Hot Avocado

In the US, Six Flags Great America is a fun way to spend a Sunday afternoon with friends or family.  My trips as a ten year old were fun because I realized I loved the thrill of a roller coaster, and could easily consume a funnel cake with ice cream guilt free. When I was in high school, trips to Six Flags were meant more for scoping out hot guys than going on every ride possible, yet I still got the adrenaline rush when riding The Raging Bull (the ride, not the hot guys I ended up never having the guts to talk to).  In Chile, amusement parks are meant to provide the same kind of fun.  Sunday morning I woke up not knowing what I would do that day, until Jackie told me to be ready in 30 minutes, because we were going to Fantasilandia.  Fantasilandia is an amusement park located in the center of the city, so it is easily accessible by metro.  We arrived at about 1:00pm and paid 500 pesos for a janky trolley/bus to transport us to the entrance about 500 meters away from the metro stop.  When we arrived at the gate my smile showed that I was more excited than probably the majority of the chicanitas that were in line behind me.  I hadn’t been to an amusement park in about 5 years, which for someone who loves an adrenaline rush, feels more like 10.  We paid $14 to enter the park and our first destination was The Raptor. The Raptor reminded me of The Batman at Six Flags.  You were suspended in your seat while your feet dangled in the air as you whipped around 3 different loops and a corkscrew.  The wait wasn’t nearly as long as rides at Six Flags, maybe because the capacity of the park was about an 8^th of the size.  The entire park could fit into the Southwest Territory of Six Flags (think Viper and Giant Drop area).  After it was finally our turn, all 8 of us loaded into our seats. Unlike Six Flags, it only takes about 9 seconds to make sure everyone is secured before ascending up the rickety slope. A simple tug of your belt and off you go. It felt so good to scream at the top of my lungs as I went flying upside down, sliding around in my harness as if it were fit for a 200 lb man instead of my 5ft 4in frame.  The rides just got better and better, and by better I mean more likely that I would dive to my death at a Chilean amusement park.  The ride that resembled The Giant Drop seemed to be held up by only one simple rusty metal hook, yet we were suspended 7 stories in the air for what seemed like a whole minute before being dropped in half a second.  Every harness fit loosely enough for me to slide around with ease, crashing my jams with every twist and turn. Yet I didn’t care, because the park was fantasifabulous. It even had a few water rides, the infamous Tsunami that drenched bystanders on a bridge, and another with a giant tube that fit 6 people and went down a twisting slide.  You wait in line for over 30 minutes, pile into a wet tube, and then slowly make your way down “a river” before being propelled down a slide that lasts 15 seconds. Don’t get me wrong those 15 seconds are heaven, but when you are done you are wet and left saying “now what?”  At the end of the day I was exhausted with a headache and experiencing waves of nausea, yet ask me if I would go again? Do fish piss in the sea? Of course I would do it again! Because being at an amusement park in Chile surrounded by teenagers in snake skin jeggings and mullets, screaming my head off for fear that I may have to inform my mother that I lost a few appendages at a place called Fantasilandia, is my idea of a fucking good time.  I wouldn’t be surprised if I hit it up again when the weather gets better, because those go-karts that we passed up aren’t going to ride themselves.

Jackie’s face after realizing that maybe she shouldn’t have gotten on the ride

Since I’ve arrived in Chile everyone has been talking about the September 18th weekend, or Chile’s Independence Day. This year is Chile’s Bicentennial, so the weekend was getting more hype than usual. Unlike the 4^th of July, Chileans take off Friday and Monday from work, guaranteeing everyone a long holiday weekend.  We had settled on our plan a few weeks in advance, and it was determined that we would spend the entire weekend in La Serena, a beach town about 5 hours north of Santiago.  From the talks of it, we were told to be prepared for lots of drinking and eating, and that was pretty much it. I could never have prepared myself for what actually went down in La Serena that weekend, and I still can’t believe I am alive to talk about it.  The weekend began at about 10:00pm Thursday night, and ended around 4:00pm Monday afternoon.  During this period I was drunk about 95% of the time, with the only sober moments being the last morning, and the few minutes in between waking up and having my first breakfast drink of the day.  It would be impossible to describe the entire weekend in a normal post, because A) I am still iffy on the sequence of events, and B) it would be the length of your average novel.  Instead I will list all of the morals and rules that I normally have in my life, and how I or the people I was with broke them this weekend. 

