"Lost on a Mountain in Maine" was a good book that didn't get proper critical acclaim

My trip to Torres Del Paine has been over for about 5 days, and I will leave you with one last informative survival tip: Don't go hiking at 5am in the morning.

As you might expect, this early hour happens to coincide with pitch darkness. Even with this knowledge in our side pockets, my friends and I were determined to witness the famed "Torres" (or Towers) of Paine in the full red glow of sunrise. Predictably, we headed up the mountain and lost the path within 7 minutes. After this point, we started walking up massive boulders with headlights projecting only slightly more light than BK Knights light up shoes (high top version). (or maybe it was just my crappy headlamp).

Anyway, as luck would have it, I ended up getting separated from my friends, and long story short, bushwacked through a highly densified forest and ended up climbing the wrong mountain. This mistake did not go unrewarded however, as I was a mountain over from the regular look out spot and got a straight on perfect angle of the towers as the sun came up. Oh, and on the way down (when there was daylight), I realized I scaled a mountain that was prone to massive land slides. (This post is quantative evidence that i am not dead, which is good). My side excursion obviously pissed my friends off who were minutes away from calling the Mounties and organizing a search party. They winningly decided against this course of action when they found me napping in my tent.

Since the hike, I have been in Ushuaia, Argentina, a small city which boldly calls itself "El Fin Del Mundo" (End of the World). The is a town directly south of Ushuaia and I anticipate some pretty vicious border wars in the upcoming months to capture the official ass of the world title. (They actually use this expression. proudly).

Ushuaia is a really cool port city with massive mountains, store theft sensors that freak out every other time I pass through (which is not what a gringo who already sticks out like a sore thumb needs), and a time capsule for future residents. This is not any ordinary time capsule however. We have all participated in the ritual of putting some items in a box, folder or underground container, only to forget about opening it in 10 years time. Well Ushuaia did us all one better (or 490). They have a 500 year time capsule that will be open in 2492. I am skeptical if this is enough time. Needless to say, the residents are anxiously stirring in anticipation.

I am off to the town south of Ushuaia (Puerto Williams) and I will obviously report back on the warfare tactics being strategized by this colony. I am thinking paper mache Trojan Horses or Penguins.

Olga is spanglish for uninvited

Olga, an Israeli female, had no problem arriving to the park solo and asking a group of 4 visibly fit Israeli guys if she could hike with them. The guys, who could probably finish the Iditarod in one business week (without shirts), reluctantly allowed her to latch on to their trek. This proved to be a less than awesome decision.

Olga held her own the first day, making it the whole 17 miles, and lagging behind only a little. At this point in the trip, I had cultivated a great amount of respect for Olga. This was before learning she sidled on to the guys' hike, and... before the second day. Olga neglected to break in her boots prior to the trip, and both of her feet had achieved 3rd or 4th degree blisters (if those existed) by the morning of second day. Her feet were bubbled and red beyond belief. At this point, the Israeli guys suggested Olga turn around and get medical attention.

You'd be crazy to think a girl named Olga wouldn't continue on, to the utter dismay of the guys. For the next three days, one of the three guys had to stay behind and walk with Olga. At times, no one walked with her. This was interesting because one of the times she was alone and descending a pretty formidable slope, she fell and twisted her ankle. Since they had left the campsite before us, we walked up on her lying on the ground. We helped her out and from then on, she believed we were friends and we enjoyed her company*.

On the fourth day, the guys ditched her completely. That day, we got to our campsite at about 4:30pm, and assumed she stopped at the last campsite to rest up. To our surprise, at about 7:30pm she arrived raging mad and complaining about the guys leaving her behind. Directly after her rather embarrassing (and loud) rant, she calmly strolled over to our tent area to ask if she could hike with us for the remainder of the trip.

Tim, being the generous person he is, extended his index finger in my general direction, adding "he's in charge". The answer was obviously no, but choosing the path of least resistence, I said we had big hike tomorrow, possibly even finishing the circuit altogether (which would have been the South American equivalent of finishing the Iditarod in a week (without pants)) and that we would talk in the morning.

