4am.  Bitter cold.  19 cummulative layers of clothing.  My two friends and I boarded the "Geyser Tour" van anxious to catch a glimpse of dramatic eruptions in the rising sun.  However, we arrived at the world's highest geothermic field with hours to spare, prompting a few of our fellow tourists to disregard our guide's warnings and attempt to navigate around the geysers in the dark. 

   Fortunately, it was soon light enough to see, and we were able to get a closer look at the geysers and more colorful "mud geysers."  After observing the carefully constructed walkways and countless signs surrounding the geysers at Yellowstone National Park, I was surprised when the guide invited us to stroll freely in the field, and even more surprised to see people walking near, peering into, and even reclining against some of the geysers.  One guide, anxious to serve hot instant coffee to his group, had tossed a box of milk into one of the geysers and was impatiently waiting for it to heat.  Over breakfast, our guide congratulated us on our success in navigating the field, and concluded with a few stories of those who had not been so lucky.  I felt as though we had passed some sort of test, earning the privilege of exploring The Cactus Forest, our next destination.

   Shedding layers, we continued through the desert, reaching the cactus forest a few hours after sunrise.  What we initially assumed was a scenic overlook turned out to be a three hour hike, winding us through canyons, next to 15 foot cacti, and past a waterfall. 

   Mesmerized by the breathtaking views and satisfied with our choice of tours, no one realized the bus tickets were disappearing: by the time we returned to San Pedro, all buses to Santiago and San Pedro (our two final destinations) were booked.  Naturally, all of the hostals were full; when I inquired about a room at one of the more expensive options, the receptionist took one look at my dusty sweatshirt and dirty jeans and announced (in perfect English) "This hotel is expensive."  Elated to discover a hostal with vacancies, we tossed our luggage in the room and collapsed on the beds, no questions asked.  A few minutes later, we discovered that the hostal had neither water nor electricity.  All was "being renovated."

   One 22 hour bus ride later, we found ourselves back in Santiago.  After one last brunch with friends, one last "night on the town" (dinner atop a classy revolving restaurant,) one last micro ride, and one last wave at "my friends the constuction workers," I boarded the plane for Atlanta.  Wednesday, July 13th, I touched down at O'hare, 148 days after departure.

   In the days since then, I've re-entered US culture.  I've grown accustomed to using only English words (rather than the awful Spanglish spoken by "the gringos of Chile,") rediscovered the joys of cranberry juice, driving, peanut butter and jelly, drinking fountains and the consistent presence of tp and soap in public restrooms.  I have been able to see (for the first time) the true wealth of the States and how much is taken for granted.  I truly appreciate the open fields and cleaner air (not to mention the weather; everyone here is surprised to learn that it's winter in South America.)  

   Along with the excitement of the initial "tourist phase" of re-entry, I am beginning to miss aspects of my life in Chile.  I miss empanadas and Chilean chocolate, I miss my doting host mom, who would not even let me stir my own coffee, I miss my friends.  But at the same time, it's so hard to believe it's over; as one of my friends said, it feels as though I could wake up in Chile any minute.       

   After some essential grocery shopping and laundry, we boarded yet another Turbus Tuesday night, trading the (comparatively) balmy breezes of Iquique for the cooler "antiplano" climate of San Pedro de Atacama, a small desert community nestled between soaring volcanoes on the Bolivian/Chilean border.  Weary from travel and finally accustomed to the economic practice of sleeping on buses, we were startled awake when the bus pulled unexpectedly into a dark security station a few hours into our journey.  Shaking off sleep, we stumbled out of the bus and were immediately surrounded by security guards, who proceeded to perform a thorough search of the bus, luggage, and passengers.  Though familiar with the customs procedure, we were confused because our journey did not involve a border crossing; I was later informed that we were likely being searched for drugs, considering the region`s thriving cocaine industry.  Fortunately, the bus was permitted to continue, and after a brief transfer we arrived in San Pedro just as the sun was rising. 

   At first glance, San Pedro, a community of less than 1,000, appears small.  However, after lugging our duffels and suitcases down countless dirt roads we realized that we would have plenty to explore.  Thus began the quest to book tours.  We surveyed our options, met up with a few friends, consulted a few guidebooks, and were eventually able to negotiate three days worth of affordable tours.  After a brief look around the city, (San Pedro's cathedral was constructed without the use of a single nail,) we were herded into a sturdy looking 12-person van, ready for our initial exploration. 

