Concepcion, Dichato, Valdivia, and Yungay--Fiestas Patrias relived

Chileans really know how to celebrate their independence day. July 4th fireworks and bbqs are smallfry compared to the often weeklong festivities dedicated to commemorating their country's break from the Spanish. But more than really honoring this historic day, Fiestas Patrias is a time in which Chileans just break out their burning pride for their country, their culture, and their traditions. Never have I experienced a country so damn proud of its history and traditions. For one, almost everyone can do the cueca, which I have to say is not the coolest dance in the world (I nonetheless am determined to become a cueca pro myself by the end of this year!). In fact, cueca has been integrated into the primary education curriculum within the last 20 years, so there will be a day when a good 99% of the population will be able to cueca to some degree. Fiestas Patrias is also a time in which many Chileans, primarily children and older cueca dancers, strut around in their guaso/guasa attire. The men wear almost-cowboy-looking hats and a manta, which is like a colorful poncho that goes over their head and covers their upper body, along with killer spurs and boots. Women wear "chinitas" (I love the name for obvious reasons, though the term bears no relation to the ethnicity that shares its name. Pura coincidencia. Back in the old days, farm girls were called "chinas," as I had shockingly learned from the epic Chilean teleserie "El Senor de la Querencia," and their clothing as well), which are colorful, tacky, floral dresses. I have grown to love the look and am also planning to bring one of these dresses back. I'm itching to label a future photo, "Chinita in a chinita." hehe.

One primary reason why Chileans' blazing national pride startles me is the fact that quite plainly, you don't see that in America unless you live in the Christian conservative south. It's interesting to observe how I immediately am overwhelmed by disgust when I think about the type of American who would proclaim how much he loved his country and how proud he was to be American. I guess I belong to a younger, educated, more open generation that is aware and so fed up with the shit the US has put other nations through, ruthlessly asserting its influence and power. And how about the shit our government had put its own American people through in the past, like the impoverished and persons of color, and continues to do so in the present! For me, as I think for most, I have a love/hate relationship with America. As much as I am ashamed of certain dirty moments in my nation's history, I love our culture, diversity, foods, and even aspects of our capitalist market.

Anyway, back to how I spent my glorious weeklong vacation, that actually started the previous Thursday...

Concepcion
On Thursday afternoon right after my last class, I took a bus to Concepcion, a city that's about 1.5 hours south of Chillan. I was supposed to attend a ramada that evening at the University of Bio Bio, which is a typical celebration for fiestas patrias where people socialize, drink chicha (an alcoholic grape juice beverage), eat various oily and delicious Chilean dishes, get drunk, and dance their hearts out to cumbia or cueca. They call it ramadas because on reserved stretches of land called fondas, people open up mini-restaurants that are constructed of wood blocks. I think in the past, they were primarily constructed of wood branches, which translates to ramas in Spanish. Here's a photo of a particular ramada, though it's not of the one that I was supposed to attend that night. I ended up not making it to the ramada because I arrived at Concepcion a bit too late, and the food and alcohol had already been consumed.

This is the front of a particular ramada in Yungay.

Fast forward a bit, I ended up losing my cell phone that night because I had too much fun jumping at a bar, which was appropriately called Bar de Negro. Like Sarah said, who also had lost her scarf there, the place is like a black hole. Pobre Felipe also lost his backpack that night too. Pucha.

The next day, us WorldTeach volunteers traveled to a nearby town called Lota, which used to be a coal mining town. The Ministry of Education was sponsoring our visit to the coal mines, and needless to say I was pretty excited. Who ever gets the opportunity to visit an actual mine? The coal mines aren't in use anymore and now stands as more of a historical landmark, hosting tours and even providing a movie set (Subterra). Decked out in real mining gear, well just the helmet really--snazzy helmet flashlight and battery pack included!--, we descended into el "Chiflon del Diablo," which roughly translates to the "Wind of the Devil." This particular mine was bestowed this name because during its early beginnings, miners would wear candles on their helmets to light their way. Considering the large presence of natural gas produced by coal, you can easily deduce the unfortunate consequences whenever fire and gas fatally combined. Miners would die 30-50 at a time in a single accident. So whenever an explosion occurred, miners farther away from the accident would hear a huge gust of wind. Being underground, who else could mythically produce such a wind but the devil? I know there are more details that I missed from the guide's explanation of the naming of the mine, so I'm probably screwing this up a little, but this is the gist of what I got.

