"By three methods we may learn wisdom...

...first, by reflection which is noblest; second, by imitation which is easiest; and third, by experience which is most bitter.”-Confucius

I used to host an out-of-school time program at my library called Friday Fun. It was me, an intern, and anywhere between five and fifteen 9-14 year old boys who gave up an hour and a half of their computer time to hang out with us each week. The story of Friday Fun is longer, but the short of it is that these were the kids who said "oh, you think you're going to see the best in me? Let me show you how ugly I really am." They stretched me as much as (more than?) I ever stretched them.

Most of the group members had a hard time pushing through anything that was difficult for them, particularly when I asked them to do things they hadn't done before. One Friday I brought the fixings for making paper airplanes, plus had different "jobs" lined up that would allow for a few different ways to participate in the activity (like, making a runway, finding plane designs, making airplanes). All kinds of easy-yet-fun goodness.

I can't foooolllllddd paaappppeeerrrrrr. This is boring. I don't want to do this. Why do we have to do this? Why can't we play Pictureka instead? 

Oh, yes, my adorablenesses. You can do this, and we will do it together. 

I haaaatttttte paper. I haaaaatttttttttte airplanes.

Good grief. 45-55 minutes later -- despite all the "I cannot do this"s and "I hate this"s -- we tested several designs to see which flew the straightest, furthest, highest, etc. And the kids were suddenly all that was great! The following weeks, they were all do you remember when we made paper airplanes?

Oh yes, I remember.

According to the timeline, it was a year ago today that Alicia and I sat at Zeke's Unchained Animal in South Minneapolis and decided that we were serious about going on this adventure. And it has been one incredible, amazing, and exhausting year.

85 days of preparation.
115 days in South America.
165 days of reflecting.
365 days of learning.

There were times when I was in Chile that I felt like my Friday Fun kids from the day we made paper airplanes. Especially after Spanish lessons (You want me to use reflexive verbs? And in the past tense? I can't! Why? Because I haven't!) but other times too. I expected my brain to hurt while I was in Chile. I didn't love brain hurt, but I expected it.

You know how it's tough to think about something when you're in it? And that it isn't until you step out of a situation that you can start to give meaning to it? Both the amazing and painful experiences this year gave me a LOT to consider. Over the last six months, I felt like one part of my brain was trying to process and make sense of everything right away, but another part of my brain was trying to deploy some sort of mechanism to prevent me from thinking about it all until I was ready. At other times I felt like I knew exactly why there was a noticeable difference between pre-Chile and post-Chile Kat, but that I couldn't express it clearly or coherently to myself, let alone to anyone else.  At times I genuinely didn't know what to do, and at other times I felt like I knew exactly what to do about it but didn't feel capable of doing so.

I was overwhelmed. I did not expect my brain to hurt when I got back. It caught me off guard that I sounded and felt like my Friday Fun kids as I was trying to both reflect and get back into my life. (Whoa. What. Did. I. Just. Do? And, I know I can't do what I did before, but what does that meeeaaaaaannnnn? How am I supposed to handle [X circumstance, Y situation, Z conundrum] all at once? There is something wrooonnnnngggggg with me! I must have a brain disease for reals.)

At some point in the last month, something gave. I still don't know what or why, but something gave just enough that I had room take a deep breath and collect myself. If the pattern holds, I am not to the point where I can say "that was great!" about the last few months of reflection, or "remember that time when I had to refill my apple cart? that was awesome!" But I feel better.

By three methods we may learn wisdom; first by reflection...

I haven't made any final decisions about what I learned this year, or what to do about what I learned. If I'm honest with myself, I haven't fully incorporated any new understandings or put into motion any of my next steps. (Well, one of my next steps is in motion -- I start a new job tomorrow!)

And I cannot claim to be any wiser now than I was a year ago today, but the makings for a good starting point are there. 

Y ahora? Como va tu español?

And now? How is your Spanish?

A month after I got home, I took a 5-week/10-class Spanish course through the International Institute of Minnesota. When I left for Chile in February, I described my Spanish-speaking abilities as an advanced beginner. After four months of daily practice and study, I took a placement test to determine which class I should take. I had progressed to (drum roll, please) actual advanced beginner. 

Really? REALLY?!?!?!