    Tour 1 included photo stops at Valle de la Muerte (Valley of Death) and Valley de la Luna (Valley of the Moon, referred to as "the loneliest place on Earth") both of which are popular testing sites for lunar spacecraft due to their moon-like conditions.  Our next stop was a national reserve, where we were able to photograph numerous rock formations and try a little spelunking (head lamps provided.)  Much of San Pedro's desert is comprised of salt deposits, and streaks of rough salt streaked the inside of the caves.  Emerging from the caves, we were invited to scale an enormous sand dune, thus obtaining the optimal viewpoint to enjoy the setting sun reflecting off the nearby mountain ranges.  As glowing reds and warm golds turned to icy purples, our guide pointed out several active volcanos visible in the distance.  Though all valiantly attempted to capture the wonder of the desert sunset, pictures just can't do justice.

    Tour 2, "A Day in Bolivia," began at sunrise our second day.  After a brief bus ride to the border, the six of us survived customs and piled into the back of a freezing cold jeep, anxious for our first glance at another "off-the-beaten-path" country.  Though no one was anxious to brave the 12 degree (Fahrenheit) wind chill at our first scenic overlook, turquoise Laguna Verde, our subsequent stop at volcanic hot springs was much more well-received, and we eagerly joined a few other tourist groups thawing their feet in the steamy mineral water.  Anticipating only the three lakes promised on the tour brochure, I was thrilled to see steam pouring from the ground when our driver pulled off the road unexpectedly.  My sole experience with geysers was on a family vacation to Yellowstone National Park years ago, and it was nice to get another whiff of sulfur.  After lunch and some interaction with the local llamas, we proceeded to our final destination, Laguna Colorada, characterized by its bright pink water (tinted by algae,) and correspondingly bright pink flamingos!  Though three species of flamingos frequent Laguna Colorada, we were satisfied to see several members of one species relaxing among the ice chunks on the lake.  3 rolls of film later, we returned to make tea and sleep before our 4am geyser tour  the following morning.   

   The night of my last entry, I had another new, travel-related experience.  South American food poisioning.   The morning of our Machu Picchu tour dawned bright and sunny; I waved goodbye from the bathroom window as my friends boarded the tour van.  Thus, as they discovered Inca history and survived an exhilerating climb up the ruins, I discovered the location of several local pharmacies and survived two days of misery.  Fortunately, I was able to make it to the plaza for a few hours, and visited with travelers from Germany and New Zealand (a few of whom had been traveling for over a year - the ideal life...) 

   Though Cuzco is The Tourist Capital of Perù, I was unable to maintain the typical oblivious tourist mentality after talking with some of the local vendors, children between the ages of 5 and 11.  One boy confided that, though his birthday was the following day, his parents had no money for presents or a party.  After spending time with these kids, who forfeit school to sell postcards in the Plaza, I began to contemplate the more serious issues lurking under Peru`s colorful exterior. 

     After my friends' return we spent our final day in Cuzco visiting the numerous museums and cathedrals pictured on our "tourist ticket," and finished the day with hot chocolate and a cultural dance show.  Tired and happy, we boarded the bus for Puno, relieved that we had chosen to pay extra for "full cama" seats (counterpart to airline first class.)  An hour later, when one of our fellow passengers politely informed the driver that our bottled water was beginning to freeze, we discovered that we would be spending 8+ hours, navigating through snow covered mountains to one of the world's highest lakes, in an unheated bus.  We arrived in Puno humming the Titanic theme song and eager for sleep in a warm hostal.

   Our days in Puno, a chilly mountain town on the shores of Lago Titticaca, included fresh papaya juice, a ride in one of the hundreds of bicycle rickshaws crowding the streets, and a tour of the surrounding islands.  One of the first stops on our tour were the man-made islands of Uros, constructed completely of woven reeds and home to over 500 people. 

    Getting off our old fishing boat was like stepping hundreds of years back in time.  At first glance, the poverty was unbelievable; eventually we realized that these Peruvians live much safer and more sanitary lives than thousands of their fellow citizens in Lima and Cuzco.  The people of Uros live as they have lived for centuries, completely independent of society, using the reeds surrounding their island for shelter, clothing, transportation, and even food (they taste a little like celery.)  One man selling tiny reed boats was happy to introduce us to the 18 species of native fish, holding up lively examples from a bucket at his feet, and his 10-year-old sister accompanied us as we took a larger, two-story, Nile-like reed boat to the neighboring islands.  