It was a really cool experience exploring the tunnels of the mine, but lordy, if I had to actually work down there...Boys at the age of 8 would start working down in the mines! And miners had to work 12-15 hour shifts, obligated to fill up 20 cars full of coal! If nature called, they had to do their business there, amidst the presence of hungry little rats waiting to chow down on their caca. The guide even told us that they couldn't squat down too much or else the greedy rats would start to jump up and bite for the last remains of their...well, food. To sum up my experience, I learned a lot about a miner's life, and never was I more grateful that I was short and not claustrophobic.

Tiffany and me, walking deeper into the heart of "El Chiflon del Diablo."

Dichato
The minute Sarah and I entered my host family's house in the beach town of Dichato, we chose which room we'd sleep in and parked our tired bodies in its dusty beds. The previous night of going out followed by a daytrip to Lota exhausted us, and we were ready to truly begin our vacation. That weekend we spent there was truly heavenly. The weather was gorgeous, with the sun shining so brightly and the sea breeze kissing our skin, which was happily free of the confines of winter clothing. I forgot how much I missed the beach. I realized how much I had taken for granted the fact that I live a mere 4 blocks away from the beach back home in San Francisco. I had missed so much my teacher the ocean, with its lessons revealed to me through the calming crash of the waves and the peace that fills me at just watching them slowly dance to its natural rhythm. I missed the sea wind and how it whispers in my ear and fills me with confidence and self-love. The beach is a refuge that helps centers me.

I also ate some of the most amazing seafood I have ever had here in Chile, which doesn't say thaaat much since I actually haven't eaten that much seafood since my arrival. Maybe that's why it tasted so amazing; my body craved it. For our first lunch in Dichato, I ate fried fish with rice. Every chance I get, I order rice as a side dish because come on, I'm Asian...it used to make up the crux of my diet. The following day, in the same delicious restaurant, I ordered a seafood soup dish called marical and Sarah ordered an amazing clam chowder-like dish called pastel de jaiva. Mmmm. Unfortunately, I think the seafood soup gave me a bad allergic reaction, in which my chest started to feel tight, my nose started to stuff out, and my eyes started to get swollen. It was pretty bad and felt pretty random. I remember we were all just hanging out at the beach when all of a sudden, my chest started to tighten up. My first theory was that a bug flew into my throat and bit me inside. Haha. I got pretty worried because the following day, I was supposed to make a trip down to Valdivia, and I really didn't want to miss it. I had already bought the bus tickets for one, I had made the hostal reservations two, and three, I really wanted to go to Valdivia! Not to mention I was planning to travel with another volunteer, Jennifer, and I didn't want to bail out on her, all because a stupid bug bit the inside of my throat.

Well, I eventually realized the allergy was most likely caused by the seafood, after remembering that I used to be allergic to it when I was younger (it would cause me to break out in hives). I took some allergy medicine, and by the end of the night, I started to feel a whole lot better.

Valdivia
I got my booty out of bed early the next day for my 7am bus ride to Valdivia. It was going to take about 6 hours to get to Valdivia from Chillan, which doesn't even sound like a daunting trip anymore. It also takes 6 hours by bus to get to Santiago, and I'm really used to the long ride. The buses here in Chile are really quite comfortable, and if you're lucky, they'd feature an entertaining movie that wouldn't be dubbed in Spanish. On one bus ride, I watched about half of Enchanted and on another, I saw I Am Legend. Lucky for Jen and I, we got to watch random episodes of The Nanny (in English) and a series of scenes from I think an English program called Gag, that's like a hidden camera show. For obvious reasons, I ended up napping the entire trip and listening to my ipod.

When we arrived at the terminal and I got off the bus, I was just blown away by the sight of a beautiful glistening river right before us. I fell in love with Valdivia right then and there.

After unloading our belongings at our cute hostel, we pretty much ran in search of a cafe/restaurant that Tiffany and Lonely Planet raved about, called La Ultima Frontera. It was about lunch time, and all we had eaten during the bus ride were crackers and cookies. Needless to say, we were famished, and my mouth watered at the thought of the shawarma or falafel sandwich that I already knew I was going to order. We easily found the place, and I pleasantly found myself in a very chill, bohemain style restaurant. I quickly scarfed down my huge shawarma sandwich and left very happy.

Valdivia feels like a coastal city because it is located at the confluence of 3 rivers. I became more acquianted with the Valdivia River, where I saw really interesting birds that I had never seen before as well as sea lions! They all crowded by the seafood market, where fishermen would occasionally feed the sea creatures fish.


