A place I can hang my hat

There are many different ways to live life depending on who you talk to.

Some opt for a secure job, a home with a two-car garage and a family while others fervently argue that to truly live one must go beyond the expected societal norm and out into the vast expanse of the world. Neither is wrong and neither is right.

However, the people who elect one lifestyle over the other typically feel strongly about their choice. Some for necessity, some in the name of what is expected and many just because they can't imagine life any other way.

The grand majority of the people I've met on this South American adventure are openly disgusted with the idea of settling down. Soccer moms -- don't even think about it. PTA -- not a chance. Buying a house -- what kind of tontería is that?

But is it possible to be neither? Or both?

I'm living with an ultimatum. I leave Santiago in four months. In the meantime, our walls will remain bare. Our kitchen will never be fully stocked. I'll have to say goodbye indefinitely to my Chilean friends in December. Life is temporary. Transitory.

This experience makes me realize that I want something permanent. A place I can hang my hat. I want to buy a Seattle condo. I want roots.

I wouldn't have known this about myself unless I had embarked upon this journey. I would have spent life yearning for the unknown; the draw of living in a world so unlike your own you can't even imagine. And I've been there. It's exhilerating, refreshing, exciting, hard at times but oh-so-worth it. Situations like these teach you the most about yourself. And often surprising realizations.

So while I still haven't decided exactly if I'm ready to settle down, I know for a fact that I'm ready to put together my adult life. If you had asked me that six months ago, I wouldn't have been able to give you an answer.

Thanks Santiago. XX Bree

... December ... what then??

Why is it that as human beings we are always looking towards the future?

Now that I’ve bought my ticket home (Dec. 23 in Vancouver, B.C. at 10:30 AM), thoughts of Seattle, my family and friends are constantly sneaking into the peripheries of my mind. Where will I work? Where will I live? What hobbies will I pick up? Will it be an easy transition? Por favor, para (stop)! I’m very much looking forward to heading home but also want to fully enjoy my last four months here.

A quick plug: if you are aware of any job opportunities in Seattle (or elsewhere for that matter), I would be VERY grateful if you passed along that information. My e-mail is breanna_bart@yahoo.com. I have a BA in Communication, emphasis in Public Relations and am especially passionate about international education and communication. I am nervous to head home and pray that I find a job without too much difficulty, as I still hear horror stories of the job market. I will also be contacting many of you to ask for tips, advice, wisdom and suggestions. Thanks in advance for your help!


On a new endeavor…

I’m picking up a new hobby and am oh so excited about it. Our apartment doesn’t have internet or television and I’m running out of books to devour.

So… I’m going to teach myself to play the guitar! This effort won’t be entirely on my own – I have several friends here that play and the music teacher, Javier, at IOM also said he would help. They have an incredible deal at a music store near my apartment – a starter guitar, a case, two packs of strings and picks for $30,000 CP or about $60 US. I realize that the guitar probably won’t be top-quality but considering that I’m just starting and also that I make less than $600 US a month, it will have to do.

I’m going tomorrow to get the guitar. Yippeeee!


On the debates…

We were eliminated today, Tuesday August 18. Hahah, said with such finality. We made it to the second round and although we were quickly cut today (my team read from their notes too much), I am very proud of what they accomplished. Thinking back to myself in high-school and my level of Spanish, I never would have been able to complete a 3 minute spontaneous dialogue about a technical topic.

Here are some pictures of them:

My team and me

Practicing before their turn
Up at the podium
The debate room layout
Being silly at La Moneda after the debates finished


On Pianorquestra…

We went to the most amazing show two Saturdays ago. One piano, ten hands. Pianorquestra is a group from Brazil. Here's a blurb about them, "Created and directed by Claudio Dauelsberg, the group explores ethnic elements and Brazilian roots in a wonderful new way. They move easily from classical to popular, from Brazilian contemporary composers such as Villa-Lobos, Claudio Santoro, and Milton Nascimento, to rhythms such as samba, coco, maracatu, and ciranda. Claudio Dauelsberg, Gisele Sant’Ana, Masako Tanaka, Marina Spoladore, and Maíra Freitas explore the inside and the bottom of the piano box, inserting objects with different weights and densities—pieces of wood, metal, and rubber—on the strings, and using drumsticks to obtain percussive effects. The timbres range according to the density, weight, and texture of the objects, especially built for obtaining the desired sonorities." (Found at http://www.coastaljazz.ca/concert/pianorquestra).


