Independence Day Abroad

"A man's country is not a certain area of land, of mountains, rivers, and woods, but it is a principle; and patriotism is loyalty to that principle."
--George William Curtis

It had only been a few days since our epic journey to San Pedro, and I had barely gotten back into the flow of waking up, going to class, and dropping English bombs on my captive Chilean audiences when I learned that on Thursday I would be leaving again. The program office in Antofagasta had ordered all of the Región Dos volunteers to a "workshop"on "classroom management." They were reimbursing bus fare and putting us up for the night, since the meeting was at nine in the morning on Friday. I had known about the meeting, but had not heard about getting there until one of the other Calama volunteers, Mary, sent me a message saying she had my bus ticket and that we were heading out at three o'clock. I shrugged, threw some clothes into my backpack (forgetting a towel, once again), and met her at the station. Ryan was meant to be on the bus with us, but he showed up late and ended up taking the next ride. Somehow we still only arrived within ten minutes of each other, then the three of us took a micro to the hostel.

We stayed Thursday night at the Casa de Coldeco, where we had first slept upon our initial arrival in the Norte Grande. We walked in and first thing were offered supper. As we sat eating, Mike and Vanessa arrived from Taltal. We embraced and went back and forth with the obligatory "long time no see" banter, having of course spent the previous weekend together. After we ate, we gave Matt a call. He answered the phone and I jokingly (doing my best Atlanta)
asked,
"Where da party at?"
"You guys want to go to a party?"
"Hah, I'm kidding. It's just a thing they say where I come from."
"Oh, because there is a party."
"Oh...uh, maybe?"

Matt met us at the hostel and, for some reason I'm not certain of, we spent almost an hour watching some horrible MTV reality program where parents choose dates for their children. It was weird. Then we got a call from Camilu (mentioned mentioned in the Taltal post) who was outside to take us somewhere to meet with Monjuith and her friend. She had a colectivo waiting, and even though they are only allowed to take five passengers, agreed to carry all seven of us crammed inside like a clown car. This was also weird.

It was super awkward because Matt is a lanky giant.

We arrived at some bar/club sort of place where Monjuith wasn't actually located, but she showed up later. There we discussed the finer points of Chilean Spanish, as Monjuith is Mexican and, despite being a native Spanish speaker, has had exactly the same problems understanding Chileans most of us have also had. We were more or less set to leave when a man set up shop with a computer and a guitar and started playing American rock classics mixed in with the occasional Spanish pop hit. This prolonged our stay. When we finally left, Matt suggested we walk back because it "wasn't that far." Three miles later, we were in bed with a wake up time four hours ahead of us.

The workshop wasn't as bad as I would have thought, though it wasn't nearly what one could call a useful expenditure of time. I did get to meet many of the new volunteers who had only been in country three weeks. I did my best not to cut up too much, but every time I get into these classroom situations where I'm the student again, I find the urge to clown about almost irresistible. At one point, after a particularly hilarious joke on my part, the girl running the workshop (who is Chilena) came over and put a hand on my shoulder and commented to the group that I was "a very messy boy."
During the meeting there was a huge tsunami drill where the majority of Antofagasta responded to weak sirens by lolly gagging in the roads for half an hour (I'm sure the event was considered a success.)


Afterward, we returned to Casa de Coldelco where we were fed lunch. We then bid farewell to the new girls from Antofa who had come to lunch with us, promising to meet them again the next day for a planned Gringo barbecue to celebrate the 4th of July. Ryan and I spent the afternoon moving our gear to Matt's house, buying return tickets, and then in turn getting those tickets reimbursed at the program office. Then we met back up with Matt, Mike, Mary and Vanessa to go to Monjuith's apartment. She had prepared us a traditional Mexican dish of rice, chicken, and mole. Mole is, for those of you unacquainted, a delicious spicy chocolate sauce. The meal, including Mexican guacamole, chili sauce, and homemade chips, was possibly the most flavorful meal I have eaten in Chile. As the night progressed, Monjuith played a most amazing host by constantly bringing out more and more food to include sauteed mussels with melted cheese on top. I'm convinced that by the time late that night she brought out the tuna, we had nearly eaten everything in the house.