The river tour that I took on my 2nd day there also disembarked from a port on this river. It was a 5 hour tour that took us to 2 different coastal cities close by where forts had been established by the Spaniards. Even though I woke up with a horrible stomach ache that morning, I was determined to go on the river tour. I only had 2 precious days to spend in Valdivia, and I'll be damned if I was going to spend one of those days in bed. After a 3 hour nap, I started to feel slightly better. I figured that at least the stomach pains had stopped hurting at 2 minute intervals. And luckily, my stomach behaved during the entire trip. I drank a lot of ginger ale that I think helped, and the boat ride wasn't as bumpy as I had expected. The trip was great, even though it was pretty chilly and cold that day. You can see some of the photos I took of the boat ride, the coastal cities, and the forts in my facebook photo albums.

Yungay
The day after I returned from Valdivia, I hopped on a bus to Yungay with my host sister to celebrate "el dieciocho" there since it gets pretty rough and dangerous in Chillan. And I guess Yungayinos just know how to celebrate indepdence day better. My host brother lives in Yungay with his family, and we were going to hang out with them that day. First we attended the city parade by the plaza, where I watched a whole lot of cueca dancing; the mayor give a long speech to a disrespectful whistling crowd; a parade of schools, preschools, centers for people with disabilities, senior citizens' clubs, and even an alcoholics anonymous-type group was represented; stray dogs trying to get in on the parade action; a procession of guasos on horses; and the cleanup of the lovely presents the horses left.

Later, we all drove to a nearby fonda, where we parked ourselves in one particular ramada, I think mainly because of its clever name, El Yungayino. Despite the bevy of delicious food available, we just drank some cokes because there was an asado (bbq) waiting for us at home. I was really craving a sopaipilla though, and I still am. Sopaipillas are basically circular, somewhat thick, flat pieces of fried dough, nothing more. When I first tried one, I didn't know what Chileans were raving about whenever they talked about them. But man, they've grown on me, and I could really go for one now, drenched in pebre (like salsa). Delish. I danced a little cumbia with my 40-something year old host brother, even danced a little with an old drunken man that wouldn't accept my refusals. Plus my host family kept pressuring me to dance with him, and in the end I was like what the hell. This is how fiestas patrias is done right? My host sister had told me about how her older sister's dream once was to dance with a drunk man from the campo during fiestas patrias. Now I can say I've lived this dream. The fonda also had a couple ramadas with typical county fair games, like dart-throwing, gunshot-aiming, and of ourse, foozball. The game ramadas were dominated by tables of old-school foozball tables. That was probably my favorite part of the whole day, playing foozball competitively with Julio, Camila, Cristian (my host nephews and niece, though they're like all my age), Daniela (a cousin), and my host sister. Man I suck at foozball, but it's so fun!

The day ended with a local cueca competition in the centro, a delicious asado dinner, a game of Jenga (called Timberrrr), and episodes of Ugly Betty and Brazil's Top Model.

The last couple days, I've just been bumming around in my PJs, watching episodes of the 2nd season of America's Best Dance Crew, and capitalizing on the free movie website. Oh lazy days. How I miss thee right now, as I think about my morning classes tomorrow.

La Chinita-American in Chile, Part I

It´s impossible to write an accurate account of my time in Chile without describing what it´s like to be walking around the streets of Chillán (and all of Latin America for that matter) as an Asian-American. I learned fast that though I´m a gringa since I´m North American and speak English, I am not at all received by Chileans the same way as the other volunteers, who are all white. Physically, they fulfill Chileans´assumptions of what a North American looks like: fair-skinned, blonde or light-color haired, and blue/green-eyed. I, on the other hand, obviously do not. While my friends get catcalled by men who are trying to impress them with their limited English skills (like with "Hello!" "How are you?" or "My name is Jorge!"), I get "Beijing!" (thank you Olympics) and the rare but nonetheless hurtful pretending-to-talk-in-Chinese-Nyaknyang-nonsense. The latter usually comes from huevones (assholes) that so apparently look like they have nothing going for them. As I´m passing by these people and their rude comments, I sometimes want to so badly yell HUEVÓN! I may be Beijing or whatever, but you, well CONCHA TU MADRE! I always manage to calm myself and be the better person and not let the negativity enter my realm. More frequently, when I would pass by men, they mutter "Chinita" or "China" under their breath. Well, OBVIO señor. I don´t go around saying "Chileno" now do I? I have to say though, I´m lucky that my roots are actually from China. They call all Asiatic-looking people here "Chino." I couldn´t imagine how much more annoyed I´d be if my family was from Japan, and everyone around here kept misplacing my ancestry.

