Just a few tid-bits

To what I am sure is the relief of all of you, I have figured out a simple way to convert Chilean pesos to US dollars (actually, the epiphany occurred just after my last post, which means I didn't have to go too long being totally flabbergasted by "apples: $1,690 per kilo"): take the Chilean price, double it, knock off three zeros. Round down a little if it was a large amount, since there's 515 pesos to the dollar and not 500. Easy peasy. In fact, I wish the conversion was bigger now, because I like the absurd idea of having to knock off like 12 zeros instead of just three.

I've settled into my apartment somewhat (besides not having any hand towels, and not being able to find them. I spent an excruciating amount of time in the mall trying to find small towels, which I didn't see at the market when I looked. I think I actually hate mall service, where someone immediately pounces on you hoping for a big fat gringo sales commission, especially when I have to muddle through my Spanish when the clerks ask me questions. Actually, yesterday my voice was gone, so I could whisper "no puedo hablar," and that backed them off pretty quick. I should just say that all the time), and I am narrowing down my choices of Spanish schools, and I went for a walk today and found out there is a gym half a block from my house, which is cool since I'd like to work out some while I'm here.

On my walk I finally strolled down the beach boardwalk that is two blocks from my building, which was pretty awesome. I guess it's been a fairly warm fall/winter here so far, because the sun was out and you barely needed a jacket. I had a heavy jacket and alternated between wearing it until I got hot and not wearing it until I got cold. Apparently the water here is too cold for swimming year round (Antarctic current and all that), but still I imagine the beaches are more crowded in the summer. Nevertheless, there were quite a few people out enjoying the weather; vendors selling candy apples and little kites made of old Styrofoam; guys making elaborate octopuses and sharks out of sand for spare change. I've never really lived in a beach town before, and I have to say it seems pretty nice. Especially when it's not super hot, cause I'm not really into that (although I do keep my speedo line waxed at all times, in case of Beach Emergency). But the rolling waves and endless horizon; lazy haze; and little silhouettes of ships, sitting motionless far in the distance as if cut from black construction paper - I find it all really relaxing.

I had another thought today about why I like staying in one place and just hanging out so much more than running around on an itinerary or something: I saw a big bus of tourists stopped at the beach today, and it looked like they had maybe 15 minutes to check it out. As I watched them all try and furiously document how much fun they were having with their cameras and camcorders, it occurred to me that on expeditions such as the one I was watching the traveller is forced enjoy things in a way that end up taking most of the enjoyment out of the experience. I mean, I guess if I only had 15 minutes to enjoy the beach of Vina del Mar, and had spent a lot of money and took a long bus ride to get to it, I'd feel like I had better enjoy it - now or never! I guess I feel like the imperative to enjoy steals any actual enjoyment to be had. I have to say I felt a little smug, walking slowly down the boardwalk with no place to go in particular, loving what I saw but knowing that I'll be able to talk that walk many more times if I want to.

As I said in my last post, my time here is pretty much going to be Spanish, exercise, and drinking. The first two I haven't gotten rolling yet, but the drinking part has started with gusto. Jason and I close out the clubs (5am) pretty much every time we go out, which is looking like is going to be 3 or 4 times a week (Thursday through Saturday are all good nights, plus there's a good Tuesday bar and I think a good Wednesday bar...). The clubs here are fun because it's a college town, so there's a big scene; Chilenos are friendly so it's a low-pressure environment to dance and have fun and socialize; and Jason decided long before I arrived that Chilenas say hello by making out. Jason also figured out before I got here that a lot of times the most interesting part of the night is the micro ("mee-crow," or city bus) ride home after everything closes: cram 60 drunk 20-somethings into a bus with 20 seats, add some loud music, and watch the fun unfold! Witness the mystery of the empty seat! (That is until you notice that the seat next to it is occupied by Partied Out Chileno that might puke). Marvel at the way the drunks are able to not topple over as the micro screams around corners at 50mph! (Probably something to do with being packed in so tight). Wonder at the insanity as someone on the bus makes a rude remark to the transvestites on the street, and one throws a wine bottle at the bus and the other pulls a hidden shank the size of her forearm and threatens to come at the bus! (true story). Yes, the micros are great fun.

Anyways, I am on a quest for hand towels (one for the bathroom, one for the kitchen. In complementary, tropical colors I'm thinking). So I will sign off.