Rule #1 – don’t drink pop or eat lots of cheese

I decided when I was 14 that pop was very bad for you, and I wanted to completely remove it from my diet altogether.  With the exception of pop being slipped into mixed drinks in college, I have never had a single fizzy beverage since.  In Chile one of the cheapest and most popular drinks is a Piscola, which is Pisco (the most popular and cheapest type of hard alcohol) and Coca Cola. I consumed roughly 20 Piscolas that weekend, and feel absolutely no guilt for doing so. Our gang for the weekend together consumed roughly 200 Piscolas, and that was just child’s play.  We also drank over 200 beers, somewhere in the “teens” bottles of wine, and a few bottles of vodka and rum.  In the morning instead of grabbing orange juice or water, I would pour myself a three quarters full glass of Pisco with a splash of cola, or a beer, whichever was closer.  This would then be followed but lunch at a seafood empanada market/restaurant.  I would order 3 empanadas with cheese and seafood, and wash it down with a few full glasses of wine. Every morning we would wake up around 9:30am, and chant “empanadas” until everybody finally got their asses awake and drunk enough to handle more empanadas.  The empanadas were fried and filled with pounds of cheese. Cheese is one of the best foods in the world, yet normally I stray away from large amounts of it because it hurts my stomach and I like to “watch my figure.”  Fuck that, bring on some more queso! When you only eat twice a day for 4 days, you can afford to make that one meal filled with whatever you want.  I’ve been daydreaming about those empanadas since arriving home, and I am sure they have been daydreaming about me eating them.

Rule #2 – don’t eat meat

When I was a freshman in high school I dissected a baby pig, and haven’t been able to eat pork ever since.  I also cut all red meat out of my diet for health reasons.  So it’s safe to say that it’s been about 9 years since I have bitten into a piece of a cow or pig, and I was proud of it.  Then I met Steph, and everything changed.  She is also a vegetarian, but decided that while she was in Chile she was going to allow herself to eat meat once a month, this weekend being one of them.  I thought this was a hilarious and awesome concept, yet was still convinced that I wouldn’t be able to eat it. What the hell was I thinking?? On the Chilean independence day if you don’t eat meat, you are a loser and an idiot, and I was not about to be any of those things.  I decided to be brave and try one piece of sausage.  For a second after I ate it I thought maybe I felt sick, but Steph and Jackie quickly convinced me that it was all in my head.  I believed them, so I continued to inhale 4 more sausages and piles of juicy and delicious steak.  Once it hit my lips there was no turning back, I was a changed woman. Steph and I stalked the grill like two Neanderthals who couldn’t wait to get their hands on some freshly grilled cow.  Some of my happiest memories from the weekend came from the joy I would feel after tasting the meat; I was like a freaking fat kid let loose in Candy Land. Do I regret this? That’s a silly question, of course I don’t! I would do it a million times over again. However picturing eating meat on a non drunk fest Chilean holiday is difficult, so I will save the gorging for the next one.   

Rule #3 – don’t get arrested

Don’t worry, I wasn’t the one to get arrested, but our lovely Chilean friend Kike fortunately was. I say fortunately because it was the highlight of our day, because spending time at a Chilean police station pretty much screams “your life is awesome”. We were leaving our usual empanada restaurant, drunk and happy, when Kike thought it would be funny to pick up a 30 lb orange traffic cone and shout into it.  My roommate Mariela and I told him to pause so we could take a picture.  However he paused one second too long, and caught the attention of a police van scooting by.  Within a matter of 30 seconds, the cop had Kike by his arms, and was led into the back of the van before taking off.  We all stood there in shock for a second, before all running after the van in a madness of laughter. (Side note: we actually stayed in the beach town of Guanajeros located just outside of La Serena, which I properly named Wannagetthose so Steph could more easily remember it. This town is very small, consisting of a very small downtown area). Since we were in such a small town, the police station was conveniently located right around the corner from the restaurant.  In support of Kike, we all camped outside until he was given his freedom.  My guess is this would not be possible in the States, so we took advantage of it and acted obnoxious by taking many photos and laughing our asses off. Kike was released from jail in less than an hour, where the obvious next thing to do was to go home and drink to celebrate. But you want to know what makes this entire situation 10 times better? The whole morning and afternoon Kike was bragging about his law degree, shouting “I am the law!” every hour on the hour. Irony is a bitch Kike, and we are sorry, but we had just too much chanting back “Soy la ley!” all weekend long.