That night, I didn't enjoy a particularly restful night sleep, as I was trying to conjure up a gentle way to turn down Olga 's request. I also slept like crap because 10 feet away from me, Olga and her tent mate (some person she met when she arrived to the campsite) were talking all night long. Apparently, they only know selective english, preferring not to register my pleadings of "stop talking", "shut up" and "why are you doing this to me??"

I decided that all cordialness was out the window when morning came around, and I would give Olga a piece of my mind. My inner "meany" was never unleashed however, as she emerged from her tent and announced that she was being evacuated out of the park and she was going to the hospital. I gave her my best sympathetic apology and then walked away. Probably pumping my fist.

*She was mistaken.

I didn't know Chile and Israel were bordering countries

Chile has approximately 15 million people living within its borders, 12 million of which are Israeli*.

While this may not be entirely accurate, there are a crap load of young Israeli travelers in Chile, in particular in the southern portion of the country. Once finished their mandatory army service, each man and woman (and presumably their friends who skip out on military service too) pack a sizable bag and go to South America. Torres Del Paines seemed to be a popular congregation point for the hoards, as our bus of 40 people to the park was well over 50% Israeli. I pretended to be South Korean obviously.

When Tim, Ryan and I arrived to the park we were eager to be the first group on the trail so we didn't have to deal with other groups and the awkwardness of passing them and having to say thanks and good luck as they privately created nicknames for us such as; bastards, $hitheads, John Tesh lovers, etc. As we approached the trail, two groups of Israeli's jumped ahead of us. However, shortly thereafter Tim, Ryan, myself and my morbidly obese backpack blew past the other groups, and assumed that we wouldn't see them again for the rest of the hike. (partially because they had a girl with them and mostly because Tim reminded us that we were superior physical specimens with above average sized quads*). We hiked 17 miles that day, which was approximately twice as many miles as I had walked since thanksgiving. Needless to say, after hiking that far with an underfed 9th grader on my back, i couldn't move when I woke up. (The frost on my tent didn't help either).

Categorized by night, this is how far away (In American feet) the Israeli's tents were from ours: (ps our measurement system is consistently the # 1 complaint foreigners have about us (Actually, it's probably more like #7):
Night 1) 13
Night 2) 45
Night 3) 35
Night 4) The girl was 10 feet away and by herself, which was comical because the guys ditched her. This may require an additional post to explain their distaste (and our eventual distaste) for Olga. After this night, the Israeli guys left us in the dust and Olga left to occupy a shared hospital room somewhere in Chile.

All of this obviously sheds light on the fact that I will be fluent in Hebrew well before I can effectively tell the spanish speaking dry cleaners i don't like starch in my shirts.

* The remaining 3 million are stray dogs.
** Simply not true.

Other than underprepared, the best way to describe my camping trip was..

Grossly negligent. Apparently it snows and water freezes when it is below 32 degrees. I also received confirmation that snow becomes quite fluffy when it's below 20.

Weather aside, the trip was an unmitigated success and I can honestly say that I have 10 blisters on my feet. The trip was great and besides carrying the equivalent of a well fed 6th grader on my back for a week, it went off with out a hitch. I will not bore you trying to pervey how breathtaking the scenery was, but just know that it was conclusively above average and at every moment the view nearly made me crap my pants. (In a good way of course).

I went hiking for 7 days in "Torres Del Paines" with my friend Ryan from Boston and Tim from England through a region of the Andes equipped with Glaciers, 12,000 foot mountains and more horse poop than must be ecologically allowable. The park has "Refugios" sporadically dispersed throughout the park, which are houses/huts offering a variety of basic needs such as outhouses, running water, equipment rental, some food for sale (mostly 5 lb. containers of mayo), slightly insane attendants, etc. These refugios are deeply removed from modern roads and therefore, rely on horses (and cowboys) to stock their supplies and remove trash. These horses take the same trails as I took, however they go a lot faster and don't take as many breaks. A byproduct of the horse riding the trail is their ability to relieve themselves in stride. They litter the narrow path with supersized dumps (or smushy rocks), which on more than a dozen occasions found the bottom of my hiking boot. By the end of the trip we couldn't have cared less what or how much we were stepping in.

