After a delicious breakfast in the hostel, we headed towards Pufolil in Chonchi. There we met with a group of women running artisan shop. They used dead tree limbs from the nearby forest to make beautiful new wooden pieces, everything from cutting boards accompanied by ceramic plates to benches to wall hangings. The women prepared us (another) delicious breakfast where everything was homemade, even the butter.

Our yummy breakfast – all homemade

Some of the pieces made by the artisans

Then we headed off for a nature walk in the forest. We learned about the different types of plants, some which can be used for hand moisturizer and others which can help with diabetes.

The trees grow tall very quickly in this forest in order to reach the sunlight to survive

The view at the end of our walk

Plant that we rubbed on our hands as moisturizer

We headed back to the workshop to make keychains out of little pieces of wood. Seeing a room full of power tools run by a group of women really warmed my feminist heart.

In the zone

Halfway through our keychain making adventures, our lunch was ready. Let’s just say we certainly didn’t go hungry.  We finished up our keychains and off to a sheep farm we went! The farm was in nearby Romazal, also in Chonchi. The farm sold sweaters, slippers, hats and more made from sheep wool. It was hard not to buy all of it because it all looked so cozy. We headed out for a walk down the road where I discovered I speak sheep. Yeah. That’s right. I’m trilingual and I didn’t even know it. Then the farmer shows us how his dogs heard the sheep, and he let us hold the little sheepies. I got pooped on and my pants ripped while putting it down (I told you I got fed well), but I can honestly say that this was an absolutely incredible experience. And the day wasn’t even over yet!

Pre-poop. Don’t worry. I was just as excited post-poop. Photo credits to the amazing photographer, Marley Crank.

After bidding farewell to the farmer, we headed to Cucao to explore the beach, check in to Hostal Palafito Cucao, and have an asado (barbeque). We did some yoga and an ab circuit before the asado to try to free up some space in our stomachs after all we had eaten today. It didn’t really work, but we still managed to stuff our faces some more. Now preparing for trekking tomorrow, and by “preparing” I mean sleeping.

View from the hostal

Location: Chonchi, Chiloé, Chile

We flew out of Santiago headed towards Puerto Montt and took a ferry from Puerto Montt to the beautiful island of Chiloé. We drove to Puñihuil to eat lunch, see some penguins, and learn about sustainable tourism, but not before stopping to snap some photos of the view.  From Puñihuil we headed off to Castro, the largest city on the island. We are staying in a gorgeous “palafito” (house on stilts) hostel and had an amazing dinner at the restaurant next door before learning about Chiloé’s history and mythology from a local historian. Now it’s time to zzzzzzz…

Spotted some otters while riding on the ferry

Almost on the island! Keep chuggin’ along, ferry!!

Stopped to enjoy the view…

…and take a selfie with the cows on our way to Puñihuil

Stopped to snap some photos of gorgeous Puñihuil before lunch

Am I Chilean yet?

PINGÜINOS!!!!

Location: Puñihuil, Chiloé, Chile

Laughing at how bad we are at shaping empanadas and crying because onion juice is in our eyes. Here are some photos from our adventures making empanadas de queso y verduras, (corn, vegetables, and cheese), empanadas de pino (meat, an olive, and a hard boiled egg), pebre (what people in the U.S. call “salsa”), and pan amasado (a type of bread):

Chopping veggies for the pebre

Shaping those empanadas

Our beautiful empanadas ready for the oven

More chopping and our wonderful teacher, Señora Sonia

Not going to lie, I’m not too big on the empanadas de pino. Empanadas de queso on the other hand…that’s a recipe I will be bringing back to the States with me. Happy eating, folks!

Location: Providencia, Santiago, Chile

Driving up through the Andes on our way to Valle Nevado to ski for the day

Slowly but surely adjusting to winter in the Southern Hemisphere

Yeah. We took a selfie on the ski lift. We’re not ashamed.

I know the outfits are deceiving, but we actually did go skiing today and not in the ’90s.

