot of that lately. I've been trying to keep my mind occupied here, and haven't allowed myself much downtime. I found out my first night here that downtime is when the sadness comes. (And it's SO quiet here compared to what I'm used to!) I've surrounded myself with people, and am planning to go back to school tomorrow to see all of my friends.

My only problem now is that I have yet to come up with an answer to, "I'm so glad you're home!" In my heart of hearts, I can't agree. I'm glad to be back with the people I have here, but I feel incomplete and not quite whole.

Back in the States

2010-05-05T18:34:00.000-07:00

I made it safely back to the states today. Culture shock has severely set in.
I plan on continuing blogging about my life after the DR and how my experiences there are affecting my life now. Please stay tuned for pictures and more stories!

La Despedida

2010-04-29T17:47:00.001-07:00

We spent the last few days in the southwest, in possibly the most beautiful place I have ever been in my life. (I promise that when I'm in the states and have super fast internet that I will post ALL the pictures from Pico Duarte to now). The people here and their hospitality continues to amaze me.

Tonight we had our despedida at Elaine's house with our host families. Tomorrow (friday) is my last day in Santiago. Chris and I are spending the next few days chilling in other places, but I officially leave my family tomorrow.

We had a short moment to say a few words about our families and our experience here..and if you know me at all, you know that I had more tears than I had words. I've never been good at goodbyes.

I don't even know how to go about saying it, but my family here has been my family Dominicana. They're not the people that I live with, the people that feed me, or the ones that tell the taxi that gets lost all too often how to get my to our house. They are my family.

When I finally got it together, I told the story of how I always wanted little sisters. If you know me, you know. If you have a little sister and we grew up together, chances are I went to your house and played with you, but begged to play with her too. If you know me, you know that I have an intense love for little children. You know that I spend my Sundays looking forward to seeing my little cousins after church. Ya tu sabes.

I told the story of how I always wanted little sisters. And finally, I got them. I got two of the most amazing little sisters that exist in the whole world. And how I'm going to miss them.

If I could have found the words, I would have talked about my mom. More of my big sister than my mom, but my mom all the same. She has taught me so much. Even in words she doesn't say, she shows me a wonderful example of what a mom should be. I would talk about the time I told her about the wells we use for water, and how she couldn't believe it. I would talk about when she took me to the emergency room and held my hand through the whole ordeal. I would talk about when she explained to me that being called Americana isn't always an insult. I would talk about when she complained about the gua-guas that go to La Vega and the men that harass to take the gua-gua. I would talk about how I learned, how I loved, and how I'm going to miss her.

If I had another chance, I would talk about playing tag in the parking lot with the neighborhood kids and my sisters, always being the liason between the boys and the girls, because God forbid a boy touch a girl in tag. I would talk about going to pick my sisters up from school, and listening to the other kids ask who I am. I would talk about the pride I feel when my sister valiantly responds, "ELLA ES MI HERMANA AMERICANA" (she's my american sister). I would talk about being greeted at the door when I come home. I would talk about having to go work in my community and my sister begging me not to go. I would talk about the times that she's woken me up to tell me that she loves me or that she's going to miss me. I would talk about the times that she's cried, begging me to stay with her. I would talk about how I learned words that I never thought I would need to know, such as "rainbow" or "bubbles". I would talk about how I learned, how I loved, and how I'm going to miss her.

I would talk about my dad, who's a doctor through and through. I would talk about the time that we watched baseball together, cheering for the Red Sox. I would talk about the times that we spent talking about my investigation and my project. I would talk about the times that we shared stories and awed over the beaches. I would talk about how I learned, how I loved, and how I'm going to miss him.

I would talk how I didn't know what to expect. I would talk about a family that welcomed me with open arms, and loved me, loved me, loved me. I would talk about a family that was there through good and bad, that helped me through it all and showed me what a family is. I would talk about how I learned, how we loved, and how I'm going to miss them.

Oh, how I'm going to miss them.

PROOF

2010-04-24T14:25:00.000-07:00

Someone asked me a few weeks ago if they could read my investigation. So, without further ado, here it is in all it's glory:

Los Conocimientos, Actitudes, y Percepciones del Dengue en la Comunidad de Las Colinas, Hato del Yaque

You can't preview it, but you can download it and read it if you wish.

If you can't speak Spanish, sorry. If you can speak Spanish and you find a mistake, sorry.

Enjoy!

On Being Happy

2010-04-21T07:53:00.000-07:00

It’s been awhile. In fact, I know it’s been awhile because my program director (Hi, Elaine!) mentioned to me that it’s been awhile. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve had nothing to say or because I’ve had a lot to say and no words to say it.

The past two weeks, my parents have been here. We spent time in Santo Domingo, Santiago and Puerto Plata. I enjoyed having them here, but it opened my eyes to so many things about my own culture that I was unaware of—things that sadden me, anger me, upset me—but ultimately, things that make me who I am. Err, who I was.

I had my exit interview with Elaine after my presentation. (That’s right, my work is ALMOST done). I realized that I’m not ready to leave. I’m not close to ready to leave. And that’s upsetting, because as of today, I have exactly two weeks left. I dread every single one of those days. Rather, I dread every single one of those nights, because I know that that day in it’s entirety has ended.

I got a Facebook message today from my dad’s cousin (my second cousin?) that said, “I've looked at some of your pictures on facebook. You look so happy --I guess you had a great time!”

I can’t remember the last time that I was happy like this. That’s not to say that I’m an unhappy person or that I’m unhappy with my life or anything like that.

At school in the states, I often feel like I’m going through the motions. Every single day is the same. Get up, eat breakfast, go to class, eat lunch, squeeze in a quick nap, go to lab/class/afternoon activity, eat dinner, do homework, go to be. Rinse and repeat.

At school here, although I feel like busy work will always be busy work in whatever language it is, I have had projects, presentations, and assignments that have truly interested me, challenged me, and caused me to question everything on a deeper level. It’s no longer, “Okay, I have to do this and this and this and this. I have to put what the teacher wants to hear to get a good grade. After I take this test, I can forget it all”. I don’t know if it’s the subjects or what, but I don’t want to forget the information I’ve learned.

There’s no going through the motions here. For me, there’s no such thing as a “normal” day. Every day is an experience. Everyday is something new. And every day is one more day that I thank God I’ve had the chance to experience. My eyes have been opened to so many things. I’ve formed friendships and relationships that I cannot possibly forget. I’ve found out things about myself that I was unaware of, due to obliviousness or ignorance. I’ve found out more about who I am, what I want to do, where I’m going, and who I want to go with.

I’m so happy here.

And in two short weeks, I have to leave it all behind.

I suck at blogging

2010-04-12T08:27:00.000-07:00

That's right folks, I'm telling you something you already knew. I suck at blogging.

In my defense, I'd like to blame the other gringos (my parents) that are taking up all of my free time (even though I'm glad they're here).

My capstone project has pretty much sucked my soul and life right out of me, so there's that too.

I'll update eventually.

El Pico Duarte Me Mató

2010-04-05T07:58:00.000-07:00

Pico Duarte was fabulous. And when I regain feeling in the bottom half of my body, I'll be glad to tell you all about it and show you all the pictures that I took. But it may be awhile, just sayin'.

Break Time

2010-03-30T12:13:00.000-07:00

I've been overwhelmed. My school life, home life, social life (what little bit of one that I have) have been overwhelming. For Semana Santa (Easter Break), I'm going to climb Pico Duarte with my friend Chris. It's the highest peak in the Carribean. I'm looking forward to seeing something like this:

We're leaving at FOUR-THIRTY in the MORNING(!!!!!!!!) on Thursday and will be back on Sunday.

Y'all have a good Easter and a good spring break for all my Wofford folks. :)

What I Haven't Been Telling You

2010-03-25T00:00:00.000-07:00

A long, long time ago I can still remember how that music used to make me smile...

Oh wait, this isn't American Pie. A long, long time ago, I went to Carnaval. It's been over a month now, but I haven't got around to posting the pictures. We went to Carnaval in La Vega. On the way we stopped at Santo Cerro, or "Holy Hill", a historic site of Christopher Columbus. The views of Santiago from the top were amazing. We also went to the Church of Las Mercedes Santo Cerro.

I was also intrigued by this:
Literally, shaved ice. From a block of ice. But more than anything, I was impressed by the arm muscles the dude had on (just) his right arm from shaving the ice off. He said that he was extremely strong, only on one side.

We then continued on to Carnaval in La Vega:

A few weekends ago, Stephanie and I went to Carnaval in Santiago. It was a completely different atmosphere from Carnaval in La Vega, but I enjoyed it just as much.

I also want to point out that Rugrats plague little children everywhere:

Even Michael Jackson managed to make an appearance:

Me with my host mom:

And on a completely random side note...when we first got to Las Carreras where Carnaval was, it was PACKED. Like, you could not find room to breathe packed. It started to rain, and literally 30 seconds after it started raining, the streets looked like this:

EMPTY.

Happy Birthday

2010-03-23T19:00:00.000-07:00

Happy 22nd Birthday to my favorite (and only) brother.

I love you and miss you!

Just a Movin' & a Shakin'

2010-03-22T04:59:00.000-07:00

Just yesterday, I remarked to a friend that I could definitely live in the DR. The lifestyle, the weather, what's not to love? I was quickly proven wrong last night.

I will never get used to the feel of the earth moving below me. EVER.

Coming from the Southeast, I've felt an earthquake a whole total of ZERO times. It was a nice little welcome to the DR when the Haiti earthquake happened. There was a small one earthquake a few weeks ago. And then, there was last night.

Every single time there's been an earthquake, I've been in bed (what can I say, I'm a good napper). Last night I was laying in my bed, reading, mind my own business, when all of the sudden, my bed started shaking. I tore out of my bed and my room in record time. My parents felt it, but my sisters didn't. I spent a few minutes waiting for the rest of the earthquake, because it was more of a jolt than a shake.

Needless to say, I slept a combined total of less than 2 hours and had nightmares of earthquakes.

Missing In Action

2010-03-20T14:45:00.000-07:00

I've had a really stressful week. My investigation has pretty much gone down the tubes. I get frustrated because I can't speak Spanish as well as I'd like to, but then I try and speak English and realize that my English has gotten significantly worse as well. I'm at the point where I'm kind of ready to go home but not ready to leave. I know, that makes zero sense.

I learned that my blog has been advertised to pretty much the whole world, and I'm really excited about that. For all y'all new guys, hang in there--I promise I will post something of substance soon!

I appreciate all the emails and comments that I've been getting--keep them coming! :)

My Investigation

2010-03-12T15:12:00.001-08:00

One of my friends (from home) asked me yesterday how my investigation/project is going. My first instinct was to scream. My project has become like my boyfriend—I think about it all the time, I dream about it, I spend all my free time with it. I am also extremely invested in it, and I know at the end, I will be extremely proud of it.

My investigation is titled, “Putting Information About Dengue in Action in the Community of Las Colinas”. The people in the community have the information about how to prevent Dengue (or so they tell me), but they don't actually do what they know they should. I think this is the age old question from any Public Health perspective...how do you get them to put that information in action?

My objectives are simple. First, I want to evaluate the perception of Dengue in the community. Do people really know what they think they know? Then, I want to measure the level of knowledge about how to prevent dengue. Do they really know how to prevent it? Finally, I want to identify the potential of the people in the community and empower them to know, understand, and prevent dengue through a changing their life styles.

Right now, I'm working on a questionnaire that I'm going to use to interview people in the community. to measure what they know, what they think they know, and what they flat out don't know. It's a long (and somewhat painful) process, but I'm working hard and hopefully going to get something out of it soon.

How Far We've Come

2010-03-11T05:46:00.000-08:00

When I first moved in with my family, I clearly did not have the same lifestyle as they did. Thankfully, I've adjusted to them and they have adjusted to me as well.

My family knows now that I will drag myself out of bed in the morning and sit at the table bleary eyed while we eat breakfast. If I'm lucky, I won't say a word to anyone. It's not that I don't want to be sociable or that I'm mad/upset/or sick it's that it's morning.

Doña Antonia (the maid/nanny) knows that I will eat just about anything put in front of me. The likelihood of me eating something increases tenfold if there's ketchup I can put on it.

Doña Antonia also knows that I do not/will not/cannot eat Con-con, with or without ketchup. (Con-con is basically burnt rice. After they take the rice out of the pot, they scrape the sides of the pot, put it on a plate, and call it Con-con. I call it burnt rice.)

My family knows that after lunch, there is almost a 100% chance that I will take a nap. It's not because I don't feel well, it's just because I'm tired.

My mom knows that she has to remind me to do my homework. If she doesn't, it's likely that I'll spend the whole evening playing Barbies, watching Disney channel, and letting my sisters play with my hair.