On friends…

Instead of describing my amazing friends here, I’ll show you a few through pictures. The first is Jacqueline and me. Jacqueline went to Prince Edward Island University in East Coast Canada (random coincidence that Gigi also went there). She is going to be one of my guitar teachers and was also who inspired me to pick it up.

This is Esteban doing what he does best ... cook for us. We are always happy campers. Esteban, me and Steph .... two of my best friends here.

All in all, life sigue (continues) in fast forward. It’s hard to believe that August is more than half –way over. Life is good here – full of friends, work, happiness and rainy weather (reminds me of home!). I wish all of you an amazing last bit of summer … soak up that sunshine for me!

The not-so-secret lives of teachers

An innocent goodbye kiss with Sergio in downtown Santiago turned into a public display in front of several IOM students two Wednesdays ago.

I didn’t think anything of it. I certainly didn’t imagine I’d come back to school after winter break to, “Miss Breeee…. We saw you in Baquedano. Wooooooo!!” combined with full scene enactments. By two different groups of students (freshman and seniors) that saw me independently of each other. Whaaaaaaaaat?!

After all, Santiago’s a huge city and Maipu is an hour away from the heart of it all. What were my students doing in the same metro station as I was at the same time? Had they been tailing me for awhile, getting a kick out of their gringa pololeando con un chileno? Ohhh the questions I have... and the answers I’d prefer not to know.

When work and personal lives collide, the ensuing results can be interesting. Where are the lines drawn? I certainly have a right to live my life outside of work as I see fit. However, I’d rather not have my dirty laundry aired for all to see.

The bottom of the line: conduct myself as I’d want others to see me. But I want goodbye kisses. I want to live life. I want to make mistakes. I want to live without regrets. And I guess if that’s how my students at IOM see me, it’s not the end of the world.


HORSES:
I’m taking riding lessons again. Por fin. The first time I was on a horse was when I was three-months-old, cradled in my dad's arms as he shared his equine love with me. I was that girl in middle-school – the one who lived, dreamed and breathed horses. I got my own at nine-years-old and spent the next ten years or so living the dream. I was in Pony Club and spent my youth competing in Eventing (Dressage, stadium jumping and cross country jumping) at Horse Trials across Washington State.

I looked into taking jumping lessons here but then decided to get local. Rodeo style, that is. Chile has a huge rodeo tradition. A while back, I even went to the national rodeo in Rancagua. I didn’t understand a thing that was happening but I recognized beautiful horses when I saw them.

So here I go again. I had my first lesson last Thursday and am eager for this Thursday to come around. Eventually, I plan to get back into Eventing but while in Chile, may as well learn like a Chilean huaso, cierto?

POMAIRE:
This past Sunday was spent trekking an hour and a half outside of the city to Pomaire, a small Chilean mountain town famous for ceramics and native cuisine. We endulged in both. The cobblestone streets are lined with artisan warehouse upon artisan warehouse, each exhibiting the resident craftsman’s speciality. Without fail, each store displayed clay chanchitos (little pigs), which are believed in Pomaire to bring good luck to family members and loved ones. These poor chanchitos to the left where piled on top of each other in a cardboard box in one shop - which I don't think the creators of Pomaire's legend would be so pleased to see.

The afternoon sun glistened on the white stone cottages while hundreds of families milled throughout the streets perusing the shops for their next household purchase. I found a beautiful clay paila bowl cast inside with a piercing turquoise-green shade for $1,500 CP (about $3 US) that I’m going to put my spare change in. The wonderful afternoon finished with a heaping bowl of Pastel de Choclo, a fresh-ground corn pie with meat, onions and basil (a Chilean culinary staple).

July ... where have you gone?

