Galletas!

COOKIES!

I have been starved for normal desserts here. Chileans know how to eat but that don't have a clue how to do dessert. And their "cookies" are such sorry excuses for the real thing (with the one exception of RigoChoco) that it makes me want to cry. Today I finally broke down and brought home a Betty Crocker mix from Hiper Lider, the local Target equivalent. I really want to do more baking projects but the ovens are different here, so I am kind of scared...

Abuelo pronounces the cookies "rico"

Oh, you've been out of my life for too long <3

Corte de Pelo

Haircut

I was worried before I got here that I wouldn't meet Chileans my own age since we don't actually have classes with university students. (To clarify, our classes are in Spanish and with Chilean lecturers, but they are classes for our program specifically.) That is so not the case. Between the "jovenes" from our orientation and all of the host siblings, we are never lacking in Chilean company. But my BEST Chilean friend is Rebeca. As is fitting for a BEST Chilean friend, we met my first day of dance class at the gym, and we have been bosom buddies ever since.

Me with Rebeca (right) and her sister Stefhanni (left)

 Our most recent adventure has been going to get haircuts together. I was super nervous to get a haircut in a country where I was not sure if I could clearly express the sentiment "just a trim," but Rebeca brought me to this teeny, tiny hole in the wall place in the Centro, and I got the exact same haircut I get in the U.S. for 3 mill pesos, or 6 American dollars. Can you believe it?? A fraction of what I pay in the U.S.! I think I am feeling brave enough to wax my eyebrows here...

 

On the Border

Sometimes I forget that I am in South America. I have a real life here: I go to school, I go to the gym, I do homework, I hang out with friends, etc. I am not always thinking about the fact that I am doing these things IN CHILE. I'm just going about my daily routine. And then, there is a moment. A moment that makes me say to myself, "I've a feeling we're not in Kansas (or New Jersey, for that matter) anymore." Sometimes that moment is when I see a boy leading a donkey on a rope through the center of town trying to sell its milk. Sometimes that moment is when I hear Reggaeton in the super market. And last week, that moment was when my group crossed the border from Chile into Peru.

The border

 Last week we had a three-day excursion to Tacna, Peru to learn about the Peruvian public health care system. (Unlike Chile, Tacna does not have universal health care.) I've heard Tacna described as the "Las Vegas" of South America. I don't know how true this comparison is because I have never actually been to Las Vegas, but there you have it. Tacna is also known as the place to buy incredibly cheap knock-offs of major brand products. To be honest, I couldn't get back to Arica fast enough. Unlike Arica, which I consider an idyllic place to live, you couldn't have paid me to stay in Tacna. Granted, I was only there for three days so maybe I judge too harshly, but there was a ton of traffic, a ton of noise, and felt like I was literally breathing in dust or other pieces of tiny matter every time I inhaled. Plus, everyone and their mother in Chile had warned us that Tacna can be dangerous for tourists in terms of muggings and pickpocketing, so I felt like I had to be on my guard the whole time.

Aside from the city itself, I really enjoyed the content of the Tacna program. One day we went to a "health fair" in the poorest neighborhood of Tacna, which was basically just a mobile clinic set up in a dusty lot offering free medical services. For many of the attendees, the health fair would mark their first encounter with a medical professional. I spent most of my time in the exam room with one of the doctors-- a well-dressed 30-something-year-old woman who was probably about seven months pregnant. We saw about five patients during the course of an hour, and she spoke to each one for a few minutes, performed a cursory examination, and then wrote out a prescription.

That afternoon we went to a Community Center where a nurse was giving a talk on HIV/AIDS prevention to a group of young mothers. Afterward, each of the mothers took a rapid HIV test. One thing that is way different in South America than in the U.S. is the concept of privacy within health care. It's just not a priority here. I was shocked when I realized that they were going to perform the test in a room full of people, and even more shocked when I realized that they were going to deliver the results in a room full of people. What if... God forbid... someone had the virus?  What then? HIV is more common in South America than in the U.S., but I couldn't imagine that it is any less horrifying to find out you have it. Certainly not the kind of news you want to hear in front of all of your friends/neighbors and 25 strangers from Gringolandia. 

I was freaking out, but the weird thing was that the women who were about to be tested didn't seem to mind the very public nature of the whole thing. Nor did they mind letting us, a bunch of undergraduate students, do the tests. I actually asked the director of our program Rossana about the ethics of this, because I wasn't sure whether the women realized that we are not medical students, and it seemed to be like there should have been some kind of informed consent form or something. She assured me that it was okay, and that they would actually rather have us do the test just on account of the novelty factor. I know this wouldn't fly in the U.S., but I suppose Rossana knows best when it comes to Chile/Peru.

Me performing a rapid HIV test

All negative

Excursión a Tacna

Leaving for an excursion to Tacna, Peru. Be back Monday evening!

Mi Roncha

My Rash

Today I got to experience Chilean healthcare from a whole new perspective-- that of a patient! First things first: I AM TOTALLY FINE.  What happened was that yesterday I woke up to find little red bumps on my arms and tummy. Not pretty, and they itched. After briefly considering, and then disregarding, the idea that that could be pulgas (flea bites! eww!) my Chilean mom diagnosed me with an allergic reaction. Luckily my American mom sent me off with plenty of Benadryl, so we decided that I would take some Benandyrl and put off going to the clinic unless mi roncha stuck around until the next day.

As luck would have it, mi roncha made its big comeback today at approximately 2:30pm, just before my afternoon class. (I swear I didn't plan it this way.) Seeing as how we have an excursion to Tacna, Peru this weekend, Jessica and I decided that a visit to the clinic was in order. Honestly, as a student of the Chilean healthcare system, I couldn't have been more thrilled! We are always visiting public hospitals and health centers, but this would be my first time in a private health center. And plus, maybe the itching would stop.

At the health center, the doctor tells me that it is, indeed, an allergic reaction to something I ate. I have no idea what, because I don't remember eating anything new in the past few days, but I will take his word for it. He gives me an injection of antihistamine and gives me an anti-allergy medication called CAM that I am to take for the next 5 days. He also advises me to avoid fish, eggs, bananas, and chocolate, as these foods all have the potential to agitate a roncha. The chocolate thing will be tough, but I will do my best.

For now, seeing as how I am full of antihistamines, a siesta...


If anyone is curious, this (CAM) is the website of the medication I was given.

Le Quiero a Mi Vida Chilena

I love my Chilean life.

We have alpacas that live in a pen at the university.

We live in a beach town-- and a beach town in which the stray dogs are super friendly!

 

Problemas con la Comunicación

Communication Issues


Here are some of my most memorable errors of the past few days:


1. "How was pilates?" my Chilean mom asks me. "It was great," I say, "except my men hurt a little bit." For the record, the words for shoulders (HOMBROS) y men (HOMBRES) are deceptively similar.  To clarify, it was my shoulders that were hurting a little bit after pilates. 


2. I am trying to coordinate the purchasing of concert tickets with a friend. I say, "Ugh, I don't have any change because I went to the ATM the other day and when I tried to take out money the machine spoke to me..." My poor, dear Chilean friend looks terribly confused. I have to explain to him that what I meant to say was that the machine gave me (ME DIO), not that it spoke to me (ME DIJO). The machine gave me only 20s, and that is why I have no change.  


3.  Leaving the library, I accidentally scream at my friend, "Be careful!!!" when I try to use the Chilean equivalent of the phrase "Take care." He looks to the left and right and then goes, completely straight-faced, "Of what?"


Such is the life of a gringa.