I definitely feel like I am part of this family. I am the big sister, but I'm also the daughter. I'm part of their lives, and they care about me and my day. I consider my little sisters mine. I know that when I look back on my experience in the DR, my family will be one of the fondest memories. :)

A Letter to My School District

2010-03-09T04:08:00.001-08:00

Dear RSD2,

Thank you for allowing me to have the opportunity to attend one of the finest school districts in the state. In Kindergarten, with Ms. Bartz and Ms. Tony, I was delighted to read and play in the tree house that was inside of our classroom. I got to glue 100 pieces of macaroni to a piece of paper on the 100^th day of school. In first grade, I was taught by Ms. Riley. She was absolutely fabulous and I think she's the only reason I ever wanted to be a teacher. (That changed quickly). I got to make a model of the solar system and I drew a poster for DARE that won a prize. In second grade, I learned from Mr. Saxon that “Quiet means making no noise”. I also learned that if you lean back in your chair in class, you'll get to do it during recess too. I had “supercalifragilisticexpialidocious” as a spelling word.

I didn't learn what a preposition is.

In third grade, with Mrs. Williams and Mrs. Washington, I learned about the civil war. I also had “suma”, as in some of as a spelling word. My little heart got it's first glimmer of hope when I learned about nouns and verbs. I made a hot air balloon with my dad for ALERT and my class took a field trip to Charleston.

I didn't learn about adverbs.

In fourth grade, with Mrs. Turner and Ms. Burghardt, I learned about circuitry and waves in science and I learned how to do long division. I made a model of my house for ALERT, complete with lights that turned on and off. I learned about nouns, pronouns, adjectives, and verbs. In fifth grade, with Mrs. Cates and Mrs. Randle, I got to make a model of the ocean floor. In ALERT, we read a book about a boy who started his own toothpaste factory.

I didn't learn what an adjective clause is.

I graduated elementary school, and I thought that I was surely onto a world of better things. In sixth grade, I read the book “The Giver” with Mrs. Black. I learned about nouns, pronouns, verbs, and adjectives. I mummified a chicken in ALERT. In seventh grade, with Mrs. Walsh, I learned what stems are. I can still tell you what just about any stem means. I also learned (again) nouns, pronouns, verbs, and adjectives.

I didn't learn what a direct object or an indirect object is.

In eighth grade, with Mrs. Pace, I learned more stems. We wrote a children's book, complete with illustrations. In ninth grade, with Mr. Ballentine, we read “Lord of the Flies” and turned our classroom into the island. We read another book that I can't remember the name of and had a mock trial during class. In Spanish, I learned that you will likely choke and die if you chew gum while trying to speak Spanish.

I didn't learn what the past progressive or present progressive tenses are.

In tenth grade, with Mrs. Robinson, we read a book about the Chinese New Year and we had a party where we all brought Chinese food to class. We also read “As I Lay Dying” and the image of the little boy with holes in his face after his casket was screwed shut haunts me to this day. In eleventh and twelfth grade, with Mr. Hendrick, we read, and we read, and we read. And then we wrote. And we wrote. And we wrote. I learned vocabulary words that I could neither pronounce nor spell. We spent the whole year preparing for the AP test.

I didn't learn what an independent clause or a dependent clause is.

RSD2, thank you for allowing me to have the opportunity to waste many hours making pointless projects, learning spelling words that weren't even real words, writing paper after paper after paper, reading books that didn't affect my life then or now, allowing me to take trips that I enjoyed at the time, make models of everything under the sun (and even one of the sun). Thank you for allowing me to run on your playgrounds, hangout at your schools, play on your sports teams. Thank you for allowing me to have the opportunity to begin to learn another language. Thank you for instilling stems in my head forever, allowing me glue macaroni onto a piece of paper, and release 100 balloons on the 100^th day of school. Thank you for teaching me to spell, read, and write.

But most of all, RSD2, thank you for not teaching me English grammar. I cannot begin to tell you how much I dread my Spanish grammar class, because I never learned English grammar. Thank you RSD2, thank you.

I'm Glad I Brought That Jacket

2010-03-08T08:24:00.000-08:00

Yesterday when I woke up, it was twelve degrees. TWELVE DEGREES PEOPLE!

(Okay, that's in Celcius--it's about 54 Farenheit).

That's WAY too cold for the Dominican Republic. I haven't seen the sun in four days. I forget what it looks like.

I read that it's because the US is having so much snow that it's reflecting on to us.

If y'all could stop doing that, it'd be great.

Brrrr.

A Week in the Campo

2010-03-03T03:58:00.000-08:00

After a week in the campo, four things have been confirmed:

I'm really just a small town girl.
I want to be a doctor.
If I ever can't make it as a doctor, I'm moving to the campo.
Culture shock is absolutely miserable.

We left Santiago at about 8:00 on Sunday, February 21^st. After treacherous roads (dirt paths?) we made it to Rio Limpio at about noon. Rio Limpio is near the mountain Nalga de Maco (translation: Frog Butt Mountain). I didn't understand the name of this mountain until I went into our bathroom Sunday night and found this:

Imagine if you were to sit down on the toilet without looking. I'm sure you can figure out where the name comes from :) Luckily, I looked first. Getting the frog out of the toilet was another issue in and of itself. We eventually got him onto the wall, after using a shoe and A LOT of girl screams.

I immediately fell in love with the town and the concept that the town has going. Rio Limpio consists of two different programs—CREAR and SEDDIEL/Ecotourism.

CREAR is a school that is a center of “education, capacitation, and investigation that focuses on sustainable agriculture and rural development”. CREAR was started by Peace Corps volunteers in 1982 and it's a really neat program. They have 43 students, all in their third year of high school (anywhere from 14 to 22 years old), some from Rio Limpio, some from Haiti, and some from other pueblos across the Dominican Republic. The students from outside of Rio Limpio are provided with housing and all students are provided with breakfast and lunch every day. They grow all of the vegetables they eat, and all (read: ALL) of their waste is recycled on the farm. They have about 23 acres that they've divided into five different areas. CREAR students have classes in the morning and then work in the fields in the afternoon.

The other part of Rio Limpio is the SEDDIEL/Ecotourism part. CREAR and SEDDIEL used to be the same program, but recently they've split off and started to focus on different areas. Rio Limpio is considered a town of extreme poverty. There's no electricity, no drinking water, and very few medical facilities. (Most houses have solar panels that have been part of the Peace Corps projects or various other organizations.) There's no mail, little means of communication, and no cell phone service (I know right?) There's little opportunity for education and almost no opportunities to leave the town. Almost everybody farms. Why you would want to be a tourist there is beyond me. However, there are cabañas (translation: motel. Kristina's translation: cabin with brick walls; glorified girl scout camp) that were built as part of the ecotourism project. The eight of us shared the four-roomed cabin.

After we ate lunch, we got a tour of the pueblo from the CREAR students. Every night we had a reflection session as a group to talk about things that had happened during the day, but also about other things that were going on in Santiago or our lives in general.

We also brought along KarmaBear. KarmaBear was a little game that we kept going. We put anonymous comments in—only good karma—and then read them every night at reflection session. Sunday night we talked about what we had seen while walking through the community, and also asked questions about the CREAR program. We had dinner and had a get-together with all of the students of CREAR and the rest of the town. I wrote in my journal every day because I couldn't blog, and instead of trying to figure out how to say things, I'm going to share my journal entries (translated to english and edited, of course. I don't want you all to know about the gushy crushes I have on the boy that sits next to me in class. I kid, I kid).

Sunday, February 21^st

“I can't believe that this week marks the halfway point. As I sit on the porch, I realize that this country has stolen my heart. I say stolen because it didn't ask my permission and it didn't tell me that it was going to happen. It simply took it. I hear a rooster crowing nearby. A man is singing in the distance. The clouds have lifted and I can see the mountains looming in all their glory. I've thought this many times before while I've been here, and I think it again: How can you possibly sit in front of this kind of beauty, surrounded by people with this much joy, and say that there is no God?

I hear a cow mooing. There are so many birds that I can't place, and everyone in my group is taking a nap. I can't sleep—I can't miss a minute of this. I want to wake them up and tell them to sleep when they're dead. Sleep later, but look now. I've become accustomed—when the lights go out, it's okay. When there's no water—I survive. I'm used to clothes that feel like cardboard and jeans that have stretched two sizes because there's no dryer. I actually like rice and beans everyday. I feel like I belong. I feel like part of the people, part of the land, part of the country. I only have two more months here—that can't possibly be enough time to travel and learn everything I want to know. I'm going to take advantage of all of the opportunities that come my way. I'm going to have a positive attitude and share my life with all the people that I meet, just as they share their lives with me. I only have two more months—what am I going to do?”

---

Monday we woke up bright and early and had a session on how to make compost a special way. Domingo, our farmer, helped us with the process and fed us nuggets of wisdom every chance he could. Domingo is the Dominican version of my Papa. He is kind and soft spoken and full of all kind of good stuff. He is solemn and loving, but he can do some damage with a machete. I'm also sure that if he knew the expression “Don't take a wooden nickle”, he would tell it to me too.

First you start by cutting stakes to form your little square:

Add dry material:

Add the leftover weeds from the pigpen:

Add plantain tree. Chop it up for good measure:

Then they armed us with machetes. (I know. I couldn't believe it either).

Add plantain leaves. (NOTE: This is NOT a salad. It looks like it would taste good, but I assure you, it does NOT).

Rinse and repeat the process. Remove the stakes:

Admire your tiramisu: (NOTE: don't try and eat this either).

Cut off all the scraggly pieces. ("Because when your work looks good it means that you care about what you're doing."--Domingo)

And when it's all said and done:

I thought it was really interesting that they measure the temperature of the compost to know when it's "done". I thought that it was pretty much a guessing game. They put a stick into the compost block and leave it for a few days. If you pull it out and it's hot, then it's good to go:

All the other kids in my program are more or less city kids. I, however, was totally in my element. I even climbed into the pig pen to shovel out manure.

(The things I admit for the whole world to read, sheesh). During this compost making time, I had an um, incident, that involved me taking my pants off on the side of a Dominican road (I hope nobody saw. Jury's still out on that). The Dominican Republic is famous for it's lack of poisonous creatures. However, it has hormigueros de fuego--Fire ants. And they're rightly named. And when they crawl up your legs inside your jeans and bite you, you will feel like you're on fire. You'd take your pants off too.

We ate lunch at CREAR with the students and afterwards I learned a new card game called Casino. Dominicans are crazy about Casino. Monday afternoon I worked in Area Dos, weeding and preparing beds for plants. I never knew that I would enjoy weeding. That was punishment when I was little. I hated working in the garden. On Monday afternoon, though, I realized that I was turning in to my mom. A Dios mio. Monday night we had reflection session, ate dinner, and hung out with the town.

Monday, February 22^nd

“Tonight at our reflection session, we talked about how hard it is to go into something not knowing what will happen. When we started making compost today, we cut down a plantain tree. We had no idea what we were going to do with a plantain tree, when we clearly had enough stuff to make our compost pile. Domingo, our teacher, full of infinite wisdom and nicknamed Yoda (by us), told us to be patient. When we were finished, we would have something new. I love that. I know that when I look back on my experience in the Dominican Republic, this quote will fit perfectly. I came to this country knowing next to nothing about it. I picked my program because it seemed like a good idea. That's about the extent of it. But now, I love it.

Tonight we talked about how our lives here are like a house. We start with a figurative foundation—our past experiences, our expectations and hopes; but also a literal foundation—our other program members, Elaine, and friends and family from home. Everything we do is like adding sticks to the foundation—experiences in our communities, with our families, with our friends and other program participants. At the end, we leave here with something completely different than what we came with. I can see that already. I can tell that I have a different view of things. I know that I am creating something and when I leave and look back on this experience, I will have something concrete to show for it.

Domingo/Yoda also talked about the importance of doing what you can with what you have. If you don't have a plantain tree to chop down to make your compost, you can still make compost. I think I needed to hear this. When I think about my community and working in my community and my project there, I always think about how great it would be if I had this or that. But really, I have everything I need. I have people who want to be part of my project, I have a community to work in, I have people to rely on and to build relationships with, and I have myself. What more is there? In Rio Limpio and in my community, people do what they have to do to get by. In Rio Limpio, they don't have electricity. But they have solar panels that provide them with enough electricity to do what they need to do. Their ways of doing things are certainly different than my ways of doing things. I'm learning that everything can be done, you just have to go different routes to get there."

---

Tuesday morning we woke up bright and early (Are you seeing a theme here? In the campo, they work by the sun. When the rooster crows, you get up. Because the rooster will crow a hundred more times and you won't ever really go back to sleep. Also, once the sun goes down, chances are you won't have any more light. The solar panels work well, but if the only sunny day of the week is Monday, then that power has to last you the whole week. It's always a game of chance.) and went to the Haitain school in the community. Rio Limpio is a huge squatter town, for lack of a better word. Anywhere a shack can be thrown up, you better believe a shack was thrown up there. Across from CREAR, there was a family living in a hut the size of my bathroom at home. They had at least nine kids. Most of the squatters who come are Haitian, and most of them don't speak Spanish. Their kids go to a community school run by a man who is Haitian. He's working with the kids to keep their first language, Creole, but also to learn Spanish so that they can communicate and hopefully make a life for themselves. We went to the school to play, really. We set up four different stations and had the kids rotate from each one. I helped at the clay station, and I'm not really sure where my creative juices were coming from, but they flowed a little bit.