   The hazy mountains of Bolivia were visible from the shores of our subsequent destination, the island of Taquile.  "The way of life here is very different," our tour guide warned us as we approached.  (In contrast to the last island, where we were encouraged to greet the islanders with "good morning"-camisaraki,) he informed us, "Here, people greet each other by exchanging koka leaves; since you do not have koka leaves, please do not acknowledge the villagers.  Also, the people who live here are able to tell each other`s marital status, age, number of children, and mood from their dress, thus, it is also inappropriate to ask any questions made unnecessary by the information provided through their clothing."  With this mysterious explanation, our guide invited us to begin the ascent up the mountain to the main plaza. 

   The bright sun, crystal clear water, and red tile roofs peeking out from the grassy hillsides made the climb from the dock up to the main plaza enjoyable (though difficult with the altitude.)  As we gasped for air during the final part of the ascent, local children, 5 or 6 years old, with babies tied to their backs with strips of brightly colored cloth, skipped past us.  After lunch in the plaza, our tour guide held up examples of local clothing, explaining the significance of each item.  During festival times, for example, the placement of a man`s hat signifies his marital status; the number and color of a woman`s layered skirts indicate her age, and the color of the tassel on the corner of a girl`s shawl indicates her mood.  The remainder of our time on Taquile was spent analyzing the clothing of the villagers. 

   After dinner and some last-minute grocery shopping, we boarded another overnight (heated!) bus for Tacna, the main border town between Perù and Chile.  12 hours, countless windy roads, and customs later, we paid our taxi driver and began exploring Arica, Chile`s northernmost coastal community.  Feeling a bit homesick for the traditional 4th festivities, we were excited to witness a local parade outside the Chilean naval headquarters, featuring a band, numerous military groups, and the requisite firetrucks.  After the parade we explored Arica`s cathedral, designed by Eifel (architect of the Parisian tower,) and then strolled down to the lighthouse to watch the surfers and poke around in the tide pools.  

   Fortunately, bus time to Iquique (current location,) was less than 6 hours.  After the chill of high altitudes, we took advantage of the 70 degree temps and spent Independence Day on the beach (smiling at the skeptical glances from sweater-clad locals.)  After dining on local seafood last night, we were even congratulated (believe it or not) for our nation's Bday.  To conclude the festivities, last night we located an English showing of "Batman Iniciada" (in English) and indulged in buckets of "dulce" theatre popcorn (a sort of caramel/kettle corn blend.) 

    Tonight, it's on to the salt flats and geysers of San Pedro de Atacama.

   I have now officially sampled Cui, one of Peru's most prized national dishes.  My roasted guinea pig arrived to our table tonight complete with tail, claws, and a toothy smile (at least until a friend insisted I cover its face with my napkin.)  After only three days in Peru, we have had the opportunity to sample several national dishes.  Though cui is by far the most fun, others include alpaca (a type of llama) which was much better than the guinea pig, corn soup, and Inca Kola (counterpart to CocaCola, with subtle hints of cream soda.) 

   With less than 24 hours in Lima, our first destination, we were able to observe the local surfers, explore the local markets (featuring gigantic fruit and every llama fur article imaginable,) and try ceriche, a traditional Inca drink consisting of fermented corn flavored with fruit.  Our original hostal reservations were for El Centro (downtown Lima,) but after a bit of discussion our taxi driver convinced us to stay somewhere "less dangerous," dropping us instead at a hotel in the coastal suburb of Miraflores.  The central plazas, however, were gorgeous and filled with cathedrals and statues of Pizarro and San Miguel.  My favorite sculpture depicted a miniature llama perched atop the head of the Virgin Mary (apparently the sculptor misunderstood his instructions when asked to adorn her with a crown of llamas(thorns).)  After hours of exploration, we dined at a convent-run-restaurant nearby, sipping Inca Kola as the nuns harmonized in a spontaneous rendition of "Ave Maria."  Three hours of sleep later, we boarded the plane for Cuzco.   

   After spending our first day in Peru surrounded by the 24 comunas and 9 million inhabitants of Lima, arrival in Cuzco was beyond refreshing.  Golden mountains, bright blue sky, and lots of flowers greeted us as we manuevered our luggage out of the airport and through the maze of predatory taxi drivers.  The whitewashed clay houses and shops of Cuzco extend far up into the surrounding mountains, creating a tangle of unbelievably narrow one way streets.  Sidewalks are rare, and pedestrian alertness is a necessity, as we discovered in our initial taxi ride. 