Rule #4 – Shower at least every other day

Seems pretty reasonable right? Well when the only shower you have sprays out ice cold water, and you conveniently have a pointy fleece red white and blue hat to cover up the grease you have accumulated, showering just doesn’t become so important.  I showered one time the whole weekend, which consisted of a quick wash of just the lady parts and a dash of shampoo.  While it did feel amazing afterwards, I was more concerned with being lazy and having a good time than my personal hygiene.  Sorry if this grosses anyone out, but don’t judge, because there may be a time in your life when you go to a Chilean beach house for four days and not have hot water. We can all dream can’t we?

Rule #5 – Believe a Governor when he tells you he’s the Governor

Apparently the Chileans we were partying with that weekend are friends with the Governor of La Serena, so they invited him to our party on Saturday night.  Saturday night just happened to be the night that most of us hit our peek of drunkenness, so of course the Governor would show up for some good clean fun.  He told me and Jackie who he was, and based on the fact that our beer goggles made him look 22, we didn’t believe him.  We shouted in his face that he was a liar and there was no way he was the Governor.  Jackie took it to the next level and managed to slap him, because she was furious that he was trying to convince her that he was an authority figure. We found out the next morning that he was in fact the Governor of La Serena, and he looked young because he was 30 years old. At least he didn’t have anyone arrested!

   So by the end of the weekend I was happy to return back to Santiago and try to regain a little bit of dignity.  It took two days to return back to normal. It is now Wednesday, and I plan on going to AfterOffice. Man oh man am I going to miss my youth when its gone.

I hadn’t been making too many mistakes lately so it was time to have a day like I had yesterday.  I couldn’t even get that stressed out about what kept happening because I was too busy laughing at my stupidity.   I got out of my first and only class on Monday at 10:30am and headed back to Bridge to look for my libro de clases. This libro is very important, as it keeps track of my class and informs the government that the class is going as planned, and therefore deserves the money they are giving to them.  I couldn’t find it in my room, and when I couldn’t find it at Bridge either I slightly panicked. I informed David, one of our administrators, that I was so sorry but that I had misplaced my libro.  He gave me a look as to say “don’t worry, but you ARE an idiot” and handed me my missing libro. “Remember you left it here last week to get it checked over, and you never came to pick it up.”  Click! Oh yeah David I totally knew that the whole time, I was just yanking your chain to see if you wanted to play along. So I grabbed my libro, put my head down, and ran out before he had the chance to ask me if I actually was as qualified as I say I am to teach English to business professionals.  My next thing on the agenda was to get a new phone.  The previous Friday my blackberry broke up with me and decided to leave without even saying goodbye, how effing rude! I wasn’t even drunk and to my knowledge was taking very good care of him.  I hope he makes somebody else very happy one of these days.  So anyways, I set out to find Entel, the phone company I wanted to get a phone from.  I had google mapped an Entel store the night before and it had said there was one a block away from my apt. Instead of taking the metro back to my apt I decided to save some money and take the bus (if you take the bus after taking the metro within 2 hours it is free).  So I walked 15 minutes to a bus stop, and hopped on a bus that I just assumed would take me down the main street back to my apt. False. It made a quick turn and took me right back to my work, and then continued further and further away from where I needed to be.  I finally got off 15 minutes later when I realized it didn’t have any plans of turning around soon, and took the same bus back going the opposite direction. When I arrived back at square one, I geared up for round 2, and hopped on a new bus that I was soooo sure would take me back to apt. False again. It literally took me on the same route the previous bus had taken me.  I threw my hands up and stormed off the bus, walking my ass back the metro station.  I had successful wasted about an hour of my time (and most likely all of your time because you had to read this bullshit). After going home to change out of my work clothes, I headed back out to find this Entel store.  Well what do you know, after being falsely informed that there was a store across from my apt, I walked around for 40 minutes trying to find ANY Entel store on the main street.  Could not find one, so I decided to treat myself for my hard work and troubles with a lunch from OH! Salad, the best salad place ever. “Sorry we don’t have salad mixes ready right now, try again later.” Thank you biotch, have a nice day. Ugh ok I am just going to go to the grocery store and get some peanut butter, that will cheer me up. Oh really Lider, you are out of peanut butter? Of course you are, why wouldn’t you be out of peanut butter when I really want it? At this point I was ecstatic to meet up with Jackie and Steph to go shopping for bicentennial gear for the weekend, cause quality shopping with friends cures all problems. SUCCESS! I bought a cell phone for $18 that had $20 worth of credit already on it, making my endless search all the more worth it. After that excitement wore off, it was later replaced with the excitement brought about by our ridiculously idiotic and patriotic costumes that we found at estacion central (central market of Santiago, chuck filled with dirty shops and most likely stolen goods. Pretty much heaven). What else screams “Chile Rocks” other than red tights, blue shorts, a flag tee, red shades, and red white and blue fleece hats and headbands? Oh and we bought facepaint at a ghetto party favors store, just to top it off. Lesson learned? Think before getting on a bus, and never underestimate the power of shopping in a crowded dirty central market for never regrettable treasures. 