We ate lunch at CREAR and played more endless games of Casino. I left my mark by teaching some of the students how to play BS (We called it Mentiroso, liar, in order to avoid explaining what BS stood for). Tuesday afternoon was rough. We learned how to make beds in order to plant stuff with a very intricate technique:

All of us were tired. We all had bug bites. It was really a job for two people and we were trying to do it with eight of us and three of the CREAR students. We all hate standing around. Somehow, we made it through and fell into our usual routine of reflection, dinner, and hanging out with the town.

Tuesday, February 23rd

Nobody comes here at point A in their lives. Nobody decides to study abroad while they're at point A. No one has it all together, no one has all the answers, and no one is finished. Everyone in my program is coming from different situations and different backgrounds. We are coming with different expectations. While we're here, we're sharing different experiences and are fighting different battles. But at the end of the day, we're all in the same boat. It's been hard for me to realize that. It's hard to think about the fact that we're all in the same situation, because up until now I've insisted that I'm having an experience that is nearly impossible for anyone else to relate to. As we talk during our reflection session, I realize that we are all having the same struggles and the same disorienting experiences. After living together for three days, we are a group; we are tight-knit, and we are truly in this together.

I've never been a patient person. My parents will tell you this, my friends will tell you this, a stranger on the street would probably tell you this. Domingo told us today that if you have the patience to wait for what you want, your benefits will be that much longer. He intended it in the context of a farmer, but I think I needed to hear this today. I'm trying so hard to figure my project in Las Colinas out. I want to know exactly what I'm doing and on what day I'm going to do it and how it's going to be done. But really, I need to wait it out. Things will play out on their own. I will eventually come up with a project, and when I do, I will have something so much better than what I could come up with right now."

On Wednesday morning, we went our separate ways and worked in the community in places that mirrored our work in our communities in Santiago. I worked at Freddie's house. I was completely thrown for a loop when I was told I was going to be working with Freddie—who the heck was Freddie and what did he do at his house?

Freddie actually turned out to be a she, and she hosted a doctors office of sorts at her house. There's a pediatrician from Belgium that lives in a town nearby (36 km on roads that frequently wash out—it's as close as nearby gets for Rio Limpio). She brings a army trunk full of common medicines with her to Rio Limpio every Wednesday and hosts a doctors office at Freddie's house. The whole town knows she's coming, and so they show up at the house, waiting and ready. The doctor, Lein, (pronounced Lynn) provides medical services absolutely free to the community. The majority of the people had common problems: flu, malnutrition, funguses, parasites. It was really interesting to hear her story and how she got involved with working in the Dominican Republic. She had some friends from Belgium come and help her out for the next five months, and they were staying at one of the cabañas next to us. I talked with them (in English!--one of her friends spoke about as much Spanish as my dad. If you know my dad, ask him about his Spanish skills. He might be able to bust out 10 words on a good day.) awhile about their project here and the differences between Santiago and Rio Limpio.

Wednesday afternoon we had another session with Domingo about how to transplant plants. Wednesday afternoon/evening, three of us laid down our pride and played baseball with some of the kids from the town. You're know you're from the Dominican campo when you spend your afternoons playing baseball. You know you're American when a four year old can hit a baseball better than you can. Don't worry everybody, I got his autograph. He'll be playing MLB one day, I feel sure. Wednesday night we had our similar reflection, dinner, hang out with the town routine. I didn't write a single thing in my journal on Wednesday. By that point, I had reached “Estoy Cansada”, and knew that I just needed to sleep.

Thursday morning I woke up and took a chance. And it presented me with one of the best opportunities I have ever had. There were some miscommunications about what time we had to start our activities for the day, and we ended up having two hours to twiddle our thumbs. Martha had gone to the town clinic the day before and told me that she got to “glove up” and help clean someone's wound. I decided to see what kind of trouble I could get myself into at the clinic. Clinics, especially in the campo, don't have the kind of rules and regulations that clinics at home have. HIPPA doesn't exist, and as long as the doctor is watching you do something, you can do it. That being said...I walked into the clinic, introduced myself, and the doctor asked me if I knew how to give a shot. In English, he said, “Well, there's no time like now to learn”. THAT'S RIGHT FOLKS. I gave a shot. Three, actually. And I started an IV. Dominican Republic, you have been so good to me.

Thursday afternoon we went to another organic farm near CREAR. It was about a 45 minute walk from CREAR. Honestly, I don't really know what made it different from CREAR, and I was too tired to try and figure it out.

Being attentive students:

Please note my face. Clearly I was not paying attention:

On our way back to CREAR, we had a splashfest in the river, led by our loving program leader, Marcos:
Somehow at the farm, I got ants in my pants, AGAIN. So I stripped, again, this time in the woods. It was quite a spectacle.

Thursday night, we had a Despedida--a farewell party/talent show. We were required to participate, and none of us are very talented people. We wrote a song to the tune of "Don't Stop Believing" by Journey. I was impressed with our talent...the town, however, couldn't understand us and had no idea what we were saying. Awesome. When we asked the CREAR students what they liked to do for fun, they told us the normal things..hang out and play cards and stuff like that. They lied. They're almost all ridiculously good at acrobatic type stuff.

Friday morning was kind of a fluke. It rained really hard Thursday night. Funny thing about rain in the campo..the roads disappear. We had intended on going to Dajabon, a market on the Haitian border. The border that opens up twice awake to allow free trade between the DR and Haiti. But Friday morning, our gua-gua couldn't come get us. Marcos had started a project the day before at Pedro's house, and we decided to finish that Friday morning because we clearly weren't going anywhere.

Pedro, who is possibly one of the nicest people I have ever met, was cooking with this stove at his house:

It doesn't look that bad. The problem was that it was inside this little hut and there was no way for smoke to escape. It also uses A LOT of wood and is somewhat inefficient. We built a new oven, that uses 20% less wood and has a chimney so the smoke goes out of the hut (and not into Pedro's lungs!) If it looks like Chris, Ashley, Marcos and I are the ones doing all the work, don't be fooled. Stephanie was taking pictures and everyone else was shoveling dirt/chasing chickens (which, you know, is almost like work).

Marcos, ready to work:

The process is pretty simple. There's a concrete base:

Clay pieces that fit inside:
And a grate where the heat comes up:

The clay pieces are built into the oven. Anywhere heat can get out has to be covered with mud, but it's a fairly easy process.

Pedro's in the green:

And when all (almost) said and done:

After we were done with our stove, we found a man in the town who had a pick-up truck and could take us to our gua-gua. We decided that instead of going to Dajabon, we all just wanted to go home.

I really loved Rio Limpio. The views were absolutely gorgeous. Every morning I would walk out of our cabaña and the sight would take my breath away. One night we watched the fog literally roll in.

Being in Rio Limpio proved to me that I'm really just a small town girl. I like being in Santiago, in the city and in the middle of everything. But I loved the campo. It's so nice to be in a place where everyone knows everyone. I love the sense of community in the campo.

When I first came to the Dominican Republic, I got hooked on this song called "Yo No Sé Mañana". It's about a guy telling his girlfriend that he doesn't know if they'll be together tomorrow, but they have each other right now. It really describes my first month in the DR. I wasn't ever 100% sure that I would be able to make it through the next day. Wednesday night in the KarmaBear, I found a note that said "Kristina, I know you had the Yo No Sé Mañana sentiment the first weeks you were here, but for what its worth, I'm glad you're still with us. Your laughter and energy are contagious". I've gotten to the point where I know I'll be here tomorrow. Yo sé. I got so attached to the people in Rio Limpio and the CREAR students.

Coming back to Santiago was really hard. I spent the vast majority of Friday night and Saturday morning moping. Coming back to Santiago was like reverse-culture shock. I was missing the campo and the people there, but at the same time, I was happy to be back in the city. It was basically a mess of emotions. And that was only after being in the campo for a week. I don't want to even think about what it's going to be like when I have to go back to the states.

This country tiptoed in and took my heart. I had no idea it was coming. It didn't ask my permission. It didn't even bother to warn me. I have fallen in love with the people and with the land. It just snuck right in and stole it.

Darn thing.

Estoy Cansada

2010-02-27T17:05:00.001-08:00

I spent this past week in Rio Limpio, a campo about an hour from the Haitian border.

I have so much to say and I'm lacking the words to say it.

My English has been mixed in with my Spanish and I speak a weird version of Spanglish. I no longer know what grammar structure is (I told someone the other day that I had hunger, because that's the literal translation of Spanish).

I just wanted to update and let everyone know that my week long lack of blogging was intentional--I'm okay and everything is good.

I'm so tired. There's a Spanish phrase, "Tengo sueño", which means I'm tired--as in, I have tiredness (dream, actually), and would like to go to sleep. But then, there's "Estoy cansada", which is the "I'm so exhausted mentally and physically that I may fall over any second now". I slept fourteen hours last night and took a two hour nap today. My body is sore. My bug bites itch. My bruises are killing me.

Kristina, 0. Campo, 2 (Rio Limpio and Alta Mira).

On a side note, I would like to ask everyone to keep the people of Chile in their thoughts and prayers. I've seen what the aftermath of an earthquake looks like, and though their earthquake did less damage, lives have still been loss and I'm sure the situation is chaotic.

On the other hand, everywhere I go/have been is being hit by earthquakes in the past few months.

To the people of Australia and South Carolina: Start evacuating now.

Oh, hey

2010-02-19T04:50:00.000-08:00

I walked to the bathroom this morning, hoping to brush my teeth and wash my face. Turned the sink on. Nothing.

Turned the water in the shower on. Nothing. (Today was a shower day, too).

Not a drop.

I walked back to my room and was like, "oh, hey third world country. what's up?"

Toiletseats

2010-02-17T17:54:00.001-08:00

Yeah, it's not the most glamourous title for a post and it's definitely not the most glamourous topic to talk about to the whole world.

In the states, I have three requirements for a good bathroom (in addition to a functioning toilet/working sink):

Toilet Paper
Soap
Paper towels (not a hand dryer).

However, I didn't realize that there was a fourth requirement: a toilet seat.

The majority of toilets at PUCMM don't have toilet seats, for reasons that are beyond me. I can't imagine that someone would steal a toilet seat, but I suppose it's possible. PUCMM is probably the most expensive school to attend in the Dominican Republic..and yet, they have no toilet seats.

Wild.

To Hell With Good Intentions

2010-02-17T04:00:00.000-08:00

Why Am I Here?

Many mornings, I have looked up at my spinning ceiling fan and have thought to myself, “Oh my goodness, WHY AM I HERE?” It's not a “Why am I here” in the sense of I want to go home. And it's not a “Why am I here” in a sense of what am I doing every day. It's a “Why am I here” in the sense that I cannot possibly have anything to offer to the people of the Dominican Republic, to a culture that I cannot possibly understand, with language barriers and communication obstacles. It's a “Why am I here” in the sense that I am simply an American girl with hopes and good intentions, with investigations and projects for a community that I can neither develop or improve.

I questioned this before I came here. I thought about how I could possibly go on a service-learning trip when I had no idea what kind of service I could offer to a community where I am different from the people and have a different culture in every sense of the word. I've avoided thinking about this—I've gone forward thinking about my project and my investigation, careful to not offend those that I'm working with by my culture or my social status. I've been terrified of offending the people that I work with and in my community—what will they think of me? Do I offend them when I ask personal questions about their life? Do I offend them because I don't ask them enough about their lives? Who am I to impose projects in their community? Do they have judgements about me simply because I'm American?

Why am I here?

For the most part, I've ignored these questions that have been swimming in my head. I show up, I smile at the people, I try to show that I'm truly interested in them and their lives, and I leave feeling a little bit better. Until recently. As we've reached the one month mark and our investigations have become more intense, I've been struggling with this a lot.

Why am I here?

For Elaine's class, my independent project/Capstone class, we've been reading articles about service learning, foreign aid, and international development. And today, we read one that hit the nail on the head and left me pleading for an answer to “Why am I here?” Ivan Illich's “To Hell With Good Intentions” hits a little too close to home. In a speech given to American students doing missionary work in Mexico (in 1968), Illich rakes American volunteers over the coals, and poses the question, “Why are you here?”:

I'm equally impressed by the hypocrisy of most of you...You have decided to spend this next summer in Mexico...you close your eyes because you want to go ahead and could not do so if you looked at some facts. Had I known that I would see children living on the streets, working for a living at seven and eight years old, I wouldn't have come. Had I known that extreme poverty exists in every corner of this country, I wouldn't have come. Had I know the struggles that people on the streets face on a daily basis, I definitely wouldn't have come. Why am I here?