   Upon arrival at the hostal we were greeted with my favorite national offering, koka tea.   Recently educated regarding the tea`s ability to alleviate altitude sickness and its powerful mood-lifting effects, we gratefully finished off the pitcher before boarding the bus to Pisca, a local community renown for its Sunday morning market.  Exploring the market gave us an opportunity to purchase dirt cheap alpaca blankets, jewelry, and CD`s, chat with the locals and enjoy a musical performance outside of the local cathedral.  Underneath the colorful exterior, however, Pisca was marked by extreme poverty, and several of the vendors were practically pleading with us to purchase a whistle or an ice cream for 1 sole (approx 30 cents.)

   After lunch we set out to explore our first set of Inca ruins, hiring a taxi to drive us up to the temples and stone dwellings overlooking Pisca.  The views were breathtaking (literally) and after one friend fainted from the altitude we decided to follow local advice and chew koka leaves throughout the remainder of our climb. 

   Today, aside from a morning of exploring downtown Cusco`s art museums and cathedrals, we were able to explore 5 more Inca ruin sites in the surrounding hills.  Increasingly amazed at the genius of the Inca people, we snapped pictures of elaborate aquaduct systems, intricate astronomical calendar devices, complex arquitecture, and even the sites used for human sacrifices.  Throughout the tour, our guide explained the core Inca values of love, knowledge, and hard work, relating them to the three most honored local animals: the serpent (symbolizing death, the underworld, the past,) the puma (land, the present, humanity,) and the condor (afterlife, future, perfection.)

   Tomorrow's plan:  6am train to AguaCalientes (the jungle community at the base of Machu Picchu), an afternoon soaking in the hot springs and exploring the surrounding rainforest.  After a night in AguaCalientes, we're hoping to take another insanely early bus to the Inca ruins to beat the tourists and watch the sun rise.  Resigned to high altitude temperatures, (60ish during the day; 40 or less after sunset) we were thrilled when today's tour guide mentioned banana plantations and 80 degree weather at the base of Machu Picchu.   Sounds like a promising excursion-(now if only I could bring some cui along.)

     There were definitely no books involved today as my colegio class threw me a going away party.  They were thrilled with our first opportunity to converse completely in Spanish, (and, not surprisingly, much more talkative than in previous classes.)  Though I admit I expected the discussion to revolve mainly around music, movies, and teen relationships, I was unexpectedly educated regarding the politics between Perù, Chile, and Bolivia after mentioning our upcoming trip.  The refreshments were tasty, (though I also learned several new words for kitchen accidents as one girl presented her first baking attempt, supposedly a cake.)

   Thanks to my colegio students, I now feel prepared to intelligently discuss the Chilean/Peruvian border disputes as we embark on our final journey to Perù this Saturday.  Since I am accustomed to "spontaneous travel" (i.e. bus to Maipu) this is the extent of the itinerary:

   -Final CIEE party Friday night, carreteando (clubs, discos, possibly more lomitos...) 

   -Quick stop for the luggage, flight to Lima-6:50am Sat morning

   -Less than 24 hours of frantic Lima exploration

   -Flight to Cuzco-6:10am the following day (who needs sleep anyway?)

   -Machu Picchu (probably on the top 10 list of world tourist attractions; I have heard numerous scary stories involving pickpockets and stampeding tour groups clad in matching shirts)

   -A few nights in Puno on the shores of Lago Titticaca, (T-shirt!) and hopefully a homestay with the locals on one of Titticaca`s numerous man-made reed islands

   -San Pedro de Atacama, home to the world`s oldest mummies, sunrise-triggered geysers, and unbelievably expensive completos. 

   -(Collectively)45+ hours of bus time through rainforest, desert, and mountains en route south to Santiago

   Equipped with bottled water and disposable cameras, we are ready to brave customs, stampeding tour groups, and consecutive bus journeys and explore The North.

   Between cramming for finals and helping my host mother debate whether or not to adorn our new stereo with ceramic elephants, (which are gradually taking over the living room,) I have been spending more time in the house over the last couple of weeks.  My recent "intense exposure" coupled with four months of observation (of my own and friends' living situations) have provided me with a deeper understanding of the Chilean family. 

   La madre:  In some respects, the "ideal" Chilean mother resembles June Cleaver (including the pearls.)  She is expected to clean, cook, care for the children, and host frequent family events, all while looking as though she has just stepped out of a Polo ad.  Naturally, this role varies somewhat depending on the family economic situation.  I have observed the mothers of friends who deem it better to leave all domestic duties and child-rearing to the "nana," choosing instead to lounge in bed and watch soap operas and reality TV.  