The park was aggressively beautiful. Any of the epic cinematic feats with devastatingly lush landscapes such as Lord of the Rings, Jurassic Park III, Joe Versus the Volcano, etc. could have been filmed in Southern Chile. (On a side note, Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan were downright mediocre in JVTV. However, by all indications, they are getting ready to release a new film entitled "Sleepless Joe Checking Email on a Volcano in Seattle". Look for it).

Some items you probably don't need in the Chilean wilderness and make your pack a hernia waiting to happen: 1) Fisher price extender fishing rod made of D-grade plastic. 2) Five books when you are hiking 15 miles a day. (nothing like cuddling up to a good page turner in sub-artic temps after sweating your ass off for 7 hours). 3) Two generally solid lbs. of butter.

A few items you may want to consider allowing in your bag: Deodorant, a blowup sleeping mat without holes, sherpa, etc. On this note, I would like to rescind my comments about Tomas (the endlessly smelly German) being the most odorific man in South America. While he was seemingly hide-and-go-seeking fecal matter throughout our Hostel room, without deodorant, it probably appeared that I was playing this game using all of my available pockets (and shoe soles).

ps. I apologize for the general theme of this post. The next one will inevitably be about dandelions or Joe's internet connection in Seattle.

Canteen Boy

Match day with the father came and went, and in the end, he squeaked by me 6-2, 6-0. I definitely had him on the ropes in the second set though.

As indicated by the score, I was ruthlessly slaughtered by the 59 year old Chilean. He dominated every aspect of the game (including but not limited to; 1st serve %, fore & backhands, ability to keep the ball in bounds, attire, choice of beverage during breaks, etc.) and methodically ran me around like a cocker spaniel. It was fun though. I like to think of myself as a taller Micheal Chang.

All week I have been preparing for a camping trip in the Southern Part of Chile, near Anartica. I am meeting up with a friend from the states (from my soccer team in Boston) and his buddy from England. (I assume that due to his place of origin, he can play soccer too). It has been an 8 hour a day job trying to buy hiking gear in foreign stores. I analyzed the hell out of what tent to buy. I finally settled on a solo tent and then realized I didn't fit in it, so i had to return it for a two man tent. I have difficulty enough returning things in the States. Here, it took a full morning of preparation, including reviewing some choice vocab and enjoying some cookie crisps cereal. (which, by the way, are amazing. Pedro's fav).

Explaining what items I was looking for proved to be quite challenging. In one store, I wanted to buy a pair of those pantshorts (with the zipper at the knees), so i approached one of the female attendants to ask where they were. The look on her face when I asked for a pair of pants with a zipper at the knees was memorable. This might have been because I didn't know the word for zipper and without thinking it through, pointed at my crotch to signify zipper the best I could. I basically asked; "where are the pants with... (penis' (peni?) around the knees)". Needless to say, they had no pants like that.

Anyway, I will be out of range for until March 26th or so. In the meantime, Me and my 105 lb backpack shall hope I don't get eaten by a puma or mountain lion (they don't have bears here). On that note, I've informed my friends I am camping with, that if i do have a misfortunate accident and they need to eat me for survival-needs only, I am totally cool with that. I further advised them to stay away from my legs, because my mom always told me I had chicken legs. I recommended they go for my Biceps, because I have massive biceps. (And by massive, I mean adolescent girl-like).

ps. the picture of the little boy a few days ago was Shea, my nephew (Beth's son). We have comparably sized biceps.

Olympics part deux or dos or someother spanish phrase I don't get

So the Arniboldi's (the family i am currently staying with) are slightly surprised that I can play (at a decent level) traditionally non-american sports such as Soccer, Tennis, Ping Pong, etc. Therefore, everyday this week, I have been signed up to participate in one competitive arrangement after another. The night I arrived, I was thrown into a soccer game of 19-year olds with vastly greater stamina, foot skills and spanish than I. I am pretty sure I held my own, but because I can't understand what they're saying, i just assumed that when they were laughing (which was regularly), it was at my expense. I'll give you one guess what my nickname was.. (Hint: It rhymes with the name of a wild australian dog and the third most famous Beatle).