The existence of organizations like yours is offensive to Mexico. Why am I here? The people in my community accept me, but does my presence offend them? Do they think that their community needs a sustainable project? Are they happy with the way things are? Am I offending them by having good intentions?

Good intentions have not much to do with what we are discussing here. To hell with good intentions. This is a theological statement. You will not help anybody by your good intentions. There is an Irish saying that the road to hell is paved with good intentions.

By definition, you cannot help being ultimately vacationing salesmen for the middle-class “American Way of Life” since that is really the only life you know. You, like the values you carry, are the products of an American society of achievers and consumers, with its two-party system, its universal schooling and it's family-car affluence. You are ultimately--consciously or unconsciously--“salesman” for a delusive ballet in the ideas of democracy, equal opportunity, and free enterprise among people who haven't the possibly of profiting from these. My culture, my middle class life. Are the people in my community jealous of me, when I'm really the one jealous of them? Do they realize that their way of life is difficult for me to adjust to, yet phenomenally simplistic? Am I creating chaos in a community simply by being there?

All you will do in a Mexican village is create disorder. I suppose I am.

There is no way for you to really meet with the underprivileged, since there is no common ground whatsoever for you to meet on. Do I ask about their lives? Should I ask about their lives? When I don't know how things function in their community and can't understand the schooling system or am surprised by the way things are done, am I creating a cultural rift? What do I have in common with these people? How can I possibly relate?

Even the Peace Corps spends around $10,000 on each member to help him adapt to his new environment and guard him against culture shock. How odd that nobody ever thought about spending money to educate poor Mexicans in order to prevent them from the culture shock of meeting you. Indeed, how odd.

Soon you would be made aware of your irrelevance among the poor, of your status as middle-class college students on a summer assignment. Sooner than I imagined, in fact. I never thought of it as a privilege to own a pair of shoes. I didn't realize that owning more than one pair of “play” shoes automatically made me middle class. I never imagined that I would feel so insignificant in a single place.

It is incredibly unfair for you to impose yourselves on a village where you are so linguistically deaf and dumb that you don't even understand what you are doing, or what people think of you.

I am here to entreat you to freely, consciously and humbly give up the legal right you have to impose your benevolence on Mexico. I am here to challenge you to recognize your inability, your powerlessness and your incapacity to do the “good” which you intended to do.

I am here to entreat you to use your money, your status and your education to travel in Latin America. Come to look, come to climb our mountains, to enjoy our flowers. Come to study. But do not come to help.

Why am I here?

Illich's speech is rough. He automatically assumes several things, and ironically, he's not Mexican. He's Croatian--so those mountains and flowers aren't really his. When I read this initially, I was furious. I'm not doing mission work, why should this apply to me? Who is he to tell me what I'm doing in this country?

I cannot possibly understand this culture, the people, their lives or their language in a way that will promote sustainable development. I cannot understand their battles, their problems, and their struggles. I fear that a project will offend them, hurt them, or upset them. So when I think about it, there's a lot of truth in his words.

Why am I here? I came here with good intentions. But is that enough?

2010-02-11T11:01:00.000-08:00

I've always wanted a little sister. But I never got one. (You can take that up with my parents). I used to play with my friends little sisters because I didn't have one.

But now, I have two! My hermanitas are absolutely precious. Julissa is 5 and Perla is 7. I moved into my new family Tuesday night, and so far, so good. They are so great. And my sisters! I am absolutely in love. I played with them all night Tuesday night.

We dropped them off at school on Wednesday morning, and my mom, July took me to school so I could figure my way out. I feel like I'm probably going to be spending a lot more money on transportation at this house because it's a lot harder to walk to school. There's a highway near the school that I have to cross, and while people do it all the time, I feel safer taking a concho.

I came home yesterday and ate lunch, and took a nap. And it was a much, much needed nap. When I woke up, I had two little girls sitting outside of my room waiting for me to wake up. It was cute. I played with them all afternoon and night and then did my homework and went to bed.

I talked to Elaine, my program director, and the first thing she said to me was “Wow, you seem so happy”. And I am. I really, really am.

I'm in Heaven

2010-02-10T05:43:00.001-08:00

I just wanted to give a quick update...

I love my *new* family. They are absolutely awesome and I'm really happy!

Stay tuned for more.

"Do you have hot water?" and Other Things About Life in the Dominican Republic

2010-02-07T19:25:00.001-08:00

I always get asked so many questions about life in general in the Dominican Republic. The three most common are:

Do you have hot water?
What do you eat?
What are the people in your program like?

I've decided to start a little mini-series about life in the DR, with questions from y'all. (But mostly because my life here is starting to get routine and boring and I don't really have much more to say). Please leave a comment if you have any questions about anything, however insignificant or important or random it may be. (Otherwise, you're going to be reading about me sitting in class for the whole morning and really, who wants to do that?)

Back to the hot water. Yes, we have the capability for it. No, I do not use it.

Having hot water is a complicated process. It involves turning on a switch that turns the propane on which heats the water. It takes about 15 minutes to heat. At first, I thought hot water was a good idea. When you have to wake up at 6:15 every morning to shower (if you shower that day, ahem), those extra 15 minutes are crucial.

It kind of freaked me out at first, but they don't use hot water for anything else, either. Clothes are washed in cold water, and all whites are bleached. The dishes are washed with cold water, and that still kind of scares me. I think they use bleach for the dishes, too, but I'm not sure about that. I haven't creeped in the kitchen enough.

But really, when you sleep in 80 degree weather, you don't want to take a hot shower in the morning. And when I come home from my organization dripping with sweat, I don't really want to stand under hot water. Cold water, however, makes the cut. Sometimes in the morning I step out of the shower absolutely freezing, complete with goosebumps.

I've come to embrace the cold water, though. Because I know that when I'm freezing in the morning, it will be the absolute only time that day that I'll be cold.

Optimism, my friends. It's good stuff.

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

2010-02-07T06:56:00.000-08:00

Occasionally I forget how much I am loved.

On Friday afternoon, I made a phone call that I didn't think I would make while I was here. "Mom, I'm thinking about coming home". It wasn't a decision made on a whim, either. I wrote about it here and have also talked to the people in my program and my program director about it a few times. Friday was the breaking point, though.

Friday morning we went to a museum as a group and had our one month group meeting afterwards. The subject of host families came up and everyone was talking about how great of a time they were having. I didn't say a word because I didn't want to give false impressions, but I didn't want to complain either. My quietness didn't go under the radar like I had hoped, though.

Let me tell you a little bit about my family first. I love them a lot, I really do. My mom clearly cares about me and my sister thinks I'm fun. I enjoy being around them and talking with them. The only problem: They are never here. And in a country where I already feel out of whack and don't really know what's going on, having a family here to talk to and be a part of would be great.

I didn't really realize how much this was affecting me until it was brought up. And then, I realized that I'm home by myself at least 5 hours every. single. night. My sister takes night classes so she's obviously not here and my mom is either with her mom or sister-in-law or somewhere else. It's really hard to feel included when you're by yourself.

Elaine, my program director, realized that things aren't okay for me. So, we did what anyone would do: we called up Amy Lancaster at Wofford College. Amy Lancaster was my spanish teacher first semester of my freshman year, knows my brother from high school, and basically runs the study abroad program at Wofford; she's like family. After considering my options with her, Elaine and I talked again.

And nobody be too disappointed, but, I'm not coming home.

I am, however, changing families. As soon as Elaine finds somewhere to put me, (hopefully Monday or Tuesday), I'm moving out. And my family doesn't know this yet, but they do know that I wanted to go home. Things are really really awkward right now, but it's only for a few more days.

I also spent awhile talking to Elaine about my organization. I feel kind of out of the loop because I go to my community 3 or 4 days a week, but I don't really know what I'm doing. I've had friends and family ask me about what I'm doing and the only concrete thing I can come up with is that I'm hanging out with seven year olds and meeting people in the community. I guess I'm trying to integrate (as much as my blue eye, blonde hair self can) would be a better explanation. I'm having a meeting with Elaine and the lady from my community and the organization director on Tuesday to sort things out. Everyone who has already had this meeting with their organization in the past week feels so much better about everything, so I'm hoping I will too.

But back to forgetting how much I'm loved.

I'm not a quitter--I never have been. I have a drive that I'm not really sure where it comes from, but it's keeping me going.

When we got back to school after the museum and one month meeting, everyone in our group knew that I wasn't okay. I figured it would be best to be frank with them, so I told them that I was thinking about going home. They freaked out. Chris asked me who he would walk to school with. Ashley begged me not to go. Stephanie just stared at me like I was out of my mind.

And in those moments, I realized that we're not fake friends anymore. We've grown to be real friends. In each one of them, I'm finding pieces of my friends from home. For example, Dan and I love to translate things literally so that they end up sounding ridiculous. This reminds me so much of Jenna (my roommate), and while Dan is not Jenna by any means, it makes missing her a little bit easier.

I also talked to my Nana and Papa last night for the first time since I've been here (which was really hard, because I could sit all day and talk to them but we only had 10 short minutes). They told me that there are so many people asking about me and reading my blog. My mom has told me the same thing. I didn't realize that the whole world cared!

So, I'm staying here. But I know that there are a whole lot of people fighting for me here and there are even more people fighting for me at home. And that makes everything just a little bit easier. :)

The Concho Ride That Forever Changed My Life

2010-02-04T15:52:00.000-08:00

I'm not a huge fan of conchos. I can't figure the routes out and I hate being squeezed into the back seat. I prefer to walk in the city, if at all possible. I've been in conchos that supposedly are on the same route that go different ways and end up at the same place. I've gotten lost two times now and there was a day when the concho driver forgot about me.

To get to and from my community, walking is not an option. It's about a 25 minute concho ride. On my way home from my community today, I saw a concho driver waiting to have a full car to head back to Santiago. I was the last one to get in the front seat. I tried to close the door and it wouldn't close. The driver said "No, like this", and motioned for me to hold the door shut by putting my arm out the window and holding it at the top.

He started the car and we left. The first thing that I noticed was the gas gauge. It was on empty. And the fuel light was on. And we had 25 minutes to go.

At 15 minutes into the ride, I looked at the speedometer, and we were going 65 mph on a road that was probably meant to be 35 mph (Not that there are speed limits posted or anything). I'm still holding the door on.

At 20 minutes into the ride, the driver turned right when we were supposed to be going straight. I got really concerned that I was going to end up lost again, but then he U-turned to turn right again onto the original road. He didn't want to wait for the light.

I couldn't get my money out to pay the driver during the trip because I was too busy holding the door on. When I tried to give it to him when we arrived, he said he didn't want it because I held the door on and that was good enough for him.

We arrived, in one piece, in Santiago after one of the scariest concho rides of my life. I spent have the time praying that we wouldn't run out of gas before we got back to Santiago and the other half praying that the door wouldn't fall off. It was a free trip, but it took a few minutes for my nerves to recover afterwards.

Machistas and Mosquitoes

2010-02-03T12:52:00.000-08:00

This past weekend we traveled to the community of Rio Grande outside of Alta Mira for a world weekend. (Alta Mira is close to the North Coast, if you want to get everything in the right place on your mental map). We spent the weekend in the campo building latrines for the families of the community that couldn't afford to do it themselves.

The campo is an interesting place. There's a huge chauvinistic (I'm not exactly sure if this is the right word or not...the Spanish word is machista so I think machismo would be better) attitude in the community. Women generally spend all day in the kitchen and it's rare for a woman to leave her house, unless she's going to the store or church.

So when six girls showed up declaring they were going to build latrines, things got a little out of hand. I can't count the number of times someone took a saw, hammer, or shovel out of my hands. I was extremely frustrated--I (unlike some of the other girls) know how to use a saw, I can hammer a nail, and I'm pretty sure I can dig a hole. My Daddy taught me well. (And I used to think that I could grow up to be Amy Wynn Pastor, the carpenter from TLC's Trading Spaces. Don't judge.)

However, I was never taught how to do this:

(That's a machete. And he's using it to cut wood. Impressive.)

Building the latrines was hard work and um, they don't have powertools.

I sawed:

I supervised:

I hammered:

(Please note my tongue sticking out. I am my father's daughter.)

I sulked when my hammer was taken from me:

I helped build the base for the latrine:

And voila! The finished product:

After all day working, we were extremely tired and incredibly hot and sweaty. We walked to the river that's near the town (it is called Rio Grande [Big River] after all):

(This is my um, guys, it's really really cold face):

We spent the weekend with families from the communities. Each house had two students and it was really fun getting to know the other teenagers in the community and to see the dynamic between our different cultures.