It was good, though. It was a chance to review and solidify what I had learned in with my tutor in Chile (preterite, imperfect, and conditional tenses, commands, direct/indirect objects, personal pronouns, and prepositions). My lessons in Chile were conducted entirely in Spanish, and it was lovely to get some clarification on some concepts and nuances that I missed. It was also fantastic to have worksheets! There were times in Chile that I just wanted tons examples to practice with, and I finally had them. It was after the fact, but oh, how I loved just doing worksheets. (I wish I could go back and tell my self to pack some workbooks, like Complete Spanish Grammar, or other books from the Practice Makes Perfect series). 

Although I was deflated at first to still be considered a beginner, I was really pleased to have confirmation of how much I actually did learn in a relatively short amount of time. I certainly learned more in four months than I ever did in high school and college combined. And now I'm spoiled -- despite all the challenges, immersion is the best way to go for language learning. 

Copa de Mundial

2014. The first year I paid attention to the World Cup, and I watched four of the games. At least I was in good company.

I saw my first game in San Pedro de Atacama, Chile - a small tourist town in the Atacama desert of northern Chile. A screen was set up in the plaza, and everyone but everyone in the town gathered together to watch the game. Chile played against Australia (I was rooting for Chile and for Australia. Because most of the European travelers were also rooting for Oz, I wasn't worried for my safety when I smiled for an Australian victory...but smiling was as far as I was willing to go). The stray dogs were in heaven with all the food in the garbage bins.

Getting ready to watch game 4 of the world cup

Everyone camped out to watch the game

I saw my second game in the Arturo Merino Benítez International Airport, in Santiago. Chile played against Spain, and the entire airport stopped in its tracks to watch the game - travelers, employees, security guards - everyone. We spent the last few hours of our four months in Chile camped out on the floor, rooting for "our" country's team, and listening as the chi-chi-chis from one side of the airport were met with le-le-les from the other side of the airport. The spirit of unity and togetherness was almost tangible -- and it felt like a parting gift. Thank you, Chile.

The Santiago Airport during the World Cup

I saw my third game at the Nomad World Pub in Minneapolis, about two weeks after I got home, and experienced one of my first sensations of reverse culture shock. The commentary was in English (whaaaa? ohhhh...right), the beer was delicious, and I felt self-conscious that I didn't know anybody else at the game. Sure I was with Alicia for the first two, but also felt like I/we belonged among the crowd of strangers when we were in Chile. Also, this was the Germany-Brazil game...yeah, that game where Germany scored five goals within minutes of each other and knocked Brazil out of the competition. It was a bizarre afternoon.

The image on the wall behind the screen
reminds me of the hills of Valparaíso.

I saw my fourth game, the final game, at home. It was such a long game (this was the final where Germany won in extra over time), and a different experience altogether to watch it without a crowd. Actually, in Chile, the size of the crowds didn't matter. I watched a local soccer game with two guys in their late 30s and one woman in her mid-70s, and they made more noise than I could imagine any three people making. This one was just a quiet "I"m watching a good soccer game" experience.

But, this was my favorite game-watching experience. I was curled up on the couch with my Dan and my cat, and I loved it.

Two more random preschool stories

Lila

Each class had a mascot that was used to introduce some social-emotional components. Lila was ours. (Lila is happy when she has her star...what makes you happy? Lila is sad when she does not have her star...what makes you sad? Look...Lila's star is gone...she is sad because you behaved so badly today). Children had the chance to take Lila home for the weekend if they earned five Lila stickers each week. In order to earn a sticker each day, they had to work hard on their workbooks, participate in activities, arrive on time (like 4yearolds have any choice in that), and arrive happy. I was amazed by the number of kids who admitted that they did not arrive happy, even though they knew it meant that they would not get a Lila sticker that day.

Lila, in her funky purple wig,
and Spiderman. I never could
get him to say that his spidey
sense was tingling.

At parent night, the teacher started to talk about the three parts to Lila. I thought she was going to talk about social learning, emotional learning, and respect or something like that (vocabulary that I wanted in Spanish), but she talked about the literal three parts to Lila that needed to come back after spending a weekend at home (Lila herself, her star, and her backpack).

Cultural Awareness Week

Each week the teachers and assistants put on an obra de teatro for the kids. Sooooo much time was dedicated each week to preparing crafts and costumes and scripts for each show. The kids definitely enjoyed them, but it was an amazing (read: a super frustrating) spectacle to watch half the staff get ready for the show while the other half of the staff tried to get 50-60 kids to bring their chairs outside and sit quietly and patiently for up to 20 minutes while they were waiting for the show to start each week. 

Cultural Awareness week show.