We all stayed at the apartment that night and a most unfortunate incident transpired (pun intended.) As many of you may know, my feet have the ability to smell worse then the devil's own. Well, I fell asleep with my shoes on, knowing their potential lethality. Monjuith, being the good host, must have noticed and removed them. The results were catostrophic. My own stench managed to awake me, and I replaced my shoes but not before forcing nearly everyone in the room to seek lodging in other parts of the apartment--which was all hardwood. At some point, Camilu (who had joined us after dinner) came in spraying perfume, which only made things worse. Mike, who was asleep in the room awoke coughing and crying out,
"What are you doing? Basta! Basta!"

In the morning, Mike and Vanessa left us for Taltal and Ryan, Mary, and I reconvened at Matt's apartment (where I managed to shower) to go to the 4th of July BBQ. I had Matt double check the directions with the girl (Kyle) who was hosting the party, and then we boarded a bus and headed to the south end of the city, which is considerably nicer. Trusting Matt "It isn't that far" Wilson to navigate meant of course we got off at the wrong place and had to wander another half mile up hill with Kyle's directions like,
"Walk until you can't go right anymore, then there are some steps, pass the store and you'll see flags."

The barbecue was great, with real handmade burgers, broccoli salad, ranch dressing to dip fresh vegetables in, brownies, etc. Kyle had really outdone herself. Someone even managed to bring a pack of Budweiser, which no doubt cost the value of a Chilean child. The house was adorned in American flags, with American music playing. Most of the year long volunteers in Antofagasta were there, along with the new six-monthers we had met the day before. Our regional coordinator, who is a former volunteer herself, even came to join in.
Now, Antofagasta, like Calama, possess a giant, gaudy casino in which is located a pricey dance club and at some point it was decided that the entire Gringo procession should relocate to said club. I loathe dance clubs, or discotechs are they are known here, and my only experiences in one were in Taltal, and those were none too positive. However, I had yet to secure lodging for that night and all my perspective hosts were leaving. Thus, I tagged along.

When we got to the casino I went straight to the toilet. When I came out, I found that almost everyone had gone inside the club and paid the hefty seven mil peso entrance fee (roughly 14 USD). Even if I had been willing to pay, I didn't have the funds. Thankfully, I wasn't the only sane (or simply broke) one. One of the six-monthers and my new friend, Lorna, a Brit from Oxfordshire, said she had a friend from the British Consulate (or something like that) who was having a going away party somewhere else that we could go check out. I agreed, and off we went. Her friend didn't have a phone and we might have already missed the party, but either way I was welcome to stay at her place that night. Mission accomplished.

I once again had a very limited night of sleep, which proved the last straw for my poor body, which had been staving off a cold since San Pedro. I awoke Sunday with an intense pain in my ear that lasted into the early afternoon. The following days would find me suffering from congestion and a head that felt as though someone had stuck a tire pump in my ear and gone to town. Sunday morning, the 4th itself, saw me awaking in the enemies camp. However, I was provided breakfast, during which Lorna and I discussed the peculiarities of American English vs. British ("jumper"as a single piece outfit for young girls as opposed to a "sweater.") Eventually, we parted ways as she left to attend lunch with her host mom's family and I went back to Matt's, where Ryan had spent the night. I learned that Mary had already made her return to Calama, and Ryan and I decided to follow suite that afternoon. Matt offered to get us on the right micro, and we foolishly allowed him.
"Here, take this one!" He called, as the 111 drew near. We shook hands and then hopped aboard. Within minutes I turned to Ryan and mused,
"I feel like we are heading in the wrong direction." Just then, Matt called and confirmed that he had indeed put us on the wrong bus. Thus Ryan and I spent a good hour riding in the back of the mirco as it ran it's entire southbound route, stopped for ten minutes for the driver to get out and have a snack, and then turn around and head back North towards the bus terminal.

*NOTE: Photos courtesy of Mary Scallion and Julia Bardach