When we got to Rio Grande on the first day, the people in the community told us to beware of the flesh eating bugs. I thought they were kidding at first. They called them Mayan bugs (but to me they looked like mosquitoes). Maybe Mayans liked to drink people's blood? I have no idea. Anyway, when these bugs bit me, I would get what looked like a mosquito bite, but with a bruise around it.

I hesitate to say this on the internet for the whole world to hear (but I mean, I did share the same pair of jeans for 14 days straight thing), but I came home with 152 mayan/mosquito bites. (Yeah, we counted).

The hospitality and the happiness of the people in the community made every single bug bite worth it, though. It amazed me how they reached out to us while we were reaching out for them. They literally opened their homes and their lives to us and it was extremely rewarding.

More Pictures

2010-02-01T03:56:00.000-08:00

These are in a backwards/random order from the time they were taken, but I didn't really have the patience to go through and fix it. Take what you can get, no? :)

The last full day we were in Samana (Sunday) we went to Playa Rincon, which boasts one of the top beaches in the world. It was described to us as nearly deserted--and after the hour and a half long taxi ride on one lane dirt roads (I hesitate to call them roads--footpaths would probably be the better description), I can see why. The only other groups of people there were campers and the people of the village that run little fish restaurants. Saturday morning we went whale watching and in the afternoon we went to Playa Las Galeras. Las Galeras was about 45 minutes outside of Samana. I rode there in the back of a truck. It was awesome.

MIA/Weekends in Paradise

2010-01-31T17:12:00.000-08:00

This is only half of the pictures I have from the last few weeks. The internet was cooperating today and I didn't want to press my luck by trying to add more. And I to remind all y'all that are buried in snow/ice what 90 degrees and sunny looks like. Just to rub it in a bit :)

Three weekends ago, I went to Sosua, a beach on the north shore about two hours outside of Santiago. It was absolutely beautiful and a wonderful end to orientation.

(From L to R: Olivia, Stephanie, Me, Martha)

Two weekends ago was not a weekend in paradise--it was a weekend of parasites. Our group had planned to go to Santo Domingo, the capital of the Dominican Republic to visit the old plantations and get a taste of the history of the DR, but also to see the "big city". I didn't get to go, but I know that there will be plenty of other opportunities to visit Santo Domingo.

Last Thursday was a holiday (no school!) I don't have class on Fridays and Monday was also a holiday (no school again!) We decided to take advantage of our five day weekend and travel to Samana, a city on the east coast.

This picture pretty much sums up my weekend:

The trip to Samana was rough--it was about four hours on roads full of pot holes in a bus that was packed to the brim (overflowing, actually). When we got to the beach, it was totally worth it though.

Rice paddies on the way to Samana

We spent our first day at Playa Samana. It was about a ten minute walk from our hotel and was actually the beach of a private resort. We talked our way onto the beach, though, and promised that we would behave. On the second day we were in Samana, Chris and I went on a whale watching tour. I was amazed by the whales! I was like a five year old on Christmas morning. It was hard to take pictures, but I think I got some good ones of the beach and the whales:

2010-01-27T17:34:00.000-08:00

(This is not the picture post I promised. I originally wrote this a few days ago and hesitated to post it at the time—I didn't want it to be a spur of the moment emotional thing and I didn't want anyone to worry about me. However, because a few days have passed and I still feel the same way, I'm going to go ahead and post it).

I have never felt more alone in my life.

I miss meaningful human interactions. In any given day, I only talk to the people in my program, my professors talk at me, and I talk to my family.

My family is absolutely wonderful, but as much as they try to incorporate me into their family, something in my mind is resisting it—they are not my family. My family is at home, in South Carolina. I would love to say that my professors are great and they care about me on a personal level--but this isn't Wofford. I miss that connection that I have at Wofford with my professors. And the people in my program are great too—but they are certainly not my roommates or my best friends. Four weeks ago, they were complete strangers, just a name on a page. Our single common bond is that we have been coincidentally thrown into the same situation.

But really, our situations are not the same. We are in the same program, in the same country; but each of us is working in a different community, in a different home, in a different organization.

This is truly overwhelming. I clearly don't fit in here and I don't really feel like I belong, either. I know that this is something that takes time—and in time, it will happen. And while I don't miss home, per say, I definitely miss the people and the familiarity. I'm struggling to find something familiar here.

Right now, I'm clinging to the little girls in the community that I'm working for. Kids are kids. They laugh and giggle and are absolutely awed that I'm in their community. The only word I can think of to describe it is joy. Their laughter and their happiness is contagious—I can't feel anything other than happy when I'm around them. Even though we have a language barrier, they are interested in me. Not because I have blond hair (okay, they are a little interested in that) and blue eyes and stand out like a sore thumb, and not because I speak English. They want me to play with them and be part of their world. It's so comforting to be wanted, even if it's by seven year olds.

I'm happy here, I really am. I'm enjoying my time and I'm happy with my family and classes and my organization. It's a little unnerving to be alone, but I know that in time, things will improve. (Read: Don't buy me a plane ticket home and don't come get me).

Oh, how the times have changed...

2010-01-26T17:21:00.000-08:00

I haven't posted much lately because it's hard for me to get internet--it involves lugging my computer the whole way to school and walk around campus holding my computer trying to find internet signal in a few places. However, today I discovered that if I stack my computer on top of my suitcase, on top of my chair, by the window, like so:

I can pick up internet from Pepine. I'm not really sure who Pepine is, but I'm really thankful for his unprotected wireless internet.

I promise that I will do a huge post soon with lots of pictures, but for now, I have a few comments about the last 25(!) days.

Twenty-five days ago, I would not have begged to wear my tennis shoes. I'm more of a flip flops kind of girl. Twenty degrees or ninety degrees, I'll take the flip flops.

Twenty-five days ago, I could not imagine trading my perfume for bug spray. Now, bug spray has become part of my daily routine.

Twenty-five days ago, I would have showered every single day. Today, I realize that being clean is a luxury. And it is also somewhat inconvenient. Therefore...you get the point.

Twenty-five days ago, I would have washed (and dried, with a hairdryer) my hair every single day. The hairdryer is a thing of the past.

Twenty-five days ago, I would have never worn sunscreen on a daily basis. Today, I know what a farmers tan looks like and I prefer the sunscreen.

Twenty-five days ago, I would have run to the grocery store to buy whatever food I needed, whenever I needed it. Today, I also realize this is a luxury--if the power goes out, the food goes bad. There is enough food in our refrigerator for about a day.

Twenty-five days ago, I would not have worn the same jeans for fourteen days straight. (Okay, this one still makes me cringe a little bit.) But it's true. Fourteen days in the same pair of jeans.

Stay tuned for a huge photo post soon. Be sure to thank Pepine for me if you see him! :)

How to Lose 20 Pounds in 20 Days

2010-01-20T04:17:00.000-08:00

I was floored by the response I received to my last post. I received many encouraging e-mails and I am so thankful for that kind of support. As for the Dominican Republic, things have returned to our regularly scheduled program; phones and electricity are working normally and you wouldn't even know that 4 hours away in a different country things are absolutely devastating. I am so shocked by the support students at school have shown. There was a group that was started called Trabajando por Haiti (Working for Haiti) and they are fundraising and promoting their group like crazy--I love it. We are still planning on going in a few weeks through an organization or the embassy in order to help with what we can and I'm really excited about it.

I'm sure some of you haven't (totally) given up on your New Year's Resolution to lose weight. To help you out a little bit, I'm going to present you with my weight loss plan of 2010.

Day 1—Haul your 100+ pound bags down the street (and by down the street, I mean UP the hill). Find out that you live on the third floor. Haul them up the steps for good measure.

Day 2—Hike up a mountain, through a river, and up waterfalls. Remember, what goes up must come down.

Day 3—Go on a scavenger hunt through the whole city. Be sure to get lost.

Days 4-7—Walk to every NGO in town.

Day 8—Go to the beach. (And, my personal favorite): Eat lunch at a seemingly good place. Be sure to get a Caribbean parasite in your stomach.

Days 9-10—Walk two miles to school, one way. Add a giant hill in for good measure.

Days 11-12—Refuse to learn the public transportation system for fear of getting lost...just walk.

Days 13-16—Lay in bed for three days convinced you're dying, thanks to said parasite. Don't eat—it will not end well, I promise. But if you do eat, you'll get your exercise in while sprinting to the bathroom.

Day 17—Go to your community organization. Decide you can take public transportation alone for the first time and then walk to your site. Take public transportation home. Make sure the driver doesn't hear you when you scream you want out. Backtrack (walk) home and vow to never take public transportation again.

Days 18-20—Eat only bread, rice, apples, bananas, y soup for three days (per the doctor) until the parasite is gone.

Enjoy!

Earthquake in Haiti

2010-01-15T11:33:00.000-08:00

Photo Credit:dailymail.co.uk

I'm sure the whole world knows by now that there was an earthquake Tuesday in Haiti. We felt the effects of it here in Santiago and it was frightening. It was the first earthquake I have ever felt and it caught me by surprise more than anything. However, for the Haitian people I have met and the Dominicans with Haitian friends, this earthquake literally shook their lives up. There are people who are don't know where their families are, others who don't know if their friends are alive. It's absolutely heartbreaking.

The equivalent of an earthquake in Port-au-Prince is an earthquake in Washington, D.C. And it leads me to wonder, how can you possibly rebuild a country that was struggling to stay alive? I fear that Haiti is ruined; on the other hand, I hope this is a new beginning. More of a fresh start, than another effort to stay alive. Hearing that Obama decided to send aid was thrilling. I like the way he stated that he did not want to intervene, merely help. The US has intervened in Haiti one too many times, and I think it's great that we're sending aid instead of taking over.

This has also made me realize how easy it is to turn a blind eye to things. When I'm at home in the comfort of my own room, or at school with my friends, it's easy to say “Oh, an earthquake in Haiti. That's terrible.” It's not that we're insensitive, it's that we're oblivious. Here, I can't be oblivious. It's nearly impossible. I'm not in Haiti, and I can't imagine the distress in Haiti right now, but I am on the same island. And I want to do is help. And it kills me that I can't. I'm not on the other side of the ocean, and I can't ignore it. It's everywhere around me.

Please, if you feel compelled to donate, do so through a reasonable legitimate organization. The Cruz Roja (Red Cross) is big on the ground and is doing what they can to help in Haiti. Partners in Health is also another organization that is providing huge relief efforts for the Haitian people. Please continue to pray for the people of the country and the friends and families of those who are missing and those that have died.

I never understood the effects a natural disaster can have on a country until Tuesday. I think it takes a disaster to build a community. I think we saw that after September 11^th. Here, you see the US sending aid to a country that it doesn't have the best relationship with. I think that race lines are (finally) being crossed and it's no longer a matter of skin color. And even though a city is destroyed, lives have been lost, and many are missing, there is a sense of solidarity in the chaos, and that gives me hope.

Orientación, Parte Dos

2010-01-12T04:09:00.000-08:00

I'm going to backtrack again and give the details of the past few days.

Thursday was also hectic (are you seeing a theme here?) We visited Acción Callejera in the morning. I fell in love with the organization because of their mission and their aims, but really, it's not what I'm looking for. Acción Callejera is kind of like an indoor playground for street kids. When the kids check in, they leave their shoeshine box or whatever they are selling at the front, like a hotel. Each room has a different “station” where they can play and do different things. It's a really cool concept and I liked the idea but it's not really what I want to do. In the afternoon we visited Arte A Mano and I don't even really know what they do. By Thursday afternoon I was so tired that it was all a blur. On Thursday night, we had a movie night at one of the Estudiante de Apoyo's house. We watched The Orphan and it was probably one of the most terrifying things I've seen in my life.

On Friday we only went to one organization. At the end of the day Wednesday I was set on the fact that I wanted to work for Cuidado Infantil. Friday afternoon we visited Niños con una Esperanza (Children with a hope). Niños con una Esperanza is in one of the poorest neighborhoods in Santiago, Cien Fugeos (100 Fires). Cien Fuegos has the only dump in Santiago and many of the children drop out of school (if they even ever go) in order to dig for metal in the trash dump. They melt the metal down (hence the fire part) and almost immediately, they have picked their future. It's a huge problem because the kids are not educated at all and they are essentially stuck with one job for their whole life. Niños con una Esperanza provides an alternative for the kids. They have a program set up that encourages kids to go to school and then they give them a place to play and meals. They tell the kids that if they drop out of school, they'll be kicked out of the program. Because the kids like the program so much, it works. I loved the neighborhood around Niños. It is by far the poorest place I have ever been but I have never seen so much joy in my life. People in the neighborhood were genuinely excited that we were there and that we might be interested in working with their kids or their grandkids or nephews or what have you. It was overwhelming, but in a good way. When we left Niños on Friday afternoon, I was absolutely torn between which organization I wanted to work for.

Saturday morning we had a few short seminars on “dominicanismos”, dominican-haitian relations, and race and identity in the Dominican Republic. On Saturday we ate lunch as a group at a pizza restaurant and that officially ended orientation!!