Hello again. A month later. I know I’ve promised I wouldn’t keep doing this. But once again, life got in the way. This month was whirlwind.

July = winter vacation.

I thought I’d have a lot of time to write and post updates … however, I quickly learned that downtime meant no time.

But now I’m back to my full time job and finding my life scheduled and routine again. Who knew I’d have more time when I’m taming the wild children at IOM?

It’s 10:30 pm on a Tuesday. I’m lounging on a silver chrome barstool at our granite countertop (the picture above is a view of Santiago from our apartment balcony), munching on toast with strawberry jam and sporting sweatpants and a Seattle Mariners sweatshirt. I got back at 9 pm from teaching my Advanced Conversation group at the institute and am in for the night. Ahhhh the sweet joys of going to bed at a decent hour. I’d forgotten what that feels like the last few weeks.

On school…
This week at IOM, we’re doing something a little different. I’m not teaching any classes - just working solely with a team of six high-schoolers preparing for a debate this coming Monday against another colegio. The topic is euthanasia. Already three people have quit the team because they find the topic uninteresting. Luckily, it hasn’t been difficult finding people that want to miss several hours of class each day to eat cookies and practice debating and then go downtown on Monday for the actual competition. This project feels more tangible than a lot of the things I’ve done at IOM and I’m happy to be put to use.

I can’t remember if I wrote anything about the other gringa at my school last semester. In a nutshell, she ending up hating the school and left a semester and a month early without saying goodbye to anyone. She was very religious and set in her expectations of how things should be. The new girl this semester, Trish, is from New Jersey, lived in the Philippines for nine years and comes off innocent but has a bit of a wild girl lurking within. Love it. One of the first people she met at IOM was Felipe, a PE teacher. The very first question he asked her was if she’s religious. The look on Trish’s face was priceless. She’d been warned about Chile being a Catholic country but wasn’t prepared to get slammed with the religion question right off the bat. Felipe, however, then backed up the question with, “I only ask this because of the other girl.” Meaning it had nothing to do with if he was going to agree or disagree with her religious tendencies but more along the lines of if she was like Sarah at all. Which she’s not.

I still am enamorada with my students. Of course, there are many high schoolers that couldn’t give a darn about learning English but the many who put the effort forth have captured my heart. I’m spreading the word that everyone has to/should come visit me in Seattle when I get back. Minus the logistics of actually doing so, everyone seems pretty stoked about having an opportunity to go to the States, having a free place to stay and a tour guide. But seriously … how full circle would that be if after spending a year wrapped in their welcoming arms, I would be able to demonstrate my appreciation by showing them my country?

On future plans…
Remember that job I wrote about awhile ago that I turned down? They e-mailed me again … this time with a different and much more appealing job opportunity. As a reporter and/or editor. Um yes please! You may or may not know, but I worked as a reporter for Washington State University on their daily newspaper. Minus the stress of juggling deadlines in addition to aiming for academic excellence and extra-curricular success, I absolutely loved the experience. To work as a full-time, salaried reporter would be a dream come true.

This, however, would mean I wasn’t coming home in December. There still is so much to be seen in these next five months. Crazy that I’m at the half-way mark, isn’t it? I’m not going to make a decision right now. But I’m open to possibilities.

On boys boys boys…
Notice I wrote it three times? I’m doing a bit of juggling right now. Not serious with anyone but enjoying my time with three dashing men. Cristian, Sergio and Felipe. Definitely a great mix of ages and walks of life.

Cristian is a 31-year-old transportation engineer for the government. I met him at where else but … the castle. We’ve been going on dates for the past few weeks. Dinner planned for Thursday, tennis this Sunday and tentative plans to La Serena to visit a friend in the near future. Also interesting is the fact that the only place Cristian has been in the States is Seattle, for a transportation conference. Sergio is a 20-year-old musician and ski lodge attendant at El Colorado. I met him when we went snowboarding about a month ago. There was definitely an instant connection between us but I’m realizing that 20 year olds aren’t so secure and confident in themselves and their place in the world. He’s taking me snowboarding on Aug. 8 (he’s got the hookup). I’m hoping he’ll bust out his guitar before long. Felipe is 24-year-old international business student (the picture to the right is of Felipe -making a very serious face- and me). I met him ages ago and we’ve been talking casually for awhile but suddenly, the heat picked up. We also had an instant connection but it took awhile for plans to materialize between us. He really wanted me to go to Algarrobo, a beach town, with him this week but alas I have to work. I went on a date with him last Friday and we have plans to meet up when he gets back into town. Isn’t it ever so fun to be single and ready to mingle?