   In addition, (as in many cultures,) the mother is expected to be completely selfless, devoting all waking hours to the care of the family.  "Time with the girls" and "time at the gym" are possible only for the very wealthy, many of whom go to exclusive workout clubs more "to be seen" rather than improve their physical state. 

   Though Chile certainly has its share of working mothers, I feel that this concept is still not as mainstream as in the States.  (Curiously, the "soccer mom" is also absent, since children here are much less involved in school activities, athletics, etc.) 

   Though the current average age for marriage is probably somewhere in the mid 20`s, Berta, (my 75 year old "mama chilena,") married at age 15 and feels that her 18 year old granddaughter is "running out of time."  (From my experience,) women are expected to be married at some point in their lives.  Widows and those who are "separated" are socially accepted; (divorce, recently legalized and considered "un-Christian," is extremely rare,) "soleteras" who have never been married are not.

    El padre:  The "ideal" Chilean father is either a doctor, lawyer, banker, or business owner, works 9-7, and spends weekends with his extended family.  He has an extensive knowledge of history and culture, (demonstrated by his mastery of "sopaletras"-crossword puzzles,) and numerous theories regarding human nature, politics, and, of course, South American fùtbol.  The father is certainly the head of the family (when not separated,) and fathers of friends have been known to exercise this role by refusing certain types of food when served "too often," etc.  Many fathers, though they enjoy family dinners and cookouts on weekends, spend a few hours every night after work at the bar "unwinding" with friends. 

   Los niños:  Children in Chile (at least in my experience,) "stay younger" much longer than children in the States.  As in many South American countries, it is not uncommon for 30 and 35 year old adults to live with their parents.  (My host sister, who lives at home, is 52.)  While this contributes to a strong sense of family, it also occasionally undermines the independence of the young adult.  (Case in point:  My host mother recently informed me that her daughter does not know how to cook, but maybe she will teach her "someday.")  Children, as I mentioned before, are generally less involved.  When I asked my colegio students if anyone belongs to a sports team or plays a musical instrument, less than 10% of the class raised their hands. 

   I then made the mistake of asking if any of them had an after-school job.  After an awkward silence, one lone boy in the back responded affirmatively.  I have since discovered that, unless the family situation is dire, students here are encouraged to focus completely on their classes and not expected to work part time.  (I am unsure how this lack of committments affects grades; the 18 year old host granddaughter seems to spend most of her time text-messaging friends...) 

   En resùmen:  The family atmosphere in general is more reserved.  Since all family members are not on tight schedules, many families are able to eat and spend evenings together on a daily basis.  Social commitments are also more rare; a Chilean friend commented that going to a movie here is discussed with the same reverence as space travel (maybe someday...)  Family vacations usually consist of a few weeks at a beach house in January, though by attending the "Harvard of Chile" (Universidad Catòlica) I have met children of  wealthier familes who travel internationally.   All in all, observing my family here has made me more appreciative of my family at home and given me better perspective on Chilean culture in general.

   Study abroad horror stories.  Losing credit cards, money, digital camaras.  Being mugged.  Accidentally eating undercooked cow tongue.  Though I have survived all these things and more, I recently experienced something even more terrifying.  I was taken to...(dramatic music)..."the end of the line."  Just days before, an unfortunate friend had a similar experience, in which the micro driver failed to inform her when to get off the bus, and thus she ended up at what she referred to as "the source" (ie bus terminal.)  This, she, revealed in hushed tones, was frightening enough, though the mix-up occured during daylight hours and in a decent neighborhood.  I, however, would not be so lucky...

   The day began like any other.  After a quick breakfast of toasted bread and coffee, I joined the countless rush-hour commuters packing themselves into the metro and attended a few morning classes at Catòlica.  After more metro rides, an hour walk to the UChile campus (though still "en toma," selected professors are now holding classes for international students,) I sat through my 2 hour class, in which the professor informed us that  "the two good things to come out of your country are John Wayne movies and jazz." 

   He concluded the class by reiterating the impossibility of understanding US culture without a working knowledge of westerns, jazz, and (most importantly) Chuck Norris.  I was relieved when class ended and a friend informed us that she was having a party, gave us directions to her house in Tobalaba (one of the nicer neighborhoods,) and told us to come around 10. 

    Thus, vowing to be punctual (for once,) I left my house at 9, allowing plenty of time to track down a micro and travel to Tobalaba, normally a 20 minute ride.  Since micros at night are usually more difficult to find, I was thrilled when one reading "Tobalaba" (along with some other destinations I did not bother to notice) pulled up a few blocks from my house.  My enthusiasm was dampened somewhat when the bus turned in the opposite direction of Tobalaba, but, confident in my familiarity with Santiaguian public transportation, I felt sure it would circle around at some point. 