Bienvenidos a la República Dominicana

2010-01-09T13:19:00.000-08:00

Hola desde la República Dominicana!

I don't think I knew what I was in for.

The last few days have been absolutely overwhelming.

I arrived last Saturday about 3. I have to be honest, I stepped off the plane (and wiped the sweat off of my face and felt my pores clog with all the gunk and humidity, but I digress) and had a mini-panic attack.

Two other students and I were picked up from the airport by Marcos Polo (Yes, you can laugh) and I was taken to my host family. It took me awhile to figure out the family dynamics here because they are so different from the states. I live in an apartment with my madre, her 20 year old daughter Fanya, and a student who is here from NYU for two weeks, Victoria. We also have a doña, which is kind of like a maid; her name is Virginia. Here's where things get complicated. My madre's late husband died recently, so this is a new apartment for her. Her sister-in-law lives in the apartment under us. On the next street over is my madre's mother, my abuela. My abuela is also hosting a student from my program, Chris. My madre's brother, my tio, lives with my abuela. My tio's son, Valentin, also lives there. Got that? Basically, Chris is my uncle, and I'm his niece and that's kind of weird.

Anyway. The two other students who got here on Saturday (Ashley and Dan) and I went to Marcos' house Saturday night. He is our program director, and he's married to our resident director, Elaine. They have the cutest kids in the world! We hung out there for a little while and Rachel, another girl from my program came over. Rachel did the liberal arts program in Santiago last semester, so she's been here for five months already.

One of the questions I have been asked the most is “What are you going to do there?” It's hard for me to put into words, but I'll take a stab at it. I'm in the Dominican Republic through the study abroad program CIEE. My program is focused on Service Learning. In the mornings I'm taking classes at PUCCM University and in the afternoons, I have a service site that I will go to and become familiar with the community. Towards the end of the semester, I have a Capstone project that will unite what I've learned in the classroom with what I've done at my service site. Part of my service site is inventing a “project” that will cater to the needs of the community and the organization I work with.

For orientation on Sunday, we went to a place in the mountains near Puerto Plata called Tubagua. Tubagua was very Swiss Family Robinsonesque. We slept in a tree-house like cabana with a thatched roof. The view was absolutely AMAZING.

We met Martha before we left. Martha came to Santiago last spring in the Liberal Arts program and has been to the Dominican Republic seven times before. Needless to say, she knows what she's doing. On our way to Tubagua, we picked up Oliviaaat the airport. Sunday night we spent a lot of time getting to know each other and playing games that introduced ourselves. Stephanie was the last one to arrive Sunday night.

On Monday morning, we went through some of the basic information we need to know and some of the cultural stuff. Monday afternoon we left for the waterfalls. It was about an hour hike through the hills and then a ten minute walk up a river. Once we got to the waterfalls, though, it was totally worth it. We passed a little community on the way where men were scaling coconut trees and other men were cutting the peel off in the field.

And crossing the river:

I unfortunately don't have any pictures of the waterfalls. But, we jumped in them from above and swam in the water and it was absolutely phenomenal. Monday night we came back to our host families and I pretty much walked in the door and went straight to bed.

Tuesday morning we went to PUCCM to take our spanish placement test. It was pretty miserable. It was also my first glimpse of the 3rd world-ness of this country. It's shocking at first. We walk to school on a random footpath through a very poor community. I feel extremely safe and the people are very friendly and say "hola" as we pass. However, it's a community where the river is completely destroyed by pollution and trash. Later Tuesday afternoon we had a "treasure hunt" through the city in order to get to know the city better. In all honesty, I just felt lost. I know I won't get the city down until I actually walk through it (and get lost) a couple of times. Tuesday night we had "speed dating" with the Estudiantes de Apoyo from the university. The Estudiantes de Apoyo are students that want to help us integrate into the PUCCM community. It's a really cool concept and it helps us speak spanish better because we can practice with them. It's a great support system and they are always really enthusiastic. (Note: it wasn't really speed dating). Tuesday night I also crashed because I was so tired.

Part of the orientation process for service learning is visiting each site so we can get a feel for what each organization does and the general atmosphere of the place. We went to the hospital Juan XXIII and although I was interested in it, I didn't get the right vibe from the organization. It was too disorganized and not really what I was looking for. Wednesday afternoon we visited Cuidado Infantil, which I was also interested in. Cuidado Infantil is an HIV/AIDS organization that works in La Zona Sur, a marginalized area outside of Santiago. They promote health in general and go door to door to help with weighing babies, checking on children, etc. I got really attached to a child from the beginning and it's an organization that I'm definitely interested in.

Wednesday night my host sister, Fanya, took me and Victoria to a discoteca. We went with some of the other people in my program and from NYU. It was an absolute blast.

It's really hard for me to catch up on everything from the beginning to now, so I'll save the rest of this past week for another time. But I'll leave you with a few last things that I've learned:

1. Toilet paper CANNOT go in the toilet. It goes in the trash can. It's the weirdest thing ever.

2. Conchos are the major form of public transportation. They are cars that run on a set route and they are highly scary. (Don't freak out, Mom); In the front seat are 2 people, and in the back, four. And these are cars that are meant to have 1 person in the front seat and 3 in the back. It's a tight squeeze.

3. The roads have no lines. None.

4. Seatbelts don't exist in some cars. That's okay though because you're squeezed in so tightly that you can't possibly go anywhere.

5. Lunch is the biggest meal. EVERYONE takes a nap right after lunch. (In fact, the school has a siesta break).

Until next time, have fun in the snow/cold that seems to have taken over half the country. Nos vemos!

New Year, New Place

2010-01-01T20:41:00.000-08:00

In a few hours, I'll be flying to Santiago de los Caballeros en la República Dominicana. With a short layover in Miami, of course.

Stay tuned for updates! :)

On Being White

2009-01-31T02:56:00.000-08:00

This past semester, my Old Testament professor walked in and shut the door, cleared his throat and said, "folks, we are so white. In my class of cookie cutter Wofford students, he was right--we were so white. He had a challenge for us: study abroad. But don't go to Western Europe, Canada, Australia, or any other typically white country. He told us that our time at Wofford college will teach us about cultures, the nature of humans, places on a map, and the politics of those countries. However, our time at Wofford college will not teach us how to be less white.

In the short month I've been in chile, I've never felt whiter in my life. Besides the fact that I don't look like the people in Chile, I don't act like these people either. My whole life, I've been provided for, above and beyond. (Thanks, Mom and Dad). Take a moment to think about it--we have hot water tanks, washing machines and dryers, dishwashers, 2+ cars--only because it makes our lives easier. Our lives rely on things like these because it makes things easier for us. Chileans, on the other hand, do what works--regardless of the time or work required, or if there is an easier way. If it works, it works.

I've also never felt more ignorant in my whole life. Sometimes, I think whiteness and ignorance go hand in hand. When it comes down to it, I went to a country that I knew NOTHING about. And it's a shame. I learned about a history that I've never been taught in school. And it's a really terrible and fascinating history all at the same time. Did you know that Chile had a prominent political war during the 1970's? Did you know that a military junta took over the government, and thousands "disappeared" and thousands more killed under this government--in their own country. Did you know that Chile was communist for almost 20 years? And they're socialist today? Yeah, I didn't either.

The other seriously disturbing thing I've encountered is the fact that our whiteness is rubbing off on them. (I got a glimpse of this in Australia, too, but I attributed it to the fact that they are also a white country). So many things in Chile are American; it's almost as if they're losing their culture because they're taking in ours. And it's really sad. Just some examples:

1. Chileans don't watch TV, they read it. 95% of their TV shows are in English, with Spanish subtitles.
2. McDonald's--McDonald's is hoppin', ALL of the time. Even at 5 AM.
3. During world news on the nightly news, 90% of it is US news.

I almost hate being American. Not because I have anything against our country, but because we are ruining other cultures and we're not even aware of it. We're not all that great, and we're not all we're cracked up to be, either.

So after a month, my Spanish is still pretty terrible. The only thing I really have to show for my trip is a sunburn. But, if I've learned one thing, it is this: Being white is not always good.

Dr. McCane was right. When removed from your comfort zone and put into a place where you clearly don't belong, the experience is more rewarding than anything I have ever learned from a textbook. I'll admit, when I stepped into the Santiago airport and heard EVERYONE around me speaking Spanish, I FREAKED out (read: had a slight panic attack and debated finding the nearest ticket counter and getting on a plane to go back where I came from). However, staying in the airport, outside of my comfort zone and jumping in feet first is probably one of the best decisions I have made and will make in my entire life.

I only hope that I am a little less white because of it.

We're not sure where they're hiding the other kids

2009-01-30T10:30:00.000-08:00

Since living with a host family, everyone that has been on this trip has experience a decline in the number of clothes they have. It seems like my clothes will be washed, and one or two things will disappear.

Well, this morning, we played the "Es tuyo?" (Is it yours?) game. My Chilean mom would bring something to me every few minutes and say, "es tuyo?" Some of them were mine, but some of them..I don't even know where they came from.

My Chilean sister is significantly smaller than me, so it's pretty easy to figure out what's mine and what's hers. However, I had tons of clothes being brought to me that belong to someone that I don't even know? Apparently, everyone on this trip has been having the same experience. These people must have other kids that they're not telling us about.

In other news, my bags are packed and I'm ready to go. And by ready, I mean that I am physically able to get on a plane and return to the States..However, I'm not ready (mentally) to back to the pile of work that will begin on Monday morning when I have a 8:30, a 9:30, a 10:30, and an 11:30 class, followed by a 3:30 lab.

Wofford College, sometimes, I hate you and your massive work load.

He's Got Georgia on His Mind

2009-01-29T14:51:00.001-08:00

My Chilean dad was walking around this afternoon singing "Georgia on my Mind". (In perfect english, by the way. The accent and everything. Too bad he doesn't know what any of it means.)

I asked him if he knew what Georgia was (In spanish), and he told me yeah, It's a country.

Nice.

The Things I Miss the Most

2009-01-29T03:57:00.000-08:00

(In no particular order)

My family
My best friends and the fact that I only have to pick up a phone or walk down the hall to get to them
My bed at school (yeah, weird, I know)
My Nana and Papa
Sundays with Aunt Sue (and her amazing cooking) & Uncle Manuel, Aubrey, and Annika Grace
Biscuits
Burwell food (the cafeteria at school..yeah, I know, still weird. It's just that at school you can choose what you want. Even if you can't identify what your choices are, you can choose the lesser of three evils. That's a pretty awesome thing to know)
Wofford College (If I have ever been unsure if Wofford is right for me, the fact that I've REALLY missed it for the past 6 weeks has said a lot)
English. (you have no idea.)

Instantes

2009-01-28T18:18:00.001-08:00

We read this poem today in class, and I really, really like it. For an English version, check out this.

Instantates

Si pudiera vivir nuevamente mi vida,
en la próxima trataría de cometer más errores.
No intentaría ser tan perfecto, me relajaría más.
Sería más tonto de lo que he sido,
de hecho tomaría muy pocas cosas con seriedad.
Sería menos higiénico.
Correría más riesgos,
haría más viajes,
contemplaría más atardeceres,
subiría más montañas, nadaría más ríos.
Iría a más lugares adonde nunca he ido,
comería más helados y menos habas,
tendría más problemas reales y menos imaginarios.

Yo fui una de esas personas que vivió sensata
y prolíficamente cada minuto de su vida;
claro que tuve momentos de alegría.
Pero si pudiera volver atrás trataría
de tener solamente buenos momentos.

Por si no lo saben, de eso está hecha la vida,
sólo de momentos; no te pierdas el ahora.

Yo era uno de esos que nunca
iban a ninguna parte sin un termómetro,
una bolsa de agua caliente,
un paraguas y un paracaídas;
si pudiera volver a vivir, viajaría más liviano.

Si pudiera volver a vivir
comenzaría a andar descalzo a principios
de la primavera
y seguiría descalzo hasta concluir el otoño.
Daría más vueltas en calesita,
contemplaría más amaneceres,
y jugaría con más niños,
si tuviera otra vez vida por delante.

Pero ya ven, tengo 85 años...
y sé que me estoy muriendo.