That’s probably enough of an update for one sitting. The next installation shall be on its way soon.

Here’s a photo montage of our winter vacation:

Salsa Dancing

Masquerade Ball at the Castle

Bowling
Valparaiso
Exploring Chile’s Coast
Wine Tasting in Cajon de Maipo
Horseback Riding

Buenas Noches! Until next time … XX Bree

22 years old.

And man, do I have a lot to be grateful for.

It´s my birthday tomorrow. This will be my second year in a row not being home for it.

Last year, on my 21st, I was a counselor at a camp for high-schoolers and I got to share my birthday with a sixteen-year-old boy. Not exactly the wild 21st you´d have imagined. But we did have some pretty delicious chocolate cake - and anyone that knows me well knows that chocolate is definitely one of my principal food groups. This year shall be interesting though ... in another country surrounded by friends I made just a few months ago. Albeit, my friends feel like family. Vamos a ver como pasara...

We went snowboarding yesterday!! Sooo much fun. We were in a group of 7 Americans, Chileans and Portugese. We went to El Colorado, which is part of Los Farellones in Los Andes. While the ski resort certainly didn´t have the greenage and the expanse that the mountains in Washington have, it had the most amazing view of the surrounding mountain range and Santiago valley. We were so high that two of our friends had to stop skiing at mid-day because of altitude sickness. As we were riding down the mountain at the end of the day, the glowing ball of sun set amongst the mountain peaks, turning the glistening white snow into a rainbow of purple, indigo and burnt orange. Definitely a memorable puesta del sol.

On Friday, we went salsa dancing. Also so much fun. I think my dad was more excited that I went than I was ... which I find very endearing. Who woulda thought that our little Mikey would be such a salsa picante man??

Eso es. My laptop is currently disputing life and showing its five years of age but as soon as I get it up and running again, I´ll put pictures up. Miss you all, love you and hope you have a fantastic week.

Regret

Regret.

The famous six letter word.

I recently had an experience that required me to evaluate the all-encompassing word from 987,928,349,827,349 different angles.

I could have been working as a full-time, salaried International Account Executive by this time next week. But I turned it down.

Let me back up ...

About a month ago, I met one of Esteban´s friends, María José. She works as a Human Resources Generalist at a reputable international news company for 12 different industry sectors in the Americas. She mentioned that they were always looking for English speakers to edit copies and call businesses in the States. I figured it would do no harm to submit a resume and see what happens. After all, I have a BA in Communications, emphasis in Public Relations and will eventually be doing something in that field. This might be an unpassable opportunity.

I received an e-mail from the company two Wednesdays ago, saying they had an open position as an International Account Executive. In the Sales Department.

Ok... worth getting more information, right?

I had a three hour interview mostly in Spanish last Friday. It went great. Fabulous. Fantastic. Magnificent. I learned more about the company, the position, everything. Great; I´d make more money, have an impressive job title to put on my resume, get some professional experience ... but there´s one problem. I´d be selling subscriptions to the news service. Sales ... not something I´ve ever particularly wanted to do.

And - I have a job I love right now. Yeah, so it might not be something that I want to do for the rest of my life but for right now, it´s exactly why I´m here in Chile. As the first semester nears its end, I can reflect on the incredible experience I´ve had and see where I can go from there to make it even better next semester. I´m not ready to leave the colegio yet.

That´s my heart speaking.

When it comes to my rational mind, I think about the professional experience I´d gain that could make me more marketable for a position back home in the Pacific Northwest. Would it be a mistake to pass up an opportunity like this? To cohort with the big wigs and convince them that they absolutely need to buy a news subscription or their company will go under (something to that extent). I don´t know. You often never know the answers to those kinds of questions until it´s too late to go back and change your mind.