   An hour later, I became suspicious when we passed a sign welcoming us to Maipu.  My false confidence was replaced with a growing sense of dread.  Trying to recall if I had ever heard of Maipu, I attempted to regain a sense of direction.  Envisioning Dorothy in Oz, I noticed that the neighborhood had changed somewhat, and began to doubt the wisdom of allowing certain passengers to board.  The angry clowns spray-painted on a nearby gas station did nothing to lessen my concerns.  Gradually, the bus grew empty and the neighborhoods more questionable.  As the last passengers exited, the bus went dark.   

   I approached the driver.  "¿Vamos (we`re going) to Tobablaba?" I inquired, ever hopeful.  He grunted and killed the engine.  "This was my last run.  Take a taxi," he muttered.  Though I am normally fine with taxis, suggesting I wait for anything on a corner in that neighborhood seemed equivalent to proposing I jump off a bridge or run into a burning building. 

   "What time is it?" I squeaked, hoping he would realize the danger that may befall a lone gringa wandering through Maipu in the dark. 

   "After 11," he informed me, lighting up a cigarette.  "Where did you get on?"  My reply provoked a long whistle.  He mopped his forehead.  "That`s nearly two hours from here."  He shook his head.  "Good luck."  I stood on the dark bus, envisioning my friends feasting on hot dogs and cake, wondering why I never showed up. 

    Fortunately, as I debated how much a taxi from Maipu would actually cost (probably over $40,) he paused and turned around.  "I`ll see what I can do," he promised.  "Stay on the bus."

    30 minutes and a fair amount of pleading later, another driver agreed to take me back into Santiago after he finished fixing his tire.  The ride home, (which ended up being complimentary,) involved an interesting discussion with the driver regarding the current situation in Bolivia and the "Chilean mentality," among other things.  Our blatant disregard for the "Don`t Talk to the Driver" sign ended when, making a strong point about Catholicism, he nearly drove us into a cement barrier.  We rode the rest of the way in comfortable silence. 

   Fortunately, I was actually able to attend a party last night.  (We walked.)

   Friday night marked the beginning of a new stage in my life:  I have now seen (and enjoyed) a genuine opera.  I have always loved musicals and theatre productions from both sides of the stage, however, when a few "more cultured" European friends suggested an evening at the opera, I was a bit skeptical.  Initial feelings of hesitancy increased when my friends arrived late and we were unable to enter the theatre, encouraged instead to watch the first 53 minutes of Carmen on a large TV screen in the lobby. 

   Once inside, however, I was able to enjoy the true "opera experience."  Santiago`s gorgeous Teatro Municipal is filled with antique chandeliers and traditional red velvet seating-(my favorite amenity, however, was the subtle screen situated above the stage, which displayed Spanish subtitles throughout the performance.  Since I have never studied French-and opera is hard to understand regardless of the language-the subtitles were much appreciated.)  I did, however, recognize several of the songs, many of which are played repeatedly on Saturday morning cartoon shows.  Dinner in one of Santiago`s classier neighborhoods (brandy soup and almond ravioli) completed the evening. 

    Saturday morning a few friends and I tried something else new:  the Chilean version of blueberry pancakes.  "Panqueques" here are always crepes, and we had yet to find a restaurant serving traditional US breakfast food.  As we perused the menu, delirious with the promise of fried eggs, hash browns, and french toast (all outrageously expensive,) I acknowledged my newfound appreciation for Denny`s.  The restaurant, Cafè Melba, is located in the heart of Santiago`s wealthy East side, ("The dogs here are brushed and there are no loose power lines," my friend observed.)  However, strolling past a nearby street filled with US restaurants, we decided that guests at the nearby upscale hotels would not obtain a very complete view of Santiago if they limited themselves to this neighborhood.

    A few hours later I was on the bus to Valparaíso, savoring a chicken sandwich (another milestone, this is the first "non-ham-and-cheese-sandwich" I have been served by my host mother since arriving in Santiago nearly 4 months ago.)  Since it was already dark when our bus arrived, we warily accepted the bus station offer of a nearby hostal and were pleasantly surprised.  Featuring hot water and two bathrooms for $8/night (per person,) the hostal was also centrally located. 