It's hard to see, but that's "Africa" second in from the left, represented by black face paint and a bone in the hair.

Mind. Forever. Blown. 

There is not a lot of diversity in Chile, and it's likely that that none of the staff had ever met a black person.  There are indigenous groups, and Chile is one of a few Latin American countries with a positive migration rate (most new immigrants are from Peru and Argentina), but the majority of Chileans self-identify as white.  At some point, I am going to dig deeper, and explore what I observed (and did not observe) in terms of cultural diversity, but in the meantime I remember how jarring it was whenever I picked up on comments about groups of people who were unfamiliar. (Everyone knows that chinos are cheap! Americans are fat! (CNN Chile does a lot of coverage of Michelle Obama's Let's Move campaign). That/he is sooooo gay! (Good Lord. I haven't heard gay jokes since the 90s!)

I found it refreshing when someone asked me a question out of genuine curiosity, though (I want to go to New York, are there black people there? Tell me about the black people), because I would rather the questions be asked and the discussions be had rather than portray Africans as dancing monkeys. 

Papers, please

Until this year, the United States required Chileans to have a visa to enter the country. In return, Chile charged a reciprocity fee of $160 for US citizens to enter Chile. We paid the life-of-the-passport entrance fee at the Santiago airport when we arrived last February, and those receipts were stapled to our passports. (Air Canada wouldn't let us pay ahead of time to enter Chile. When we flew Air Canada to Argentina, on the other hand, they would not let us board the plane without paying ahead of time. I gather the Argentine authorityes are very difficult to work with). In March of 2014, the US added Chile to the Visa Waiver Program, so Chile stopped charging the reciprocity fee to US Citizens.

1. Hooray! I want it to be easier for everyone to go to Chile! From Patagonia to the Atacama Desert, it is truly some of the most amazing and dazzling landscape on this planet. Seriously, folks. Go there.

2. It actually looks like Chile stopped charging the fee three days after we arrived. Um, huh. I would have spent that money on more empanadas, sea food, vino, or pudding cups. Or! I would have spent more money at Lapiz Lopez, the office supply chain I frequented and adored.

While the reciprocity fees have changed, each country still has a 90-day limit for tourists. Chile's way of enforcing this limit is to issue tourist cards at the airport, then collect them on the way out. Before the trip I couldn't find any information about what the cards looked like -- only that YOU CANNOT LOSE IT.  It turns out that the tourist card is a carbon paper form that is filled out by hand (on a bumpy descent into Santiago, which meant that I had really bumpy handwriting to look at for the first three months), then date-stamped at the immigration station. Because it was a flimsy piece of paper, I wanted to secure it to my passport. Finding tape in Chile that was actually sticky turned out to be a bigger challenge than one would expect, but that's what I did to keep my tourist card secure.

When we did leave (both times), my customs officers counted out on their fingers how long I had been there. You'd think they would have a "before this date..." sign at the customs stations or something, but that would be too efficient.

Maybe the fishermen would hire me..

...to prepare their hundreds and hundreds of fishing lures for the next day. Whenever I walked by the fishermen, this is what I fantasized about.

We ended up with a "hybrid" job of being both regular assistants and English teachers in a Chilean preschool/daycare. When we weren't teaching English classes (six classes each on Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday mornings) or talleres (extra workshops for kids whose parents wanted to pay for extra English) on Wednesday and Friday afternoons, we each "helped" in our home classroom. I think the idea was that kids would benefit from hearing English, but it was never practical for us to speak in English all day.

We worked as assistants and English teachers
at a jardín infantil for three months

When we were English-speaking Miss Alicia and Miss Kat, we traveled from classroom to classroom with our goods in tow (posters, cut outs, creepy masks, jolly stick puppets, and catchy tunes (my personal favorite was Put Your Finger on the Boy)) and spent about half an hour with each of the six classes. The curriculum we used was straightforward, leveled, and incorporated early learning concepts of science, math, social-emotional development. Some of the ideas in the curriculum were lovely in concept (when you introduce the word chair, talk about using chairs safely) but not always in practice (safety discussions need to happen in the native language when in a non-immersion situation). We were alone with the kids more often than not (we learned classroom management vocabulary fairly quickly) so a lot of the lessons weren't do-able or had to be modified quite a bit.  