But when you follow your heart, you never lose. Because at the end of the day, if you´re not happy, then what´s the point?

Conmocion

Click, click. La la lalala la. It was midnight on Saturday and I was procrastinating. For what; I did not know. I had just gotten back from a delicious dinner at El Huerto, one of Santiago’s finest vegetarian restaurants and was now flipping through my iTunes, trying to find that song. The song that would ease my restlessness; my sense that the night wasn’t really over.

And then my phone rang. Jacqueline!

“Hey girl, where are you? We’re on Avenida Providencia and heading to the Conmocion concert. You comin’?” she said.

Avenida Providencia. Only two blocks from my apartment...

“I’m there. See ya in two minutes,” I replied.

I leapt off the shiny chrome barstool, grabbed my luscious leather purse and flew out the door of our 14th floor apartment. Something had kept me from following the bed-bound fate of my roommates when we got home from dinner. I certainly would have silenced Jacqueline’s call if I was nestled under my three billowy blankets counting Mary’s lambs and awaiting slumber. A Conmocion concert (falling more or less into the Ska genre) is the exact opposite of the inner peace and tranquility one feels when surrendering to dream land.


Rewind several months.

Jacqueline and I went to a concert at La Universidad Catolica’s “Festival de Bienvenida” soon after I arrived. Think sweaty bodies jumping up and down, twirling, swaying and singing along to the 19-person musical ensemble onstage. Trumpets blare, drums slither, cymbals clatter and the warm, velvety, buttery voice of the lead singer envelopes its way into the very pores of the enthusiastic listeners in the packed outdoor courtyard. It was slightly overwhelming, having just arrived in Santiago and still adjusting to the passionate culture.

But I was ready tonight; ready to rock ‘n roll with the best of ‘em.

I met Jacqueline, Adam and John on Avenida Providencia and we hopped into one of the many yellow-topped black cabs that scour Santiago’s streets looking for customers. Down, down, down to the other end of the city the driver took us. We hopped out at Barrio Brazil, which coincidentally was where I stayed in the hostel with the group for the first month. Following the crowd seemed to be the best bet. They took us down a dark street milling with unsavory looking characters and then suddenly stopped outside of ominous-looking warehouse doors.

Welcome to Galpon Victor Jarra, one of Santiago’s underground concert venues. Two burly, scraggly men stood proud at the entrance, arms stretched out for the 3,000 pesos (about US $5) we had to fork over to get inside. Quiet outside; music suddenly burst from the now open doors as the men beckoned for us to enter. John, already well on his way to la la land, headed straight for the bar, which greeted its patrons with hand-written signs boasting Chilean bar basics. Piscola (Pisco and Coca Cola), Pisco Sour (Chile’s go-to drink) and Cristal (beer). Jacqueline, Adam and I stood back and breathed in the chaotic but rhythmic scene of a hundred or so Chileans bouncing and swaying to tropical melodies blaring from loudspeakers above.

It was dark, dirty and hot. You could smell the sweat dripping from the brows of the fervent dancers. Laughter and whoops of delight punctured the upbeat, melodious music. We looked at each other in unspoken agreement and plunged ahead. It was go time.

With a hop, skip and a jump; we were just as quickly part of the flailing crowd. We may have been the only gringos there but none of that mattered once we joined the rest of them. A few minutes more and the opening band, Dulce de Guayaba, started rattling their instruments behind the closed stage curtain. A deep but caramel-sweet voice rose above the crowd as the curtain snapped open.

The handsome singer, wearing a green and white flower-patterned shirt, must have been all but 18. Behind him, 6 others wearing the same shirt in different colors, stood behind their instruments, a steel drum, xylophone, and maracas among others. They danced and swayed as they sang and played. The chaos that once was the warehouse-turned-concert venue became a methodically moving mass of people. People loved the 18-year-old. Jacqueline and I decided to be obnoxious and yell things in English, which the grand majority of the crowd there was certain not to understand.

“Take it off!” I shouted.

