Reality Sets In

"If there's a bright center to the universe, you're on the planet farthest from it."
--Luke Skywalker

Calama is like the wild west, just without the cool hats, boots, horses, or gun fights. Sure, people apparently get murdered here all the time (there are little shrines everywhere erected by the families of the fallen called animitas to confirm this), but here in Calama the weapons of choice are either blades or bludgeons. Murder in Calama is a very personal experience. If all that seems a bit dramatic, perhaps it is, but it comes from the mouths of the residents. My host family doesn't like me walking anywhere, especially at night. Pero, no tengo miedo.

Ryan and I set out on Friday night to see if there was anything to do, and as we searched the centro, we became more and more saddened by what we saw. Packs of miners squeezed into dive bars, or packed into these "game rooms" that are nothing more than slot machine palors. There are one or two nice looking restaurants, but they are more then ridiculously expensive. Cost of living in Calama is high, and the program supposedly is giving us an increased stipend to compensate. However, when a cab ride to go two miles costs more here then it does in New York City, an extra 30 bucks a month probably isn't going to cut it. I did see one interesting sight that eve that made me think maybe Calama isn't all frightening: a hair salon was open and filled with people singing worship songs in Spanish. On a Friday night, mind you. I had almost jokingly made a comment to the others when we were in Antofagasta that if they hadn't found Jesus yet, they sure would out here. It seems, perhaps, I wasn't that far off. When your two choices are "tragos y putas" or religion, it probably isn't long before you're dead or saved.

At least my family is great. I have a feeling that I'll be spending most of my time here with them at the casa, at school, or ranging out to the fabled gringo-filled paradise of San Pedro de Atacama. Ryan and I were both told the same thing when we asked what there is to do in Calama: "Go to San Pedro."

My school is not so bueno, however. Let me rephrase that: my school is large, prestigious, and the students seem well disciplined but the teachers do not seem to care that I am there. They refuse to give me my own room (which is a stipulation of the program set forth by the Ministerio de Education) and they treat me as though an inconvenience. I told this to my support people in Antofagsta, and Rio told me that I am well in my rights to be moved to another school. I might, but I figured I'd submit the issue to prayer and in the meantime give the Liceo a few more days to see how things would pan out, should I remain. I like my schedule, and I like that Mena attends the same school, but neither of those points outweigh the lack of respect for my presence and the foreseeable disaster of me not having control over a classroom full of high school students who don't speak my language yet.