When we were Spanish-speaking Tía Alicia y Tía Kat the rest of each day, we...just...didn't have a useful role to play. Sure, the jardín was understaffed, and it's nice to have another set of hands to take someone to the bathroom or coax a four-year-old into eating their beets or cauliflower (oh, how I learned to hate lunch time with a passion). One thing was clear, though: we were not to do the jobs that permanent assistants regularly did - like make a gazillion worksheets by hand, make crafts for each week's theme, or re-braid hair after lunch as part of the teeth-brushing routine. (The hair braiding also happened to be right before naptime, so the girls always ended up going to lie down with freshly braided hair that would only get rumpled within a few minutes. I didn't get it.) I kept trying to understand how I could be most useful (talked with the English program coordinator, my teachers, la directora, and with Alicia about what our role should be), as well filling in gaps as best I could. I read (in Spanish) with the kids (something that didn't really happen in my classroom otherwise). I played with the kids. Once I tried to teach duck, duck, goose to the class (the short "u" sound is not a sound in Spanish, so thought it would be a good game. The tias sort of helped explain the rules, but not really). I tried to anticipate the routines, but it wasn't easy (especially since the routines changed frequently).

Early on, I decided that my job in Chile was to learn Spanish, and that working as an assistant would help me do that. Children need a lot of language from their adults (especially when they are upset, or their behavior needs redirecting) so I had good motivation, and eventually got to a point where I could start to be useful. I eventually knew enough Spanish that I could help calm kids down (as opposed to cause more anxiety by saying wrong or unintelligible things), or help with a scraped knee or earthquake evacuation. It was tough, though. It wasn't until the last two weeks there that the other tias started to tell the kids that they had to listen to me or do what I said.

I can see where it's hard to welcome (or, at least, easy to forget to welcome) someone to your workplace when a) they don't speak your language very well if at all, b) they don't know the routines, c) you don't want them there, d) you know they are only there for three-four months at most, e) you have pre-conceived notions about them that don't necessarily sit well with you, or f) any or all of the above. But still. The teachers were nice to us and chatted with us whenever they could, but didn't include us as part of the work team. If looks or snotty peerrrrmiiiiisoos could kill, the assistants would have done us in several times over within the first month. It wasn't awesome.

I wonder if it could have gone differently. If there had been someone at the school whose job it was to adopt us (be our go-to for questions, tell us about exceptions to the schedule, and talk about expectations) or if we had gone in with a job description for the non-Spanish-speaking assistant, would it have eliminated some of the frustration? Or was it always going to be frustrating to do something so similar to what I already did but in a completely different context? I think the staff has to decide that they want English speakers there before they take another one, but there are a few things that could be done to make it easier for everyone.

After two months we abandoned the assistant role. It was always too much for the teachers to "take care of us too" all day long, and the frustration levels on our end were just too distracting. I did slightly regret not sticking it out, though. In May and June, I used my extra time to work on note cards and to write and read in Spanish, but I found it was only in the preschool that I felt "the click." That click you feel when you are only thinking and speaking in Spanish, and it doesn't hurt.

In the end, a good experience...

...and I learned to accept that there was something
about me that the kids adored that had
nothing to do with what I said to them. Eventually.

Americans sleep all the time

I needed an extraordinary amount of sleep when I was in Chile. Between learning to think in a new language, figuring out how everyday systems worked and getting my bearings, and making decisions all day every day (whether simple decisions or difficult ones), I was exhausted at all times. Excited and happy to be figuring these things out, but exhausted.

You know how in day-to-day life we make all kinds of decisions without even realizing that we are making decisions all day long? Simple things that I can usually do on autopilot suddenly required thought. I am buying fruit in a grocery store -- remember to weigh it in the produce department. I am meeting this person for the first time -- remember to kiss them on the cheek. And although new habits formed to the point where I didn't have to think about it anymore, there were four months worth of things that I suddenly had to think about. Like I said, it was cool to get to figure those things out, but it was tiring.

Add to that a language barrier.

If fluency in a language can be rated on a scale of 1-10, getting to level 2 is pretty easy (hello, how are you, I do [everything in present tense only], whose book is this?), but the leap from level 2 to levels 3 and 4 is much harder to make. (Do you remember that you said you would help me today? I would like to meet his parents and tell them that he speaks English well. I did [anything in the past tense(s)] and I will do [something in the future tense]). Between having limited general vocabulary to begin with, learning Chilean Spanish, and not being able to parse the Chilean accent easily, my brain was constantly doing guesswork and scripting/practicing conversations as much as it could in advance of any interactions. At first, constructing questions was the challenge, and the challenge quickly became being ready to understand the responses. Cool! I just some amount of kilo of meat from the butcher! I don't know what kind of meat it is, but it looks edible. Oh...now he's telling me something...what is he telling me...I have to go over there...ahhhh, I have to pay for it first, get a receipt, and then come back to the meat counter to get the meat. I think. Or. I have to get something from the pharmacy. I have to talk to a pharmacist to get it. I'll do it tomorrow. Immersion is the best way to go when learning a language, but it is tiring.