“I want to have your babies!” she roared.

Yes, when it comes down to it, we’re Americans and prone to yelling inappropriate things during crowded, passionate events. Think football, baseball, soccer, track competitions, heck, even ice-skating.

They played and played, working the crowd into a frenzy. And just as quickly as they had started, they stopped. The loudspeakers once again blared music conducive to swaying hips and fancy footwork. We danced until 3 AM when suddenly, everything went quiet.

From the far back of the warehouse, the pitter-patter of drums began. A trumpet bellowed. Cymbals went clatter-clatter. And men dressed as devils led the long entourage across the room and through the crowd, up to the stage, pausing every minute or so to coax the eager audience into a worked-up bed of emotion. The 19-person group was primarily male but the four women that had worked their way in wore gypsy dresses and hundreds of bangles, their faces jeweled and painted in exotic swirls.

When Conmocion got on stage, they simultaneously stopped and then broke right into their first song. What sounded to us like a bunch of musical instruments intertwining and short, choppy song lyrics was comfort to the Chileans in the crowd. They knew all the words and shouted them right back to the performers onstage. We followed their lead and jumped up and down; scattering in a few upward arm throws as well. I hummed along loudly, trying to pass off that I, too, knew what was going on.

In addition to clanging cymbals, the devils would act out the songs, often jumping on each other and pummeling each other’s behinds. They would fight over the elegant woman who held front and center on the stage and attempt to entice her to leave with them. Others in costumes would jump on top of the large speakers to the side of the stage and dance, then just as slyly crawl down and resume playing. The handsome trumpet player often knelt at the stage’s edge, reaching for the out-flung hands of adoring female fans. Every once in awhile, each member would pause briefly to take a large gulp of the alcoholic beverage that never left their side.

We jumped up and down and pretended to know the words for an hour and a half. In that time; a shorter, rather round middle-aged man had been making his way around the venue, hitting on men and women alike. He was clearly intoxicated. His pink, knitted beanie fit loosely on his bald head and his black nylon fanny-pack was slung over the bottom of his cherry-red hooded sweatshirt. Jacqueline, Adam and I were each approached separately. We also witnessed the little man accosting our neighbors.

As the night wore on, he became increasingly incoherent. He would fold in half, appearing to be sleeping on his feet while swaying back and forth violently. Realizing the man’s predicament, many of the concert go-ers joined forces and dragged/carried him out the door. We quickly forgot the whole scenario and resumed our chaotic bobbing.

At 5 AM, with the concert still going strong and the Chileans showing no signs of tiring, we called it a night. We hovered near the grand, steel doors for a minute, soaking in the last drops of the grungy, sweaty and loud crowd thrashing to Conmocion. And there, as we walked out and away from the warehouse, we came upon the man. He was directly across the street, slumped at the waist sleeping, his hat-clad head resting firmly on the forest green bench in Plaza Brazil and his feet planted solidly on the ground.

As we watched and observed, feeling mixed emotions of pity and compassion for him, a group of people in their mid-20’s clad in black and metal spikes stopped in front of him. Their breath rose in frosty, grey curls as they contemplated the man’s future on this chilly, Saturday night.

“El gorro! …el gorro! …el gorro!” they chanted, prodding the leader to snag the rosy knit hat off his bare head.

They swiped it, flexed in mid-position, waiting to see if he would arouse from his unconscious state. He remained as he was. The group started to walk away, then stopped and simultaneously glanced at the fanny-pack suspended around his waist. The leader thrust forward, unzipped the pack with an experienced swoop and pulled out the man’s wallet. He stashed it in his front pocket, and the pack walked away as if nothing had happened.

I wanted to interfere; to tell them that they can’t take advantage of a man so clearly out of it. But the world has its pecking order. And people that have no qualms about stealing in plain view probably don’t have qualms about doing things I don’t care to think about.

We plunged into the next cab we saw; warm, safe and curled into each other to fight the cold of the night. The cab shuttled us across town and to our spotless, modern 19-story apartment building, where we picked a snack from our full cabinets, changed into a fresh pair of pajamas and fell asleep under our down comforters.