Everyone stopped skiing as a cloud covered the mountain

“When you can’t find the bunny hill”

When you can’t see 10 feet in front of you. It’s cool, clouds. We’ll just chill here for a sec.

Location: Valle Nevado, Vitacura, Chile

When it comes to living in the U.S., I’m not a big supporter of bras (get it…support). If I were a cup size or two smaller, I would never wear one. And I do like to think that 1960’s Emma would’ve been the first person in the street burning her bra at a women’s rights protest. But I do have to say, there is no more helpful piece of clothing than a bra when it comes to life in Chile. My bra is my lifeline. I put everything in there. My keys, phone, money, metro card. You name it, it is in my bra.

Now I do get some strange looks when someone calls me and I stick my hand down my shirt, but there’s a method to my madness. In the US, most females store their belongings in their bra for convenience because they do not want to carry around a purse. In Chile, I do it for safety. I may not be able to feel someone slipping my debit card out of my pocket while I’m riding the metro (which I’ve had to do a lot now that classes have started). Someone may grab my purse while I’m walking down the street. However, I do think I’ll notice if someone sticks there hand down my bra. Plus boob sweat makes stuff stick in there, making things a whole lot harder for a thief. Therefore, bra = best storage location for all important items. If someone sticks their hand in my pocket or steals my purse, jokes on them because all they’re getting is a handful of tissues (some used), some chapstick, a half-empty water bottle, and a crap ton of tampons. Stay safe and happy travels, folks!

Location: San Joaquin, Santiago, Chile

Wow. That title sounds intense. Why did I pick that title? Well because my parents read my blog, and I thought it would make them a little less concerned that I went out clubbing. I don’t think it will worked though because I also just admitted that I have indeed attended frat parties before. Sorry Mom and Dad.

Anyways. Last night after seeing Los33 (amazing movie about the 2010 mine collapse in Chile), we went out to dinner at a Mexican restaurant to celebrate the birthday of one of the girls in my program (Happy birthday, Serena!). After some delicious food, we headed to Club 57. There is a program for exchange students at La Católica (the university where I’m studying) called CAUC. CAUC organizes trips to see different parts of Chile, barbeques to socialize with Chilean students at the university, and parties at clubs in Santiago (like the one I attended last night).

As we left dinner and started walking, I’m not going to lie, I got a little nervous. We were going to a club in a big city. We had been warned to not bring anything important with us because it would most likely get stolen (but honestly, this is a risk just taking the subway or walking down a crowded street). The women in my program had also been warned that men at clubs are very persistent and will ask you to dance again and again and again and again… My first reaction to this was “Wow! They actually ask you to dance?” Men (and when I say men, I don’t mean all men) will sneak up behind you on the dance floor and start rubbing the fabric covering their genitalia against the fabric covering your buttocks. Super sexy. What really gets to me is that many men at frats (or clubs or bars or wherever you are out dancing) do not ask. They just have this weird sense of entitlement over a woman’s body and think that just because you are out dancing that you want to dance with them. Now it can be argued that men at frats are too scared to ask girls to dance at the risk of being rejected, so they try to ease into dancing with someone. But wouldn’t you rather be turned down with a “no” instead of risking possible sexual harassment charges?

We arrived at Cub 57 and there weren’t that many people there. This was to be expected because clubs and bars don’t usually fill up until 2AM and people leave around 5AM, as opposed to American party hours which seem to fall between 10PM and 2AM. As more and more people arrived and staff moved the tables and chairs out of the way, we started dancing and having a grand old time. Much to my surprise, nobody was asking us to dance. The dance floor seemed to be relatively safe. As long as we all stuck to ourselves and danced like complete idiots, we were fine. But then I had to go to the bathroom (with a friends of course – buddy system!). As soon as I left the dance floor and started searching for a place to “break the seal” (as the kids say these days), it started. Some asked in English, others asked in Spanish. But they all grabbed your arm. Right above the elbow, at the bicep. That was something that nobody had warned me about. This arm grab made it a little more forced and not as polite as I had expected. I was kind of hoping for a nice hand offer. I supposed this physical contact when asking a woman to dance is better than a man placing his junk near your junk, like in the US. Regardless, it was unwanted physical contact, so I didn’t feel the slightest bit bad turning them down. As everyone became more and more inebriated, the dance floor was no longer a safe haven no matter how crazy you danced. Believe me. I tried.