Tennis is their big game, and they have developed an intricate ladder system, where I have to first beat Pedro to play Tere, and then beat Tere to play the 19-year old son Lucho, and then beat him to play the father. I managed to get to the third round, where my efforts were twarted by Lucho , 6-3, 4-3 (play was suspended due to a huffing and puffing gringo).

Even though I didn't beat Lucho, I still get to play the father tomorrow. This is because any law abiding Chilean would never forgo the opportunity to make an American look like a idiot chasing furry yellow balls on red clay.

Anyway, last night we had a heated game of Texas Hold'em (poker). Actually, i should probably rephrase that: last night they had a heated game of Texas Hold'em. Pedro put me all in on the first hand when I had two Ace's. I was 95.2% certain I would win. The board showed nothing and then a 6 was turned on the river. Excellent I thought, I win. Pedro obviously had pocket 6's, but was graceful in his victory, adding "nice hand bitch." The game from then on seemed to be quite enjoyable.



.

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Me, after orange sauce dessert yesterday.

Power Lunchin' it up. (Length=long, Content=yes).

I had lunch with one of the most powerful men in Chile yesterday. Unfortunately, prior to our meal, I wasn't entirely aware of this. Agustin was a friend of my Aunt from college and he is certainly one of those "post-college-success-stories" you read about. He is the owner and director of "El Mercurio", the most popular and heavily circulated periodical in Chile. Basically, it's the New York Times, but on a National level. (I would say it's like USA TODAY, except for the fact that USA TODAY is USA TODAY. (Although they do have an exceptionally clever color scheme for the section headings. Who knew LIFE was purple?)). He also runs 6 or 7 subsidiary newspapers and his last name uncoincidentally shares the name with a prominent Chilean Bank.

I was probably underprepared for the meeting, as I made a last minute decision to change out of my flip flops, blue shorts and Mmmmellowfest T-shirt.

I showed up to the "El Mercurio" headquarters (campus) and went to the visitor check-in desk and after waiting for a few minutes, announced "Estoy encontrando con Agustin" (I am meeting with Agustin (I used his last name too)). Silence ensued. Blank stares and silence are things I have grown accustomed to after I speak in Spanish, but this time it wasn't due to a lack of understanding. The fellow asked me to clarify my statement, so I said "Estoy comiendo almuerzo con Agustin" (I am eating lunch with Agustin). At this point, other front desk workers started to gather around and smirk at each other, most likely pondering something like "Stupid gringo. He doesn't know what he's talking about." (To take a step back: In the States, this would be like showing up to the Microsoft Headquarters and non-chalantly informing the reception person that you had a meeting with Bill Gates (or maybe Paul Allen).

One of the reception guys smiled and asked me to write my name on a sheet of paper (probably to put me on a running list of idiot blond fellows he's met). I got through writing S-t-u-a- when another man tapped me on the shoulder and asked me if I was Mr. Poole. After moments of concentration, I said yes. All 8 reception workers stopped chuckling and stared at me dead pan. It wasn't since I got asked out by 4 girls in one day in 5th grade that I felt that cool. (Just in case you were wondering, I accepted Dierdra's offer to not really talk, hold hands once a week and generally be awkward around).

The man advised me to drive my car through the gates and towards the main office. I followed his instructions and parked my '86 baby blue Subaru station wagon in a parking lot with mostly Mercedes, Audi's, Porche's and other high performance vehicles. I was then met by another man who informed me that this was not the correct place to park, and rather, I should park my car on the front lawn, approximately 30 yards from the main office entrance. There was only one other car there, which looked decisively more official than the well-used Subaru I was driving.

I was escorted and passed off to two more employees before getting to Agustin's private dining room. There, I looked at the display of newspapers and pretended to know what they said until Agustin walked in. Agustin was an exceedingly intellengent man, who was very thoughtful and kind. He let me in on the secrets of the Newspaper Business and I tried to give him tips (like start a new section (maybe even Newspaper) entirely dedicated to Sudoku or use more big colorful pictures, etc).

