del piel

Then I arrived.  Forty-six (46) hours after my 10 degree, snow-dusted, icy departure from the Appalachians, my bus pulled into La Torre bus station in el centro ("the center"/downtown) of Antofagasta, Chile.  It was 6:45am, the deep-purple premorning light had just stumbled over the abutting Cerros peaks and I was one phone call away from arriving at my new home.  *phone calls in Spanish relating really important information like time, place, and fine details are my favorite!

$200 Chilean pesos (about 40 US cents) bought passage to the bus station bathroom where I readily brushed the teeth, washed my face and satisfied several other overdue hygiene needs. After deciding I looked presentable enough to meet my new Chilean family, I exited the station and awaited my ride (Maria Ines, international coordinator at the university).

On my ride through the city I learned from Maria that I will not be staying with a Chilean family, but rather a single woman and her sister who have a spare bedroom at their house (no worries, they're both in their upper fifties and quite motherly!)  Patricia, my mama Chilena, is an endearing 57 year-old divorcee who enjoys her weekly Lions club meeting, cooking, going to the supermarket, cleaning up after me and watching telenovelas (soap operas).  She is such the motherly type.  I'm honestly having a bit of a hard time adjusting to not having any house chores, not being allowed to clean my own dishes (I talked her into letting me at least take them to the sink...sometimes), not preparing ANY of my meals and having my laundry done for me. But hey, it's la vida Chilena, and I'm not about to go messing with any cultural norms and standards.  Speaking of which...

Personal space definitely seems to be a bit minimized in the Chilean culture.  Well, really there's just less of a sense of privacy and "personal" anything, creating a much more OPEN culture all around, which has it's pluses and minuses.  I definitely haven't adjusted to walking down the beach and seeing a butt naked guy changing into a wetsuit, or a couple on the street corner (or in the supermarket, or anywhere) making out + passionately engaging in motley

PDA; it's relatively common to see some dude urinating in public and the shower in our bathroom has a large open window at eye-level that looks into the kitchen.  Yet, this unique cultural openness flows into all aspects of interpersonal relationships in a very neat way.  Chileans in general don't seem to waste much time on establishing precedence, beating around the bush, or putting on a front within their relationships and personal conversations.  For example, if they have a question about something, they're gonna ask it, be it how much you weight, how much your house cost, or even a girl coming up and asking if you have a girlfriend.  Personally, I greatly appreciate this aspect of the cultural honesty and openness and think that most gringos (*in South America "gringo" is NOT a racial slur at all but a mere "white person" classification) could use a healthy dose of it.

*I have a theory (okay fine, it's probably just an hypothesis right now) about how this kind of cultural standard (proximity and privacy) is established by a simple traditions like greeting all females with a kiss on the cheek.

Anyway, I really said all that to get to a short/funny story about personal property:

My first day here (Thursday) I set up my room just how I wanted it, a bit obsesive-compulsive like, quite intentionally placing an item here or there (these books on this side the bookshelf, Grace's picture on this side of my bed my bed, my backpackers head lamp around this moderately sized statue of Mary, Joseph and baby Jesus, etc.).  I guess it was part of the whole "first-day" here, make this place feel like home so I won't be homesick thing.  Nevertheless, before long the room was set up pretty shnazzy-like how I wanted it and I was all unpacked. Until...Friday afternoon when I returned from the university after a morning spent meeting the other foreign exchange students and traveling downtown to the the departments of Investigative Police and Civil Identity and Registration to settle visa and residency issues.

Apparently, Cecelia the house maid/cleaning woman comes to our house every Tuesday and Friday and cleans everything.  EVERYTHING.  I don't think a single item in my room went untouched, and it was already clean and orderly!  My hats went from hanging here to sitting on this shelf over there, and the books I was reading on my nighstand had disappeared altogether, along with my tent, sleeping bag, and backpack.  Surprise!  After some time, I found the backpack ontop of the closet (which is just a small personal wardrobe) and shortly after found my tent and sleeping bag inside.  My asthma medication and personal documents took a little longer to find, hidden in a column of five drawers in my computer desk, but in search of those items I found my dirty clothes bag stashed in an adjacent cubby.  The books on my shelf were REorganized, my toiletry bag tidied up, and I'm pretty sure she folded my underoos in my underwear drawer...ay yah yi.  What's funny is that I left everything where she put it only to find it all rearranged again the following Tuesday after her cleaning. *I'm really looking forward to coming home from my Antropología Cristiana class tomorrow afternoon.  It's like the good old days of easter egg hunts...except every Tuesday and Friday afternoon!

Well, maybe next time I'll talk about living in the driest desert in the world, delicious Chilean cuisine, discoteching until 5am, beach volleyball, surfing in the south pacific, or picnicing on an empty beach between the cliffs and crystal blue 8 foot waves.  

Or, I could expound on brushing my teeth and arranging my room...check back soon.