Then there are situations in which I find myself in conversation with people, when finally approaches the looming question, "Where are you from?" I always hesitate with this question because I can just feel that they are expecting a response of an Asian country, and it´s always exhausting to correct their misunderstandings, quench their surprise, and explain how it is that I am actually from The United States. However, I have been very impressed by how infrequently people fail to believe my American nationality. I felt like it occurred much more often when I was in Nicaragua about 2 years ago. Most of the time, people smile and politely show their excitement over the fact that I have come from so far and that I am a native English speaker. I have met people who never express curiosity over the origins of my Asian facial features and instead, ask me all about what American society is like. Nevertheless, I find myself fuming every time someone someone blatantly highlights my Asian-ness. I even hate being looked at and stared at by people. One time, a flock of kids outside a school screamed at me and Edgar, after I greeted them with a pleasant Hello. Was I a freak to them? My self-consciousness has gotten so bad at times in which I just walk to school and back, staring straight-ahead with my ipod blasting, not daring to look at anyone around them, for fear they would notice that I was not Chilean and would stare or comment. I hate standing out.

And you know, regardless of how valid these defensive feelings are, I hate them. I don´t like how I get annoyed by these comments and immediately establish a defensive wall around my gentle compassionate insides. Then I get angry at Chileans, for being so ignorant, taking it all so personally. My first couple months here were so difficult as I was adjusting to standing out. I´m not one to like attention and prefer to blend in with the people in the back. There was a lot of anger, a lot of frustration, and a lot of cursing of Chileans for not friggin understanding the notion of an Asian-American. I started to miss my Bay Area bubble so much, where I was merely a wave in the sea of many Asians and no one stirred at the sight of me. I missed the ethnic diversity you could only find in the United States, where people (well most) understood the difference between a Chinese, Japanese, Korean, and Filipino person. We may all somewhat look similar, but no, we are not all the same because we all come from different countries. We speak different languages. We have different cultures.

However, the exasperated tension that gripped my heart and prevented me from opening up to most Chileans in order "to protect me" eventually started to loosen, although slowly. Through much reflection, I asked myself why it bothered me so much that people made such comments, even despite how obviously inane they are. Why did it hurt me so when Chileans, upon discovering my Chinese heritage, pulled their eyes wide to slant them, even though they weren´t doing it in a mocking manner? My host dad´s girlfriend, who adores me by the way, has done this various times when she emphasizes her own Chinese roots and therefore her instant connection with me. Ridiculous, but really cute I have to say.

Why do I defensively flare up and immediately attack Chileans for what I deem as their cruel ignorance?

I started to realize that my reaction is a defense mechanism that I have acquired as an Asian-American living in America--persons of color utilize it to empower themselves against the white majority that attempt to shadow and ridicule them. Since Asians´arrival (and other immigrant groups) to America, they´ve had white Americans mock them, making fun of their language and the way they looked, rejecting them for their foreignness. And America 2008 still finds traces of this hateful racism from the past, still cringing at its prominent existence. Most of us have experienced a white American questioning our own American nationality or making fun of our facial features. We´re still seen as different and foreign to many Americans because we do not look Anglo-Saxon and instead possess features of the East. And so, we get mad and frustrated whenever our Americanness is ever questioned. It´s like doubting we belong in the country when America runs through our blood and is our home. Our heritage may derive from other parts of the world, but most of us haven´t even visited the motherland or speak the mother tongue very well, truth be told. It´s not something to brag about no doubt, but how dare a person displace us from the soil of our birth. Thus, we throw up our arms, of words, of legal documents, of empowerment parades and such to defend our rights and our identity as Americans.

And that´s what I find myself doing here, which I´ve come to realize is not at all appropriate since I´m in a completely different culture with a completely different history. Chile is in fact familiar with the Asian race since many Chinese people have immigrated here to establish small businesses, as they have done in many parts of the Americas and the world. Pockets of Korean communities are also present in the country. However, there is no Asian America as there is in the States. The population of Asians here is tiny, and yeah, the truth is, most of the Chinese and Korean people that live in Chile did in fact immigrate from China and Korea, respectively. That serves me a big fact, no wonder why they so strongly assume my country of origin lies to the East. And in regards to the passing comments, the slanting of the eyes, etc., I´ve realized they really mean no harm. When they call me "chinita," they do so affectionately and not to make fun of my Chinese roots. It is true they are ignorant, but not in a malicious way. This culture is one that openly acknowledges a person´s particular physical feature, absolutely meaning no harm by it. Chileans who look somewhat Asian (all in the eyes of course) are nick-named"Chino." Fat people are nicknamed "Gordo" or the more affectionate, "Gordito." Darker-skinned people are nicknamed "Negro." More than anything, it is said out of comraderie, out of dear affection for a person when they dub the nickname on a person. They are by no means making fun of the person.