   After dropping off our luggage we headed to a classic Chilean bar for drinks and the Bolivia/Chile fùtbol game.  Screaming with the locals each time Chile scored a goal and scarfing down fries smothered in steak and eggs was a true cultural experience.  Though the bar was supposed to feature live music on weekends, the unfortunate musician was booed off the stage when he interrupted the game with his accordion.

   Sunday was spent exploring the coastal roads and hills of Valpo.  Our first stop was Plaza Victoria, a smaller version of Santiago`s Plaza de Armas, featuring a small carnival, an enormous tree (which one of my friends was anxious to climb) and countless vendors and families enjoying the 60 degree weather.  On the other side of the main street, lined with palm trees, was "Vitamin Service," a curiously christened ice cream shop noted by the guide books for its "scrumptious sandwiches."  We, however, were more impressed by the 2-for-1 ice cream deal.  Unaware of the deal, we ordered 4 flavors. 

   8 scoops of ice cream later, we took acensor (cable car) Espiritù Sanctu up one of Valpo`s many hills, hoping to emerge near our destination, Pablo Neruda`s "La Sebastiana."  Neruda`s third house in Chile, "La Sebastiana" features his trademark nautical decor and collections of interesting souvenirs.  Fortunately, the acensor took us only partially up the hill, and (though this required another exhausting half hour of ascent) it gave us the opportunity to walk past countless murals painted on the surrounding buildings.  The views of the harbor from Neruda`s house were magnificent, and we decided to sit outside after our tour and watch the sun set over the water. 

   Though it was now growing dark, I was determined to show my friends one more Valpo landmark, "Brighton," the restaurant with the great view and fabulous milkshakes I remembered from my previous visit.  "It`s on a hill, overlooking the water," I recalled; "It`s yellow."  My friends proceeded to point out various yellow buildings dotting the surrounding hills, all of them with excellent views of the harbor.  However, in the spirit of our family vacations, I was undeterred and led them in (what I remembered as) the general direction.  We navigated the maze of back streets and sketchy alleys, reaching Brighton a few short hours later.  (Though they seemed a little discouraged at times, morale improved when I offered to buy everyone dinner if we were going the wrong way.)  As I remembered, the view and the milkshakes made the journey worthwhile.    

   After being asked by a Chilean friend yesterday regarding the "mentality necessary to study abroad," I began to think.  After a couple hours of discussion, (and a few cappuccinos) I decided that in order to truly get the most out of his or her experience, one must be able to observe and consider both the best and worst aspects of life abroad.  Thus, I compiled a list of my favorite (and least favorite) aspects of life in Santiago: 

   The Best of Santiago

   -Being surrounded by mountains! (when they are visible through the "esmog")

   -Shopping in the outdoor markets; I never grow tired of browsing through woven llama sweaters, colorful scarves, and very affordable gaudy jewelry.

  -The Chilean schedule.  As a chronically late individual in the States, I find it refreshing to be   consistently early here.  "Early" classes begin at 10 and certain professors are typically 20-30 minutes late for their own classes.

  -Living a bilingual life.  Between classes, my host family, Chilean friends, "gringo" friends, journaling, various "media influences," and traveling, I am constantly able to think, write, and interact in two languages.  This is a very rewarding (though somewhat demanding) experience.  It is particularly interesting when I forget what language I am speaking.

  -In the words of the micro vendors, "Helado, helado, helado!"  As an ice cream fanatic, I was ecstatic upon discovering the abundance of ice cream in Santiago.  Though the ice cream bars on the micros are occasionally of questionable quality, a superior variety is available at the ever-present Nestle "Savory" stands, and ice cream crepe desserts are extremely popular at cafès in  the most upscale neighborhoods.  Although it`s tempting to eat nothing but mint chocolate chip, I have enjoyed sampling the new flavors.  Lùcuma (a peach-shaped fruit, though the ice cream tastes more like butterscotch) and Chirrimoya (another fruit) are favorites.

  -Teaching at the colegio.  Although already familiar with various US artists, (Michelle Branch, Maroon 5) yesterday my class was introduced to Dave Matthews, John Mayer, Matchbox 20, and Bob Dylan, among others.  Most of them enjoyed this experience; (country music, however, produced mixed feelings.)

-The weather!  Yesterday, the US equivalent of Dec 1st, was 60ish and sunny.

-Cultural opportunities.  In addition to the obvious cultural experience of living in another country, and the "cultural events" of Santiago (another free classical concert last night) there are unexpected opportunities as well.  Tuesday night, at a friend`s house, I was able to spend hours talking with students from England, New Zealand, Ireland, Germany, and Argentina, among other places.     