I told Agustin about my travel plans and he strongly suggested I start a blog. Not really thinking, I said I already had. He was quick to ask me for the address, and by then it was too late to reverse my comment and say I didn't have a blog. Therefore, Agustin is the first Chilean to have my blog address. I am not sure how the U.S./Chilean international relations are going, but I am positive my blog can do nothing but help. or hurt.

Three Oranges Remain

Sadly, I have moved into a new household and the Horta Family and I have parted ways.

Things I won't miss greatly:
1) Breakfast Sandwiches.
2) The gigantic moths who trigger the 10,000 watt motion light outside my bedroom window at night.
3) The homeade sleep remedy crafted by Grandmother Horta (made with lemon rhines and the leaves of an indigenous tree) which left me clenching the toilet for 2 hours.

Things I will miss greatly:
1) Grandmother Horta flapping her arms in a bird like motion while saying "volar volar" whenever i tried doing my dishes. (Volar= fly away)
2) Laughing to myself after one of Silvi's impromptu shoulder or ass taps.
3) The generosity of the Hortas and their willingness (even happiness) to put up with a naive foreigner such as myself.

As I metioned at the top, I have moved in with another family. They are friends of friends of friends and they're fantastic. They have 4 kids (15, 19, 20 & 24) and they all speak english far better than I speak spanish. However, the main purpose of this trip is to learn spanish, so i try to speak it with them anyway. After studdering and stumbling while saying something like "I drove the car up the dining room", they understandably request that I " just speak english."

From the moment I arrived, the tall and slightly gangly 15 year old Pedro, has shown a distinct facination with hurling objects at me or my head (especially when I'm not looking). In the last 48 hours, the following objects have careened in my general direction: a right footed flip flop, a heavily chewed (by dog) tennis ball, pebbles, a Luke Skywalker Lightsaber, one of those colorful balls with suction cups all over it, a pink fluffy thing, sparkling water (at the dinner table), a Wiley Coyote figurine, two ping pong paddles and a yellow stress-relieving ball just bounced off my head. After he does this, he laughs. On most occasions, I do too.

Pedro's english is ok, but he has a thick Chilean accent. At our first lunch, he heard me use the word 'poison' to describe a piece of food (probably salami), and since that time, whenever someone is explaining what we're eating or if I ask, he quickly chimes in with "Poison". He then laughs, sometimes adding "stupid gringo".

Yesterday, he saw me writing something in my notebook. Now, whenever he sees me with or near my notebook, he say's in a somewhat girly voice "Dear Diary" (pronounced "dier dyrie").

I like him. He is a goofball who ends each day with an endearing "good night bitch."
(pronounced 'beech' of course).

Correction

For those of you who read the previous post before 6:14pm on Sunday, i would like you to know that there was a glaring typo. Instead of typing 'on', i typed 'in' at an very inopportune juncture of the post. My apologies, and the mix up has been corrected.

Never have i ever thought a cartoon character was uncomfortably good looking.

Last night I decided to see what goes on in Santiago until 7:30 this morning. Some friends and I went out to the Bella Vista section of the city and partook in some fanciful conversation, spanglish and an intellectually rousing game of "never have I ever". For those unfamiliar, this game entails someone saying an action, and if you´ve done it, you drink and people laugh at you. This game typically lends itself to sexual questions and conversation, which was interesting because one of the attendees was morman and doesn´t drink.

Being the pacifier I am, I tried to ease the discomfort by offering non-sexual actions such as "never have I ever fallen out of my window (Jarvis Dormitory B109) the first night of college" or "never have I ever been patted on the ass by a midget" (that one may be borderline sexual, but believe me, it was much more startling than sexy).

They serve massive beers in Chile and one giant Escudo turned into several and i found myself talking loudly, squinting and smiling obsessively. My tolerance has thankfully taken a Mike Brown-like nose dive since my college days of drinking 35 beers in one night*.