--Juan Luis Borges

Pucon Recap

2009-01-26T14:14:00.000-08:00

When we made it to Pucon on Friday morning, we ended up finding a hostal very close to the bus station, and this was the view out of our window:

We went horseback riding that afternoon, and this is Aften on her horse (cause it's kind of hard to take a picture of myself on a horse):

The view from our ride:

Our guide took us to this random waterfall, and we thought that it would be a good idea to stand under it, IN ALL OF OUR CLOTHES. (we really didn't have that much of a choice)

This the huge hamburger I had for lunch. (Don't worry, I didn't eat it all)

Saturday, we had plans to climb the volcano. However, the weather was really bad and when the tour company came to pick up us at our hostal, they told us that our trip was cancelled and rescheduled for Sunday. We promptly went back to sleep. That afternoon, we went to a Mexican restaurant..yeah, in Chile, I know, strange...and these are my quesadillas:

And these are some pictures from the way back to the hostal:

Saturday afternoon, I went on a hidrospeed down a river. Okay, let me take a moment to explain hidrospeeding. Basically, it's a glorified kickboard. Riding rapids on a kickboard. I mean, I had a helmet and everything, but it was terrifying and satisfying and an adrenaline rush all at the same time. So, this was my attire for hidrospeeding:

Sunday morning, we climbed the beast of the volcano. It was terrible. Looking back on it, I can't believe I 1)made it to the top and 2)didn't die. Here's pictures from our trek:

The top of the volcano. Please note how cold I look:

And if you were on a huge mountain covered in snow, without trees, and without skis, how would you get off? You would sit down on your butt and slide, right? Yeah, that's what we did. It was absolutely AWESOME, and it was definitely worth the walk up:

And, because I thought this sign was awesome, and because it's all over Pucon, I'd like to share:

I'm just glad we didn't have to follow that green line while I was in Pucon.

The majority of our trip can be summed up in one word: lawsuit. Apparently, these people don't believe in signing waivers. Therefore, had any of us been hurt, they would have been held responsible. It was really weird for us, because we're used to signing our life away before doing anything dangerous.

Today, we got back to Viña, and I went to class (in a daze, I'm sure), and then took a four hour nap. I'm absolutely exhausted and have a nice red neck and face. Yay, sunburn!

And, in closing, I just realized that when I ate dinner tonight, I didn't cut my sandwich, I picked it up and bit it. Whoops.

Adventurous Kristina

2009-01-25T14:00:00.000-08:00

Apparently, Chile has made me a little bit adventurous. The last five days have been completely and totally different from anything I would ever do.

Wednesday: Ropes course in the rain forest
Thursday: Getting on a bus to Pucon without a clear destination in mind (don't worry--we made it somewhere!)
Friday: Riding horses up a mountain
Saturday: ~~Glorified kickboarding~~Hidrospeeding down a river
Today: Climbing a volcano. For 11 hours. And then sitting in the snow (!) and sliding down the whole way.

Do you know the last time I walked for 11 hours? Yeah, that's right, NEVER. Do you know when I'm going to do it again? Mhm, NEVER. (Um and do you know the last time that I got up at 6 AM? It's been A LONG TIME.)

I'm about to get on a bus to return to Vina (which I REALLY miss) and after I recuperate and regain feeling in my feet, I'm going to show you all the cool pictures. It will be exciting! But for now, I'm going to sleep.

P is for Pucon, Pretty, and Pain

2009-01-24T11:17:00.000-08:00

We arrived in Pucon yesterday morning at 8:30 after a long, and horrible time on the bus. However, the buses here are absolutely amazing. They have a leg rest that folds down so you can sleep, but I didn't sleep much.

Yesterday morning we found ourselves a hostal (yeah, we didn't really have a plan in mind when we got off the bus), and went down to the tourism place to make reservations for the volcano climb and a horse back trip up a mountain.

The horse ride was gorgeous. We stopped god knows where at a waterfall, and because we could we decided to stand under it.

We ate hamburgers the size of my face (no lie) for lunch, and then rested the rest of the day.

Our volcano trip this morning was cancelled because there's really bad weather here today. We've just hung around the hostal. In about an hour, I'm going on a hidrospeed trip down the river, and Aften and Casey are going shopping. Im not sure what hidrospeeding is exactly, but once I know, I'll let you know!

I'll post pictures as soon as I get the chance!

Packing for Pucon

2009-01-22T10:08:00.000-08:00

This weekend, I'm headed to Pucon, in the south of Chile with Aften and Casey.

We leave tonight (we don't have class tomorrow), and will return Monday morning at 8:30 AM (just in time for a 9:00 class, joy..)

I haven't decided if I'm taking my computer with me, so I may or may not blog from there!

Ciao!

Waffle College

2009-01-21T03:41:00.000-08:00

Every once in a while, my Chilean mom will look at me inquisitively and say, "Waffle?" I usually just say "No, Gracias, Estoy Bien". (which means, no thanks, I'm fine). I finally figured out last night at dinner what she meant.

My Chilean dad started a sentence with, "A Waffle Universidad.." (At Waffle University). And it clicked. My Chilean family thinks that I go to Waffle College.

Obama, oddities about Chile, and where's my snow?

2009-01-20T12:14:00.000-08:00

So, because EVERYONE likes Obama, our third class was cancelled today so that we could come home and watch the inauguration. My Chilean mom was so great about it, because she knew I wanted to watch it, even though it was lunchtime, and so she set up this little number:

So sweet! After the rest of my family ate lunch, my mom turned on CNN and was watching the inauguration. She already told me she doesn't really like politics that much, but every time the people at the inauguration would cheer, I would hear a big "WOOOOO!" from her room..too funny..

Other than that, I have two strange (maybe we're the strange ones, I'm not sure?) things about Chile to share.

1) Unless you are in an apartment or a condo and you hate hot water, you're going to want to know about this one. Every house has a box where you light a pilot light for the gas and then you turn the gas on to get hot water:

2) Chileans don't use dryers unless they absolutely have to, but my family doesn't even have a dryer. So, I've learned to like jeans that feel like cardboard:

Also, here's some pictures from my new host family!
My room:

And my bathroom:

And our sweet view of Viña from the living room:

I assure you though, the walk up that hill after school is everything but sweet.

And, in closing, please talk to the snow fairies and make sure that they return sometime after January 30th. I'd appreciate that! :)

Estoy acá (I am here)!

2009-01-18T15:05:00.000-08:00

I don't really want to do much explaining, but there was a bit of a hiccup with my host family..as in, they didn't feed me. Like, I don't even think they ate. And last night a remark was made about my Spanish is so bad, why am I even in Chile?

So, today I moved in to a different host family. Our lunch (!) was amazing, and I just had dinner (!!). It's like a whole other world exists in Chile that I wasn't informed about! I'm so glad to be in a family that sincerely wants me here!

Ciao, ciao!

Chorrillana, La Sebastiana, Chile through the decades, Isla Negra

2009-01-17T07:46:00.000-08:00

Here's my long post, as promised!

Wednesday, we had class and then went to the house of Pablo Neruda, a poet and ambassador for Chile (he's dead now). Apparently he's super famous, but to be quite honest, I've never heard of the guy. His first house was in Valpo, and it was gorgeous. Before we went though, we went to this little hole in the wall place (think Bowens Island) for lunch. Carlos (one of our teachers) took us there, and we thought we would have the option to choose what we wanted. We got the option to choose Chorrillana for two, or Chorrillana for three. In case you're wondering, Chorrillana has a nice thick layer of grease on the bottom, topped with french fries, scrambled eggs, onions dripping with grease, and meat:

It was as good as it could be, I suppose. However, it's a once in a lifetime kind of food because every time you eat it, you lose 10 years off your life, I'm sure.

I branded the restaurant forever, with my name (don't worry, all the furniture and walls looked like this--I'm not just writing on random pieces of furniture in random restaurants):

We then went up the hill to the house of Pablo Neruda:

We walked through the garden at the Neruda house, and I took this picture for my dad to identify this strange plant:

And more pictures:

And since what goes up must come down, we walked back down the hill through the ~~horrible twisting winding gross and disgusting~~ oh so lovely streets of Valpo:

We walked down Ferrari street (the name was misleading, let me tell you):

And saw some amazing graffiti:

And then headed back to Viña:

Thursday was pretty uneventful. We went to school, I came back and took a nap, and that night, Aften and I went to a discotech (a dancing place), stayed out til three in the morning, and had a grand old time. (Really, it was a lot of fun).

Yesterday, we went to school (the days would be so much more exciting without this), and took a trip to Pablo Neruda's second house in Isla Negra. If I thought the first one was pretty, this one was AMAZING. We stopped to eat lunch at a little bit nicer place where we actually had some sort of say in what we ate, but of course, the menu was all in spanish. I know the spanish word for fish, but I couldn't tell all the types of fish apart. So I did what I could, and closed my eyes and stuck my finger somewhere on the page, and ended up with this:

It was really, really good!

We went to the house at Isla Negra, which was fairly uneventful and dull:

Here's where dear old Pablo lies:

And here's what his head looks like, in case you were wondering:

Then we went to the beach at Isla Negra. I have never seen a beach like this before in my whole life. I spent a good hour just sitting on a rock and watching the waves, it was mesmerizing:
Hey, welcome to paradise!:

After we got back from Isla Negra, Aften and I wanted to do something, but we weren't sure what. I knew that I couldn't do another "let's not come home until 3 in the morning" kind of thing, but I mean, we're in CHILE, why sit at home?!

So, we went to the beach to watch the sunset. It was awesome. And then, we went to the casino. Because we can do that here. We each played a 500 pesos (less than one dollar) slot machine, one time, and we each won nothing. So we left and got ice cream, because that makes everything better. We went to a karaoke place where we watched people make fools of themselves, and then we came home. It was pretty fun and eventful night, and I was in bed by 12:30!

I've been working on an accurate description of Chile, and I think I'm finally on to something:

They live like it's the 60's (technology wise), smoke like it's the 70's, dress like it's the 80's, and party like it's the 90's.

No time to Blog

2009-01-15T17:05:00.000-08:00

Our days have been jampacked full recently, and I've used every spare moment to catch up on sleep. We went to Valpo yesterday, and are headed to Isla Negra tomorrow..as soon as I can, I'll post pictures and a nice long post to make up for it. Yay for the (almost) weekend!

Ciao!

Yo soy una gringa

2009-01-13T14:54:00.000-08:00

Gringa is the affectionate (or not so affectionate--we're not sure?) term that chileanos have given to Americans. How sweet of them.Today at school, we learned about the typical stereotype of Americans to Chileanos: Tall, blond, blue eyed, and sometimes obese. Basically me, and sometimes me if I were to gain some pounds. That being said...

Today we were at the beach, watching a game of paddle ball (think tennis, minus the net with wooden paddles and no rules--not at all like tennis) that was going on behind us, and I was pretty intently watching--this is something I haven't ever seen before!--when someone tapped me on the shoulder and asked me if I wanted to play..My immediate response was no. I lack hand-eye coordination to do things like that in public. Aften and Casey egged me on, saying this was the only time I would get to make a fool of myself in front of people that I will never see again. So I figured, what do I have to lose?, and decided to play.

I wasn't half bad, if I do say so myself, but it was REALLY hard, mostly because it's like playing tennis in the sand. I don't have pictures to post, but I might when I get them from Casey. I was too focused on the game and trying to make as least possible fool of myself, but instead, I heard someone yell, "The gringa is playing paddleball!" and instead of people carrying out their business as usual..they were staring. I'm not even kidding. They were staring at me playing their sport.

I am a gringa.

Mochilla Rosada and 5 Norte

2009-01-13T03:47:00.000-08:00

I usually take the bus to school when I'm running late. (literally, running after the bus). There's several different buses that go almost the same route, but I know that one of them is always at the bus stop at 9:15. And sometimes, I'm not at the bus stop at 9:15. Buses will usually stop for you if you hail them, no matter where you are. Last week, I was almost at the bus stop, and saw the bus coming, but he didn't stop for me when I hailed him. He stopped at the bus stop, and I took off down the street after him. I made it to the stop and when I stepped on, he recognized me. I mean, how many blue eyed blonde hair girls ~~get on~~ chase after that bus everyday? He takes one look at me, I hand him my money and he says "Gracias, mochilla rosada." Pink bookbag.

The next day, I was running even later, (this seems to be a trend I developed in this country--I'm usually never late) and I was running to the bus stop, but before I got there, the bus stopped for me without me hailing it. The driver has maybe 5 teeth, and he was grinning and says, "Get on, mochilla rosada!" I love the bus driver, he makes sure I get to school on time and he makes fun of my pink bookbag.

Moving on...

The streets here are very logical. It's 1 Norte (North), 2 Norte, 3 Norte, etc. It's a grid system, and I love it. Yesterday, when I was going to meet Aften to go to the beach, I we decided to meet in front of Casey's house because it's the half way point between her bus stop and my house. Casey's house is on 4 Norte, and I've been there probably 3 times by myself, with no problem. Yesterday, I walked FOREVER, and I didn't see her house. I did the, "well maybe I just don't remember seeing this stuff before, but her house is coming up soon" thing. I got almost to the beach, and I knew I had passed it. I finally asked someone for directions (in Spanish), and he replied (in English), "You're on the wrong street. You need to go over 1 block and go back about 12 blocks." Yeah, I was on 5 Norte the whole time. Sigh.

An acquired taste

2009-01-12T14:13:00.000-08:00

I found out today at lunch that I don't hate the foods as much as I used to. Apparently it's an acquired taste.