Man: Would you like to dance?

Me: No, thanks.

Man: Would you like to dance?

Me: No.

Man: Dance?

Me: No.

But as the night went on, our patience ran thin. Rejections became less and less polite.

Man: Would you like to dance?

My friend: No.

Man: What’s your name?

Friend: No.

Man: What’s your name?

Friend: …

I think I can conclude that I prefer the Chilean way. Asking first is always better. But both cultures are not completely up to par in terms of respecting women. Now you may say, “If you don’t want to dance with guys, just don’t go out.” I say to you, “why do I have to stay in and not the guys?” In conclusion:

Rule 1.) No touchy unless you asky.

Rule 2.) No means no.

My apologies in advance. This is not one of my funnier posts; it’s more of a this-is-what-I -did post. So if you are not my mom or dad, you have no obligation to read this.

On Saturday, I visited Valparaíso and Viña del Mar with the other chicos in my program. In Valparaíso, we visited one of three of Pablo Neruda’s houses. It was a beautiful house with 5 levels and had a beautiful view of the Pacific. However, it felt really strange being there. It felt like I was at one of Pablo’s (or should I say Neftalí’s?) parties to which I wasn’t invited. It was a cool experience to have, but I got an unwelcoming vibe (probably because I prefer to address a famous Nobel Prize winning poet by his first name).

Pablo Neruda’s house

The view from the 5th floor of Pablo Neruda’s Valparaíso house

After our visit to Pablo’s house, we walked the streets of Valparaíso, looking at the famous hills chock-full of colorful houses and admiring the graffiti. I definitely want to beach it for a day in Valparaíso when the weather gets a little warmer.

Graffiti in Valparaíso

“Use the bike”

“Do something good today”

The hills of Valparaíso

We took an ascensor (just like the Incline in Pittsburgh) down a hill and walked toward the port, passing by the Chilean Naval building. On our way to admire the ocean, we got a few Halo’s and a few middle fingers. I guess when you’re sightseeing with 21 students, it’s hard to blend in. I swear, it wasn’t us being obnoxious Americans.

Chile’s Naval building

By the port, a gringo who you can tell is a gringo

Our last stop was Viña del Mar for lunch before walking along the beach. We ate at an Italian restaurant. Why not Chilean cuisine? (1) Our professors chose the restaurant. (2) I’m not gonna lie, Chilean food is kinda meh. It’s pretty bland in my opinion. However, I did eat a Chilean (or, depending on who you ask, Peruvian) dessert called suspiro limeño (dulce de leche pudding under meringue topping – YUM!).

Flower clock, a gift from Switzerland

Suspiro limeño

Along the beach, there were vendors selling everything from Chilean flag hats to alpaca sweaters. Guess which one I bought? You guess it, the alpaca sweater! I’m planning on wearing it to class Monday, so maybe I’ll snap a photo for you to admire its gorgeousness. Chao for now!

The beach in Viña del Mar

Location: Valparaíso, Chile

I’m constipated. Seriously. I recently pooped for the first time since I left my house in the U.S. I left Saturday morning and finally pooped Tuesday. That’s four days of no pooping. I’m telling you this not because I’m crazy (which I am), but because I feel like this constipation is very symbolic of learning a language in a new place. Allow me to explain:

At first, you don’t feel like you even have to poop. You need some time. You don’t speak much. You’re just waiting it out. You’re enjoying being in a new place, but you are also too nervous to talk or poop. You are very thankful that people are understanding of not wanting/being able to speak much yet. In the same way, you are thankful that you don’t have to poop yet because pooping in a new place can be awkward at first (even though everybody does it).

Then you get a little gassy. You try a new food that your host mom serves you. You think that you could poop now, but you’re going to wait. You blurt out only words or short phrases as you grow more comfortable in this new location.