Anyway, all i know from the night is that the Australian guy we were hanging out with had a legendary freak out and I ended up at McDonald´s at 6AM making out with a Hamberguesa con Queso.

*To my family: I didn´t drink 35 beers. This is something I like to keep up for my College Roommate, Ramsey, who drank "35" beers with me. (Ramsey believes ones drinking ability should be one of the 7 virtues). In actuality, each beer was probably 4 to 5 ounces due to foam and well-timed spills. So we each drank like 12-15 beers**. Needless to say, the end result was unfettered unsobriety and Ramsey tackling a defenseless arból (tree).

**To Ramsey: I think it was more like 50.

ps. Dorky tidbit of the day: My freshman year room spells blog. I will now go speed read a Hardy Boys novel.

Rhodes Scholar; no. Punctual; you bet.

I now communicate at the level of an underperforming pre-schooler, which actually isn´t all that bad considering that when I arrived, i was equivalent to a 2 year old who insessantly craps his or her pants. My spanish classes finished up on Friday and I was handed a report card when i left the school. I had no idea my linguistic comprehension and general demeanor were being recorded.

I had a vague idea on how the school felt about my abilities, as they made me repeat 8 chapters and then put me with inherent underperformer, Shoshun (Korean), who worked 10 hour days after classes, never did any of his homework, and would stall for 5 minutes whenever he was asked a question. (ex: Carlos habla ..................no, no, no. Pepe habla.............).

My report card broke down as follows:
Excelente: Asistencia (Attendence), Participation y Punctualidad.
Bueno (Good): Motivation
Regular to Insuficiente: Comprehension Oral, Vocabulario, Gramatica y Tarea (homework).

While i may suck at what i do, at least i show up. on time. and participate with mediocre motivation and penmanship.

Also, as a general warning: While talking about the world 30 years from now using the future tense, Shoshun informed the professor and I that the world is going to "terminar" via one large bomb. I guess we can take comfort in knowing that the neither the U.S. nor Russia will be involved. Pakistan and India however, Shoshun is watching you.

No entiendo. 

American's are pansies when it comes to mayo. 

You must be jam, ´cause jelly don´t shake like that.

I was persuaded to go salsa dancing last night. Myself, Angela (a fertilizer saleswoman 6 months out of the year from Utah. -She makes enough in 6 months to travel the rest of the year), Shireen (of Norwegian, German (unsmelly) & Pakistani decent), and my new housemate, Cameron from Australia, went to the Salsa bar "Ille Habana". Ill it was.

If you have ever been on a dance floor with me, you know i am not afraid to make an ass of myself. While this has not always been the case (i came in 4th in the pairs dance off at my 7th grade Sock Hop), on this night, it was clear that I would look like an idiot.

When we got there, the dance floor was hopping. Girls were being spun, flung and generally macked upon by smooth Chilean operators. All eyes turned to one couple who, on any given sunday, would wipe the floor with the best dancing combo you´ve ever seen. (Possible exceptions: Swayze and Farley, the sprain).

The guy dancer turned out to be the leader of the dance floor. He had a goofy smile and was wearing capri jeans, bowling shoes (or colorful puma´s), and a cut-off T-shirt with the number 69 on it. While my first inclination was to poke fun at him and his attire, it was readily obvious that he excelled at his craft and probably gets more female companionship than ______. (insert any ass-getting noun here. ex: Wilt Chamberlain, toilet seats, Stephon Urkel, etc).

Throughout the night this fellow would teach the crowd Salsa steps, and then expect us to demonstrate our newly learned skills. This is where i decelled. However, a nice Chilean lady (who reminded me of Sharol Crow (with smaller teeth)), tried helping me learn the steps. After many failed attempts and probably a hairline fracture of her big toe, she informed me that there are lessons every Tuesday and Thursday night, and I should strongly consider attending. She then left. Probably to go make out with the capri pants guy.

Let´s Call the Whole Thing Off..