(While I am a perpetual optimist, I feel it is only fair to include "the other side of the coin" as well.  A study abroad experience, while exciting and completely worthwhile, will not always be perfect.) 

The "Worst" of Santiago

   -Constant attention.  While at first it was fun to feel like a movie star, smiling politely at random compliments from the local men, the novelty has long since worn off.  My female friends agree wholeheartedly.

   -Rush hour.  Micros, metro, lines, lines, lines. 

   -Fences.  Nearly all houses and businesses (in at least 48 of the 52 comùnas) are surrounded by spiky looking fences.  Although my host family reminds me this is a necessity here, it seems rather unneighborly.

   -"Spontaneous Attempts to use English."  While I am willing to help others practice their English, it is not very helpful when people feel compelled to shout "Happy Birthday" (and any other English words they can think of) as I walk by.  Friends with blonde hair are even more unfortunate in this respect.

   -And finally, the lack of free refills!  As I was told by a Chilean friend, this, (along with the absence of "put-in-a-quarter-take-out-a-newspaper" dispensers) is due to the Chilean tendency to take advantage of free items.  Apparently McDonalds`attempts to make use of the Free Refill System were thwarted when customers continually purchased one soft drink for 8 or 9 people.

  All in all, of coure, the positives far outweigh the negatives.  Preparing for my first opera experience and a return trip to Valparaiso this weekend, I cannot imagine a better place to study abroad. 

    There are mixed feelings in the Study Abroad World.  Some feel it is best to see as much as you can (several of our fellow van passengers from Mendoza displayed 30+ passport stamps,) while others deem it better to immerse yourself in one area/culture and really get a feel for the place you are living.  Considering both  perspectives, I decided that (after three consecutive weekends of travel) it was time to see a little more of Santiago.  
     My friend`s party early in the week provided an opportunity to immerse ourselves in the "Chilean University Culture."  This included, among other things, a lively discussion of the situation at the University of Chile, which, (along with other universities nationwide,) is currently "en toma"- taken over by the students-with all classes suspended.  We recounted feeling slightly alarmed when greeted by large signs proclaiming "En Toma" as we attempted to attend class Tuesday afternoon.  However, our fellow guests clarified that this "toma" is probably less complex than we`d imagined, often comprised of students, (equipped with only the bare essentials:  sleeping bags and an ample supply of pisco,) camped out in front of the classroom doors.  My host family later commented that this is a nearly annual occurrence, though it often cuts into summer vacation since the students have to make up classes later in the year.

    Fortunately, cultural events have continued, and I was able to attend a classical concert at the university later in the week.  The concert site, Campus Oriente, (formerly a monastery,) features an enormous cathedral, with amazing acoustics and better heating than my apartment. 

    The weather here, although sunny and 60ish today, has been in the high 40`s (F) and rainy for the past few weeks.  Central heating is nearly unheard of, thus my house (like many of my friends`) features only one prized "calefacciòn" (space heater) which is moved from room to room as needed.  I imagine Christmas cards displaying all family members gathered together, drinking eggnog in front of their sole calefacciòn.

   With my host sister`s recommendations, I was able to explore some of Santiago`s discount shopping areas later in the week.  Amazing how one`s conception of expensive is influenced by the environment; after countless discount sweater booths even a $5mil ($10) sweater seemed outrageously overpriced.  Patronato (the discount neighborhood) also includes several cheap shoe stores, though the shoes displayed are often not even remotely similar to those actually for sale.  Store owners do their best to convince wary customers that "Sketchers often goes by a different name," and the peeling rubber soles can be "easily glued back on."  Fortunately, the movie prices are also cheaper than in the States, and with a student discount we were able to view "Star Wars Episodio III" for approx. $4.

    It seemed as though all of Santiago was out on Sunday for "Corpus Cristì" services and El Dìa de Patrimonio.  Nearly all of the city`s museums, government buildings, and landmarks were open for complimentary touring, and the street markets were particularly crowded.  Highlights included a gigantic sand mural near the Plaza de Armas, (home of Santiago`s famous cathedral,) several interesting street performers, and an ambitious dog trying to pull a picnic blanket out from under a sleeping woman in the park.  Countless white tents crowd the plazas and the streets, and we were able to continue our shopping, browsing through woven sweaters, chocolate dipped apples, and every religious article imaginable (St. Teresa coffee mugs, etc.)   

    Although it will be nice not having to deal with pollution or public transportation in WI, I think I will miss all of the activity that comes with living in a city of 5 million.  I certainly discovered that is not necessary to leave Santiago to see and experience new things.