Then you lose all inhibitions and go for it (and by go for it, I mean when everybody is asleep or out of the apartment). You decide to not be embarrassed and just poop. Just speak whenever you have something to say, whether it is grammatically correct or not.

I suppose the moral of the story is, when learning a new language, one cannot be embarrassed to make mistakes. This constipation will only make it harder and harder to build up the courage to speak. Just poop already!

On a side note, the toilets do not flush the opposite direction compared to the U.S. (see my first post). They kind of just suck everything down. Now you can go hope, pray, cross fingers, wish upon a star, do whatever you have to do to ensure that I don’t get kicked off the Penn State Geoblog for writing about poop.

Location: Providencia, Santiago, Chile

I sat next to a really nice lady on the plane to Santiago whose husband went to Penn State. We talked about La Católica, where her daughter went to school and one of the universities affiliated with my program.

Freak out moment #1: When I realized I had lost the nice lady and had no one to answer my questions about the Santiago airport, immigration, and customs.

Freak out moment #2. When I realized that I had to speak Spanish to the immigration officers because they don’t speak English. No one flying from Miami to Santiago is dumb enough to not know any Spanish.

Freak out moment #3. When I met my host Mom. Apparently her information that was sent to me is out of date because her kids are a lot older now and I don’t believe they all live with her anymore, if I understood her correctly… She also has a little girl named Antonia who makes the best facial expressions. So far I’ve met Paola (the mom), the older daughter (I forget her name…that’s good….), and Antonia.

First impression of Santiago: There’s way more palm trees here than I expected.

My host mom is very nice, and I understand way more than I expected. I’m all unpacked. She fed me tea and eggs for breakfast and told me about Santiago. She spoke about all of the immigrants that live here (many Korean, Chinese, and Peruvians). I gave her gifts for hosting me (mostly chocolate, because everyone loves chocolate). Antonia wouldn’t eat her lunch, so she ate the chocolate covered pretzels that I brought instead. We discussed my orientation schedule for the next two weeks, and then went to the bank and grocery store. I think my experiences on the flight were way crazier than they have been here so far, but it is nice to relax. I’m sure that will change soon though!

My room.

Location: Providencia, Santiago, Chile

No troubles in Philadelphia, just some mediocre mac and cheese for lunch and a garlic stick. The Miami airport – last stop before Santiago!

When I checked in at BWI, I was only given 2 boarding passes and was told that I would obtain my 3^rd one in Miami. After figuring out how to obtain my 3^rd boarding pass, I wandered through the airport to find a place for some dindin. After watching Chef a few months ago on Netflix, I really wanted to try a Cuban sandwich and what better place to try it than Miami! (Watch the movie. It’ll make you want one too.) I chose a bar called Ku-Va (the phonetic spelling of Cuba, for those of you who need a little help sometimes). I walked in, sat down, and the bartender said Hola to which I responded Hello. “Hello? Really Emma? You’re moving to South America for 4.5 months and you’re going say Hello the first time someone greets you with an Hola??” I think the real reason this happened was because I’m from the Kennett Square area (which has a large Mexican and Puerto Rican influence). If I walk into a Hispanic restaurant in Kennett Square, nobody will greet me with Hola because I am white (racial profiling? if you can even call it that). Many times it is rude to speak Spanish because the people serving believe you are insulting their level of education, especially if they are very proficient in English. But I think I can deal with a little racial profiling if the worst thing that happens when I am profiled as white is I don’t get to practice the second language that I learned while attending a nationally ranked high school and then an internationally known college. #whitepriviledge #deep #iwentthere.

Anyways, back to the sandwich. I wasn’t expecting to like it because I’m not a fan of pickles, but it was delicious! So delicious that I couldn’t wait to take a bite of it before snapping a picture, so here is a photo of my partially eaten Cubano:

El Cubano: pork, ham, Swiss cheese, pickles, and yellow mustard on Cuban bread.

Sandwich devoured, I stood in line to board my flight to Santiago. This lady in line asked me in Spanish what boarding group I was in. The best part…I understood her! The little victories count too.

Location: Miami, FL