Many travelers opt out of getting health insurance because they tell themselves “realistically the chances of something happening to me are slim, right?”  How about the people that attend Chilean mosh pit concerts, do you think they should be saying the same thing?  This particular experience didn’t happen to me thankfully, but is more than worth talking about.  I overheard one of my students asking his classmate if he wanted to go to a concert on Thursday, so I intruded and asked “what concert? Can I come?” He looked surprised yet told me about the details anyways, where I then later passed on the news to all of my friends.  The only thing I knew about it was the location (the same salsa bar I went to with Guillermo) and the time.  I knew nothing about the band, except for what my student had described, which was “they are very good”, one of the only phrases he knows to use to describe something that he likes.  So Thursday night the crew headed to Maestra Vida for a lovely little concert. “Lovely” and “Little” however are total polar opposites of what this outrageous shindig could be described as.  The band rolled 15 people deep, and consisted of guitars, tubas, tambourines, cymbals, drums, trumpets, saxophones, flutes, and probably some other crazy shit that I don’t even know about.  The music was amazing, and they even got a little dramatic on stage and performed some sort of a strange and awkward love scene (no dirty thoughts please, all clothes remained on).  We soon realized that this wasn’t your average concert that required only simple head bobbing.  It turned into a Rage Against the Machine mosh pit style concert, however with less depressing beats. If you weren’t jumping you were trampled over, and if you were holding a drink it was already all over your face.  Me, Jackie and Steph were all wise enough to chug our wine and beer before entering further onto the dance floor, Kooch however was not.  We were all jumping like crazy zebras when all of a sudden I sensed something was wrong. Jackie came running up to me, screaming “omg Kooch just chipped his tooth!” Like a frantic mother, I ran over to where we were sitting before to find my baby Kooch, smiling the biggest smile a toothless man could smile.  Half of his left front tooth was completely missing, and a little chip was taken out of the other as a bonus.  “Omg Kooch what happened!?” I asked, almost in tears because I love that hairy east coast Jew so much.  Smiling and laughing, he described that while he went to take a sip out of his beer, someone had bumped his arm, causing the beer bottle to gracefully chip his two front teeth.  Knowing the obsession I have with my pearly whites, I would have hunted down the nearest dentist in his home and demanded he fix my teeth before anyone even knew they went missing.  Kooch however was a trooper and insisted we stay at the bar to continue drinking and dancing.  As a present for his braveness, I stole a creepy plastic mask off the wall and gave it to him for consolation.  I also ran back on the dance floor on my hands and knees to search for his favorite beanie, which I successfully found in the corner drenched in mud sweat and beer.  The rest of the night went smoothly, except for the disappointment me and Steph experienced when we realized there were no empanada stands in sight. Kooch didn’t realize the seriousness of his injury until the next morning when we devised a plan for him to pay a visit to a Chilean dentist. Steph also made him feel better by adding that even if he couldn’t get his tooth fixed there was hope. “Don’t worry I was a speech pathology major, you can totally still say your s’s and th’s without your two front teeth, trust me.”  Luckily a few hours later, a cap had replaced the empty space in his mouth, and his spirits were back up. No pasa nada!  Lesson learned? While latino mosh pits are encouraged to attend, they should never in any circumstance be accompanied by glass beer bottles…unless for some reason you have a crush on a Chilean dentist.