Silvi has stopped calling me "que lindo" (how cute) and now refers to me as "el alto y bonito" or the tall and pretty. (I am not sure I have mentioned this, but she is 40). Whenever I am sitting at the dinner table and she is running around doing her chores (which is always), she takes a moment to slow down as she walks by and runs her hand across my shoulders. Uncomfortable: Maybe. Worth Saying Anything: No. Made for TV Movie: Absolutely.

A couple of other things:

1) I feel as though i should modify my statement about stray dogs, as this makes me seem like an unlaundered vagabond who neglects general hygene and is unafraid of rabies. I can assure you that I am an avid showerer and as I´ve alluded to previously, I wept mightily at Old Yeller. So, to clarify, i like the general demeanor of stray dogs, and that´s why they´re chill with me. (also, because they´re resourceful).

2) There isn´t a mirror in the Horta household that is higher than my nipples.

3) What I learned in class today: When Shoshen, a very Korean fellow who exports Chilean Salmon to Asia, tries to conjugate Tomar (to take) in the passive voice, he is often unsure of his final conjugation and starts saying, in a thick Korean tone: "Tomedo, Tomado, Tomedo, Tomado. sorry. sorry." This causes me great in-class excitement.

Orange you glad knock knock jokes aren´t told anymore?

I taged along with one of my friends to Horcon, a local fisherman´s town that smells like rotten fish and seagull poop. That being said, it was prettyish. Because I was tagging along, my friend (Shivit from Israel) was calling the shots, and issued a strong desire to get there asap. So we planned on meeting at the bus stop in Santiago at 8am on Saturday. With this impending early wake up, i chose not to go out friday night and I set my alarm for 7:15am. I woke up at 7:53am. At this point (and you know the drill) you freak out, eject out of bed, start running around in cirles, etc. I ran to the shower and threw the water lever on, only to have the portable shower head (meant for multiple heights: ie. Silvi), fall off its perch and start whipping around, emitting freezing cold water in all directions. My half-awake, boxer-wearing self crippled to the floor trying to avoid the shower head´s wrath. It had none of it.

After showering and grabing a piece of stale bread, i ran to the bus stop, arriving at 8:06, only to find no one there. This was good, knowing that I didn´t make anyone wait, so i grabbed a bench and waited for my friend to arrive. We finally met up at 10am. She was apparently pretty tired, and needed to get some extra shuteye.

We took a bus to Valparaiso and then had to hook up with another bus to Horcon. (Side note: Valparaiso needs mandatory (dubbed) screenings of the Price is Right, soley for Bob Barker´s reminder to have your pets spade or neutered. There are thousands of stray dogs in Valpo. However, I kind of like stray dogs. They´re chill, unlike their caged up chilean counterparts, who go delirious if a leaf falls from a tree).

Ok, I´m back. I shouldn´t let the dogs throw me off my game like that. Anyway, having only eaten a few pieces of stale bread 4 hours previous, i was starving. We didn´t have time to eat before getting on the second bus, so i sprinted over to the farmers market to pick something up. Unfortunately, this section of the market was the non-easily-consumable-products section of the market (Eggplants, Watermelon, Full Wheels of Cheese, etc). After a few moments of searching, i spotted and settled on Oranges. The sign said 3 for 1.000 ($2). All I wanted was 1 Orange, but the attendant said he wouldn´t allow it, so i begrudingly loaded three oranges into my bag and paid my 1.000. As i was walking away, the same attendant ran after me, grabbing at my backpack to get me to stop. I initially though he was trying to steal something from me, but instead, he snagged my bag of oranges out of my hand and started filling it with more, unneeded and unwanted, Oranges. The 3 for 1.000, had meant 3kg for 1.000.

When i returned to the bus stop with a bag of approximately 25 oranges (24 of which i didn´t want), my friend commented that she didn´t know i was that hungry. When our bus finally came, i found a place to sit, and put my bags under the seat.

About 5 minutes into the trip I noticed our bus had pulled over, but not to pick up more passengers. When I looked up, I saw the Bus Driver holding 3 Oranges, and reaching down near his feet for more. I looked to check my sac of Oranges, which was obviously completely empty. All 25 of my oranges were scattered around on the floor of the bus, a high concentration of which ventured forward to the area underneath the driver´s gas and brake pedals. After retreiving the oranges from the driver and "Lo Siento"ing my ass off, i walked through the isle to collect the remaining oranges which could be easily located by the other passengers extending their arm in an upward direction and presenting an orange in their hand. I then said i was Canadian and sat down.