Things I think are weird:
Corn with mayonnaise (the mayo is yellow--i mistaked it for butter, and asked for some. BIG mistake)
Eating scrambled eggs on bread
Eating scrambled eggs with tomatoes on bread
Eating tomatoes with butter on bread
Drinking warm milk
Drinking cereal (yes, drinking)

However, the soup we had at lunch that I used to think was weird is something I look forward to after some other things I have tried.

Yesterday I spent the afternoon sulking that Grey's Anatomy and Private Practice (or any ABC show for that matter) are not available outside of the united states because they don't broadcast their station outside of the US (hence, american broadcasting co.). It's tragic, I know.

However, don't fear, we are rotting the minds of Chilean teens with MTV and Comedy Central. They like Colbert, by the way. (I prefer him in English).

I spent the better part of today at the beach (the lesser part was spent at school), working on my tan. I won't post pictures, I don't want to rub it in that I'm in 85 degree weather, while it's rainy and cold at home. (I actually don't have pictures to post, that's the real reason).

Valparaíso

2009-01-10T11:16:00.000-08:00

Reader's warning: This post is long and contains a lot of pictures for your enjoyment, but mostly because I have to get them off my camera. :)

Yesterday we went to the city next door, Valparaíso (affectionately called Valpo by the locals--and by me because I have a hard time doing the í on my computer). It's a really pretty city in the tourist district, but really old and poor in the residential parts. Valpo is made up of hills, cerros, and it's COVERED in houses. Everywhere a house could fit, there is one. There's also a lot of kids in the street, and dogs and cats are often homeless and allowed free roam over the city. It's not pretty.

We took a bus from Viña to get there, and stopped along the way to learn some of the history of Valpo and to take pictures, of course:

The Wofford Girls:

The Wofford Group:

The Parliament Building of Chile:

The hillside (look at all the houses):

The Chileans solve the problem of the hills with the "Chilean way". The Chilean Way is this: do what you have to do to make it work, regardless of what it looks like or how pretty it is or what anyone else thinks about it (read:the way my dad does things). So, they built these elevator type things to get themselves up and down the mountain. It's also well known that the Chilean women with the best legs live in Valpo (because they walk up and down the cerros a lot). We visited two different elevators:

The first:

The inside of the elevator that pulled us up the mountain:

The second elevator was more like a real elevator, only built in a rock instead of a building:

The view from the elevator:

Some more random pictures:

Graffitti on the street:

The boat house:

Home of the Chilean Armada (Navy):

We took a boat ride around the inlet of Valpo, and I was glad to be in this boat:

And not this one:

The Chilean Navy:

A sea lion, who at first, liked to show off:

But, apparently had a long night of partying and was not up to showing off:

More sea lions:

The boat ride:

We spent around six hours touring Valpo and I was so tired after we walked back home. I have a cold today, and haven't done anything but hang out around the house and read. I think my cold probably has something to do with falling in the (very) cold ocean on Thursday and then being in the hot weather for six hours yesterday.

I found out that my Nana and Papa read my blog (hey, y'all!), and that's exciting. Hopefully tomorrow will be better than today (cause I have lots of homework/studying to do). Ciao!

Gypsies and Pizza

2009-01-09T03:40:00.000-08:00

So, we were at the playa yesterday (a touristy beach, think Myrtle Beach or somewhere that's really crowded in Florida). We had gotten ice cream and were sitting on the wall looking at the ocean when some old lady dressed really elaborately but in really dirty clothes and came up and said, "Tienes suerte?" Which means, Do you have luck? She had some kind of cards with her, but the four of us knew right away she was probably bad news.

Casey had read a book about Gypsies in Chile, and this lady was definitely a gypsy. They are also notoriously known for robbing people. We all grabbed our bookbags and purses, but this lady would not go away. Finally, Keenan said, "No Molesta, por favor", which is basically "leave us alone." Many more gypsies came by in a span of five minutes asking for money and other things. We finally decided to leave the area because it was starting to get scary (they obviously knew we weren't from there).

We kept walking down the length of the wall, and a lady took a picture of the four of us girls. As she was taking a picture, we were laughing and talking, and this man and his wife came up to us, and the man exclaims, "YOU SPEAK ENGLISH! I'M FROM SWITZERLAND!" Apparently he had been here for almost a month and hadn't heard anyone speaking English and he was very excited about seeing someone that spoke the same language he did. We said Ciao! and moved on to get something for dinner.

We went to a pizza place, with a menu that had been directly translated into English. Thus, it made no sense. I had a pizzeta, and this is what the menu read:

We returned home and I had an hour (!) long conversation in Spanish with my host family. Right before I went to bed, my sister said, "Don't worry, it's easier for me to learn English than it is for you to learn Spanish." Gee, thanks. I didn't know my spanish was that bad.

Exhaustion

2009-01-08T03:11:00.000-08:00

I never got around to posting last night; yesterday was packed full of events so I didn't get a chance to blog before my eyes shut.

I started off the day going to my two classes (read: walking forever) and then I came back here for lunch (read: walking some more). On the way home, I walked with my friend, Casey, which made the walk a whole lot more enjoyable. We ate lunch, and I quickly returned back to school. I took a bus this time, which was a terrifying experience because of the road systems here. More on that in a second. So, I return to school and we went kayaking in a town a little ways away called Con-Con (translated: with-with. Don't ask, I don't know). Kayaking was HARD. First of all, the only time I've kayaked (that I remember?) was at Girl Scout camp when I was like, seven. That was in a lake. With no wind. Yesterday, we went kayaking in the ocean. With a lot of wind. They put the girls two to a kayak because the wind was so strong. At first, we all wanted to go by ourself, but when we were struggling against the wind to get back to shore, I was thankful Whitney was with me. I didn't think we were going to make it back. Aside from the rocks, the people who wouldn't move, and the boat flipping over when Whitney got out (with me still in it), it was really cool and REALLY pretty.

So back to the roads. They don't have lanes. It's literally just a strip of pavement. Therefore, people go wherever they like, whenever they like. So there may be enough room for two lanes, but it turns into three. Think cab drivers in New York, without specified lanes and they're everyday people. On top of that, the street signs are just a suggestion. There are only one and a half road laws in this city: 1. A pedestrian has the right away in a crosswalk. Always. 2. You have to stop at a red light. Only when you feel like it. I bet they have a really easy permit test.

On my bus ride, I had to know where to get off the bus, so I sat up front, thinking I would have a better view. I learned my lesson, and I'm never doing that again. It was terrifying because we would be a foot from the car in front of us when he decided to stop. Oh, another thing, fender benders are an everyday occurrence. But they're not a big deal because everyone's car is already beat up so it doesn't really matter anymore (read: don't drive a nice car). People bump each other, and keep on going. It's like a huge game of bumper cars. On the street.

Also, the buses don't have designated stops. Basically, you see your bus, you catch the drivers eye, and he might pull over to the curb, or you might run across the street to get on the bus. And you can ring a bell and get off wherever you like.

It's a strange, strange city.

Chillin in Chile

2009-01-06T16:37:00.000-08:00

Hola desde (from) Chile!

I finally made it to Chile yesterday morning. I waited in the airport for a few hours for the other students to arrive from the University of Arizona. They're semester students, though, and won't be in the same program as me.

We had to drive to Viña del Mar, but I unfortunately slept the whole way. The beginning of the drive was beautiful, but I got to the point where I could not keep my eyes open.

We went to Universidad Viña del Mar (UVM) and my family picked me up. We came back to their house and ate lunch and then we went back to school and I took a spanish placement test (which I bombed, by the way) and then we did a short (2 hour?) walk around Viña..the city is absolutely gorgeous! After our tour, we walked home and then ate dinner..

The meal schedule really throws me off..Lunch is the biggest meal of the day, at about 2 PM, and dinner is light food. (Bread with fruit).

I promptly slept like a rock and woke up this morning to walk to school again.

I went to my two classes, Strategies of Spanish and Spanish Communication, and then walked back home around noon. We ate lunch, and then we walked down to the beach. I came back to the house and took a nap and then we ate dinner and went to the grocery store.

In case you're wondering what people in Chile eat, here's what I ate today:

Breakfast:
Cereal (and um, they pour the cereal into a mug of milk. Bowls are not used, and the milk is not poured into a bowl. Therefore, i made an idiot of myself bright and early this morning.)
Cantaloupe
Milk
Juego (Juice--mango, maybe?)
and something else i can't remember right now

Lunch:
Jeugo (Juice--pineapple today)
Cauliflower and Carrot pie
Corn
Peas
Potatoes with carrots
Beet root, raw and sliced (at least, that's what I think it was?)
and Jello for dessert

Dinner:
Bread and jam (plum jelly)
Tea
Bread and patte
and cookies for desert

So there you have it, folks. Here's some pictures that prove I'm in one of the most beautiful places ever:

Bumped back to Blythewood

2009-01-04T10:56:00.000-08:00

Hola desde Blythewood! (No estoy in Chile)

I should have known when I made it through security that it was going to go downhill from there (I’m notorious for getting stopped). So I make it through security just fine and grab a bite to eat and head to my gate, take a seat and grabbed my book.

My flight was scheduled to leave Charlotte at 6:50, arrive in Miami at 9:15ish, and then leave for Santiago, Chile at 11:50.

The plane came in, people got off, and everything seemed to be normal. Then, the pilots and flight attendants got off and the pilot and mentioned to the ticket agent that they had some problems and the plane needed maintenance before we could go anywhere.

About that same time, I got a call on my cell from a 1-800 number. I answered it, and it was American Airlines calling. The lady told me that my flight from Miami to Santiago had been cancelled, but there was a flight an hour later out of Miami. Did I want to be booked on it? Only with a little bit of freaking out (I’m traveling by myself), I agreed to be on that flight.

I wasn’t sure if the lady on the phone actually booked my flight, so I walked to the counter at the gate to make sure. About that same time, she made an announcement on the intercom that there was a 90% chance our flight would be cancelled out of Charlotte because the plane needed major work. So now, I really started freaking out. I’m by myself, in Charlotte, at an airport, and now I’m stuck.

On top of that, the American Airlines lady was not helpful at ALL. She told me what I already knew: I was stuck. There was no other flight on any airline that went to Miami that night. I was trying to get to Santiago by Sunday (today), because we have orientation on Monday. I ended up calling my parents and letting them deal with it (haha) and they got me booked for a flight that leaves from Charlotte to Miami tonight at 6:15. I went to wait for my luggage, and my parents told me do not leave without it. It was arranged that my brother’s girlfriend was going to pick me up, since she lives so close to the airport in Charlotte. By the time I got down to baggage, it was around 7:45. I waited about 30 minutes, then went to the baggage claim office to see what was up. The lady there was as equally unhelpful--she told me I would get my bags by midnight. My mom told me earlier that they would give me the option to stay in a hotel room for the night or a voucher for a free flight. She offered the hotel room, and I told her no, but I would like a voucher for a flight. However, she just gave me a boarding pass for today? We’re going to check on that later.
 Fast forward an hour later. I’m still at baggage claim, waiting for my bags. Lauren is here at this point, and I feel horrible making her wait even longer for me. I saw one of the men who had TSA written on the back of his sweatshirt with the reflective vest (he clearly was one of the men who worked with the luggage) coming out of the back room, and I asked him if he could please find my bag. I told him I was on the cancelled flight to Miami, described my bags, and said my final destination was to Santiago, Chile. Two minutes later, my bags came out on the belt.

I called my mom and told her that we were leaving the airport. She freaked out a little bit, and asked what about my bags? My dad was on the phone with American Airlines at the time, and they were saying it would be AFTER midnight before they could locate the bags and get them to me.

During all of this though, I was having a hard time getting in touch with the people at the University in Chile. I knew that they were going to be waiting for me at the airport at 11 AM (9 AM our time) this morning (Sunday) and it would not go over well if I wasn’t there. I called. And I called. And I called. The contact number that I had for the director of the program had some blurb in Spanish, and it was too fast and too unclear for me to understand it. I found someone that was bilingual and let them listen to it. The lady told me that it was her voicemail, and I should leave a message. I did, but then it occurred to me to email as well. I copied the email to my Spanish teacher, as well.

I ended up talking to someone down there, but with the phone connection as bad as it was, It was extremely hard to hear him and I know he was having a hard time hearing me.

I finally ended up at home, and had an email from my Spanish teacher. I called her, and she eased my worries: I was not the only one who hadn’t made it on the plane. A few other people had trouble.

So, today, I’ll venture to the Charlotte airport, and hopefully make it to Santiago at 5:45 (our time--7:45 their time) Monday morning. Adios!

I'm Leaving on a Jet Plane

2009-01-03T11:20:00.000-08:00

In a few hours, I will be en route to Chile! I plan on blogging while I'm there (as long as I have internet capability--and I should have it), so be sure to check back!