holla at the gap!

I’ve been teaching for about 3 weeks now and have successfully broken the rules already.  Do I feel bad about it? Absolutely not. I showed up a tad hungover the other day to my 9:00am beginner class, yet was still able to remain very chipper. I am also 99% positive that I did not smell like vodka, and to my knowledge had successfully covered up the smoke stench in my hair with a few layers of $4 hairspray and coconut body spray. However they may have suspected something when I fell off my chair, sending it flying across the room.  I laughed at myself, they said “almost”, and then silently retreated back to their assignment I had just given them. Then shortly after I accidentally let a fart slip out, which they either thought was some other object in the room squeaking (highly unlikely) or pretended not to notice (very likely).  I also broke the rule that we are not supposed to let them know we speak Spanish.  It is not a translating style of teaching like high school, so technically we are only supposed to use English in the classroom.  Well I whipped out a solid amount of Spanish at the end of class one day, and they were elated.  They now want to have conversations at the end of class about inappropriate things, such as calling people assholes.  I like to be liked, so if that means I have to teach them a dirty word here and there, so be it. My upper class however is even worse, where I have officially plunged into the deep end of inappropriate conversations.  They were gossiping about a coworker one day, and were struggling to find the right word to use.  I remember Kooch telling me he taught his students what “brownnoser” meant, so I offered this up. “What does that mean?” Pablo asked.  I quoted Kooch, “it’s when your nose is so far up someone’s ass that it’s brown.” They busted out laughing, and Rodrigo furiously wrote it down in his notebook with a huge smile on his face saying “ahh yes I have a new word!” My only female student, Anahi, sheepishly asked me today, “how do you describe gay couples when one is more passive and the other is active?”  I thought about it for 5 seconds before deciding that it was a good idea to divulge this information.  “In the States we say that one is the pitcher and the other is the catcher.”  They seemed to understand this analogy when I described it in terms of “wearing the pants” or not, and referencing it to making a decision about where to have dinner on a Saturday night or what kind of laundry detergent to buy.  I then quickly added, “it also has a sexual meaning, but we will not be talking about that today,” and I changed the subject before I could make out any uncomfortable reaction from my students. I do want to maintain some level of professionalism, boring as it may be. At the end of the day I still fully intend to talk about taboo subjects, as long as the students are the ones to bring up the topic first themselves.  If there is a hidden tape recorder in the room, I may be fired, but hey we will cross that bridge when we get there.