For most, it is outside their realm of knowledge to understand the reality of an Asian-looking person born in North America. Their reference to life in the United States comes from American shows that get broadcasted on Chilean TV stations, such as House, Nip-Tuck, America´s Next Top Model, as well as a lot of American movies, like The 40 year old Virgin. We Americans already know that the life presented in TV shows and movies are not representative of what real life is, even the reality shows. We are also well aware of the lack of persons of color on TV sitcoms for one and two, those who accurately portray the character of an actual person of color-American.

And so, I intend on chilling out for a bit, and taking all these comments, stares, and general reactions to my Asianness + Asian-Americanness all in stride. I want to wear down my defensive wall because it limits me and in turn prevents me from opening up to Chileans and seeing them for who they really are as well.

I, obviously, have a lot to say on this topic. More to come. I´m just too tired to continue. Chaito!

Some fotos at home and school

The halls of Excuela Mexico

Mi casa

2 of my 5th grade students practicing introduction questions

Me and some 5th grade girls who always come and visit my classroom during break periods

With 2 of my 8th grade students who participated in the Public Speaking competition. We won 3rd place!

With my favorite curso, 5B

4th graders dancing cueca outside my classroom

Villa Ferroviaria, the street that I live on

i fail as a blogger

I´m sorry I´m so horrible with updating. I realize now that I´m not much of a blogger, but oh well. I´ll do what I can.

So it´s already the month of September, and it was actually sunny and relatively warm today! Chillán winters are friggin cold! It´s not anything like the further south where it snows, but it nonetheless gets cold as hell, and I can´t leave the house without at least 3 layers of clothing on, and siempre with pantis (stockings) underneath my pants. It also strangely gets colder in the house than outside sometimes, which still boggles my mind, even with the estufa (stove ovens that heat up the home) burning.

September is also the month of fiestas patrias, a weeklong (usually) celebration of their independence from the Spanish. They all go out for their independence day, which is actually on September 18. They´ve already started decorating for it, in stores, classrooms, even cars. I hear musica folklórica blasting in supermarkets and from stereos in department stores. I mean, people were talking about fiestas patrias when I first got to Chile, telling me how awesome it was. I´m still trying to decide whether I want to just stay at home during the weeklong feriado (holiday) or if I should travel somewhere solita. I´ve never travelled alone somewhere, like in a way in which I´d be staying in a hostel by myself, exploring by myself, that kind of thing. I´m honestly scared to because yeah I can be pretty chicken and get dependent on others, but I´m also really attracted to the new experience of it. Because I´ve never done it before, I want to do it. I´m a very reflective, introverted person anyway, so I think I could really enjoy the time to myself. Not to mention, if I survived and had fun, it would totally boost my ego, showing myself I can travel and be on my own.

aah I regret for not having updated sooner because there´s so much to Chile that anyone outside this country really knows about, idiosyncrasies that I could have written whole entries about, but ah well, I can still do that. What have I done since my last entry months ago? Well, memorable moments include: a visit from my dad and Edgar; my students meeting Mr. Edgar; a lovely birthday celebration that included a piñata and a birthday tiara; a trip to Las Termas de Chillàn (hell yeah, I skiied on the Andes!); pride in the realization that my students are actually learning English from me (about 98% of my 400 something students, grades 5th-8th, are pros at answering introduction questions like, "How are you?" "Where are you from?" "What do you like to do?"); the rebirth of my love for Reggaetoon; a trip to Buenos Aires during winter break; experiencing a mass demonstration in Buenos Aires--oh yeah which reminds me of a weeklong break I had from school due to a teachers´ strike, which coincided with a students´ strike; visiting a school in the campo that only had about 50 students total--4th-6th grade students were all the same class and they taught Edgar and I how to dance the cueca, the national dance; noticing that cherry blossom trees grow here in Chillán--the sight of them always makes me feel better if I´m particularly feeling down.....
....too many moments to name that I can´t remember. I´ll just have to update more.

Tomorrow is the Provincial Public Speaking competition that I´ve been preparing 2 of my students for. They had to write and practice a speech on either an English-speaking personality or an English-speaking country. My students ended up deciding to do it on New Zealand. It´s pretty hard to make a speech interesting when it has to be given in under 2 minutes, but I think the student who will be giving it is amazing. She is surprisingly good in English, which astounds me because there´s no way her English education at school contributed to her abilities.

Anywho, I want to go and watch El Baile right now, which is the Chilean version of Dancing With the Stars. But get this, the current season is El Baile, on ice! The dancers have to ice skate! haha. Speaking of TV, they also just came out with their version of The Office, appropriate called La Ofis. It´s frighteningly similar to the American version, Jim and Pam love story included. It makes me miss The Office, American style.