Chill With Me: Stray Dogs
On Notice: Dogs
Dead to Me: Salami

Lo Siento = Sorry.

Not all dogs go to heaven

Advanced citation to the Colbert Report.

Surprise, Surprise. Not only do i suck at spanish, but i am equally sucky at sleeping. Everynight since i´ve been down here, I´ve woken up at 3amish and don´t fall back asleep until 5 or 6am. What is the root of my sleeping problems you may ask..? Is it the olympic sized pool cleaning jets turning on in the not-so-olympic sized pool? No. Is it Silvi staring at me while i sleep? Not really. Global warming? Nope. None of the above (actually, the pool jets do deserve some credit). It is the fact that there are at least two dogs per household in my neighborhood, which results in about 800 dogs within a 1/4 mile radius of the Horta household.

Since i have been in the neighborhood, i don´t think there has been 2 minutes of silence before several dogs go ape shit on their alpo, owners or rubber toy. Throughout the night, there are at least 4 dogs taking shifts howling their asses off. They must have a sign in/out sheet. "Ok Rex, you´re up".. "barK. Bark. BaRk... BArK. bark. bArk"... "Well done friend, I´m up.. Bark. BArK baRk.. Bark. ba. bark.. Oh, i´m slightly parched, Peter: You´re up. Why don´t you rev it up a notch" "BARK, etc." (This is of course said in Spanish).

With varying paces, volumes and quantity of barks, and the occasional mauling of a small dog by the big dogs, you can see how this lends itself to suicidal insomnia. SO Dogs, i am putting you on notice. A few more outbursts like last night and I am sitting each of you down to watch Old Yeller with me.

ON NOTICE: DOGS

For the people reading this post, all 2 of you should be grateful for such items as cereal, engligh muffins, OJ, grits, cream of wheat or any other product that makes up the American breakfast. The term breakfast was supposed to mean "the breaking of the nights fast". I don´t think this translation trickled down to Chile. Here, it´s more like, "Fast more you pussy". For 12 straight days for breakfast, I have eaten a salami and bread sandwich half the size of your computer mouse, a small fruit (although not today) and tea. I am not sure I can take it anymore. Therefore, Salami- you, and all of your fatty pock marks and pig entrails are officially dead to me.

DEAD TO ME: SALAMI

ps. If anyone knows Mr. Finagle (Mr. Bruegger will do too), please inform him that there is a pot of gold sitting 4,993 miles south of where he is.
pps. And tell him i prefer everything bagels.

*mom- i just used suicidal for the effect, and sorry for using the word pussy. (i took the liberty of washing my mouth with soap).

Unofficially slightly depressed. kind of. but not really. maybe.

My buddy and former housemate, Pretha, just left Santiago, and the prospects of me being able to communicate with my host family just dropped to 2%. Pretha, a 24 year old doctor (a true Doogie Howser of the new millenium), was my translator, and had become quite efficient at detecting and relaying the moments when the family was making fun of me. Prior to Chile, she had spent 6 months in Amsterdam for reasons i am still unsure of (my guess is to ride bikes and pilfer Amstel Lights). And other than the fact that she woke me up from a nap when i met her, we got along great.

Pretha was one of those girls that probably wished she was a boy growing up so she wouldn´t have to deal with boring girl stuff. I could be wrong. Regardless, she may be the only person who can truely comprehend the full magnitude of the Horta´s eccentricities.

So.. Pretha, if you´re out there, stop being so selfish and get back to Chile. Who needs more Doctors? especially one´s for kids? (What we need, is more lawyers). There are more imporant needs upon us, such as translation and assistance eating sardines, cheese and mayonaise that have been on the table for no less than 5 hours.

On second thought, since you left me your Suave Waterfall Mist Shampoo, we´re cool.