For those of you who don’t know what an empanada is, go eat one and find out. They are super popular in Chile, and many are made with just cheese, making it an easy vegetarian solution to my drunken food cravings. I bought my first empanada from a stand outside La Vega (the best fresh food market I have ever been to), and covered it in avocado and aji sauce, which is a good substitute for my usual Franks Red Hot from home. I am a firm believer that the best food comes from street stands, because there are no secrets; what you see is what you eat.  Empanadas are good baked or fried, small or big.  I sometimes prefer empanaditas, or mini empanadas, because you get to experience all ingredients in one swift bite.  Its like eating a whole chicken versus 20 chicken nugs…sometimes nugs are just better. So when Steph told me about a place that sells delicious empanaditas across from the bar we were going to, my taste buds immediately got aroused.  We arrived at the bar around 11:30pm and ordered two vodka gingers. Have you ever had drunk food at the beginning of the night before getting drunk? Well we did, and it was the best idea Steph has ever had.  “Will you hold our drinks, we will be right back with empanaditas for everyone” Steph said to her roomie and the roomies friend.  We bolted across the street and located the correct food joint she had been talking about.  We ordered 12 empanaditas to go, which would be a fair amount to split between 4 people.  However we weren’t in the mood to be fair. It was important to have some alone time with the little guys, so we popped a squat at a table and scarfed down three empanaditas each.  “We will just pretend like we could only order 6, they will never know” we said as we crossed the street back to the bar.  We returned with a half eaten brown bag of empanaditas, and explain to Stephs friends that we would have to share the 6.  So we pretended like we didn’t just inhale 3 empanaditas each only 2 minutes before, and shared the remaining nugs with the rest of the girls.  When Kooch and his roomies finally get to the bar to meet us, we head to the ghetto basement and dance for a solid 4 hours straight.  The basement of the bar was as small as a two car garage, and the only lights were a shade of blue.  The energy from my empanaditas had worn off by around 4:00am, so we decided to hit up the restaurant again for after hours. Me and Steph ordered another round of empanaditas, and then when we finished those, we ordered yet another.  By the end of the night we had successfully consumed about 10 empanaditas each, and were very proud of it.  Empanadas still in my thoughts, I went out the next night with another bang.  This time it was me and Jackie that were on a hunt for empanadas.  We got dropped off by our taxi on a corner at approximately 5:30am, and had the choice of walking straight home, or paying a visit to our favorite gas station. “Carly, the gas station has empanadas! Lets go!” said Jackie, as I ran behind her with more excitement than the biggest kid at fat camp discovering a secret stash of candy.  To my dismay, I discovered that the gas station was not selling empanadas like usual, but instead displayed only breakfast type food items. “Omg, they are only selling breakfast food, that means it is morning time, what are we doooooing??!!” We decided that was a sign we should get our asses home and give up on the hunt. Empanadaless, I went to bed hungry and woke up the next morning to find a line 10 people deep at the gas station, many with empanadas in their hands.  

I currently have a love hate relationship with Santiago’s public transportation system, but hate is a strong word.  The only things I hate (or more accurately a small dislike) about the metro is the fact that it closes at 11:00pm and is often crowded, and the only thing wrong with the buses is me still not knowing how they work…I blame myself, not the system.  So what do I love about public transportation? It’s the perfect opportunity to witness the daily lives of all types of Chilean city-goers. One day last week, Jackie and I hopped on a bus to the mall (of course one of the only buses I know is the one that takes me to the mall). After the second stop, two young street entertainers got on to start their show; their show which centered around us.  One of the entertainers had a drum, and he started singing a song and banging on his drum as the other entertainer sang along with him.  I couldn’t understand enough of his Spanish to even get the jist of the story he was singing about, but he kept pointing at me and Jackie and two other guys on the bus.  All I know is that my face turned slightly red, he mentioned the word wedding, and at the end they both whipped out toy guns and asked for money with a smile.  Nothing like spicing up your average bus ride.  Then this past Wednesday I was sitting on the floor near the exit of the  subway platform, playing games on my ipod while waiting for a friend, when a young Chilean couple walked up the steps coming off the latest train.  The girl looked about 19 and was a size 00, and was breastfeeding her large toddler with her DD boobs…whilst walking up the stairs.  I stared because not only was I impressed with her ability to hold her 30lb child while breastfeeding him and walking at the same time, but also because her jams were ginormous and were staring back at me.  I then later saw an old man fall on his back on the escalator and needed to be pulled up by about 5 grown men.  That was more scary than interesting, but seeing people snap into emergency mode is always fascinating to see.  The metro also awkwardly stopped working on my way to work one morning. It would stop in between stations a few times and just sit there for a minute or two. I love silently and uncomfortably standing on the subway surrounded by strangers as everything looks around and wonders the same thing. I imagine people thinking things like “holy shits McGee am I gonna be late for work” or “omg whoever just farted needs to take a knee to the crotch right about now.”  So if it weren’t for public transportation, my days would just not be as fulfilling as they are right now, and that my friends is why I love it :)