Add to that the frustrations I had with myself.

You know that old saying "everywhere you go, there you are"? I spent too much time processing the truths (real, perceived, doesn't matter) of that adage.  Many of my insecurities were highlighted to me the longer I was there (mainly because my way of compensating for weaknesses didn't work for me while I was there), and there were two incidents that confirmed worst fears about myself (mainly because I was so tired that it was far too easy for me to fall into the  oh, god, the problem is me and my way of being in the world line of thinking). Damn. I can't say that I successfully staved off the negative thinking, but the work of doing so was a) fascinating, and b) (you got it) tiring.

So, my brain was always full. Over time I developed new stamina as I got used to how things work in Chile, and as the Spanish improved. (In March, I maxed out around noon. In April I maxed out around 4pm, and in May I maxed out around 9pm). But still. I required minimum 10 hours of sleep every night, which meant that I was always the first one to go to bed. (11pm or midnight on the weekdays, 1am on the weekends).

I think I always would have been perceived as the girl who sleeps a lot, regardless. Chileans, generally speaking, seem to operate on about 5 hours of sleep a day. I've never been able to sustain that, nor do I want to try.

If you ever think about doing something like this, consider a country that siestas. 

Where did my apples go?

I will be learning from my time in Chile over the next number of years, but one of my more immediate takeaways is that there's a reason why people do these trips in their twenties or their sixties, and not in their thirties or forties.

Going in my mid-thirties made sense to me, especially when I compared my current self to my early-twenties self.  I am more resourceful, resilient, better off financially now compared to then. I had an employer who was willing to hold my job for me while I took a sabbatical (even though I don't work in a sabbatical-taking field), and a friend who wanted to go with me (it wasn't something my husband wanted to do, although he was very supportive of my going).

Also, in my mid-thirties, I had great clarity on the direction I wanted to take in my life and in my career, and felt reasonably optimistic about my options. When I was planning this trip a year ago, I also knew/gambled that it would be awhile before I could do the things I wanted to explore doing, so...why not take the time to cross this thing off my bucket list while waiting for other things to happen or not happen?

There is a metaphor
coming your way

Here's the thing, though. This kind of travel, while amazing, is distracting. And I wasn't in the market for that kind of distraction. The trip took a lot out of me, and upset my apple cart more than a little bit. I stepped away (not completely, but enough) from my relationships, from my household, from my job, from the life that I am in an active stage of growing and maintaining. I lost my roles and jobs in some cases, and parts of them in other cases. It was about three weeks after I got home that I looked at my life through my exhaustion-colored glasses, and saw that not only were all the apples on the ground (some bruised, some rolling away, some carried off by giant squirrels), but that I also had a runaway cart situation. (Dramatic, I know. But that's what I saw).

Although my personal and professional goals didn't change while I was away (in fact, they felt more solid than ever), I was knocked off my game in a way that I didn't anticipate. Have I mentioned that I was worn out when I got home? That meant that I didn't quite have the reserve left to do the exhausting work of tracking down my apples. I don't want to write about specifics, but to further the metaphor a bit more, there were some apples that I was not willing to take back (situations where returning to the status quo was either not doable or not desirable) and other apples that fell into my cart that I didn't want to take back (situations where I returned to the status quo despite not wanting to).  I also felt like I got my favorite/important apples back into the cart right away, but didn't tend to them the way that I needed to because I was distracted by sorting through the rotten apples.

I think I tortured that
metaphor well enough

At any rate, it was a long time before I could sleep regularly, eat regularly, or hold a thought in my head long enough to even start to get back to my self. I will never know if re-entry would have been harder or easier or simply different to in my twenties or not, but I really didn't expect it to be challenging in my thirties.

Viña del Mar: the place I have called...

home ...Viña...for the last four months. I came to care about my housemates, coworkers, and friends more than I expected, but I never did refer to the casa mostaza or Viña as "home." Home, of course, is wherever my Dan is. 

Viña del Mar. Vineyard of the Sea.
aka
La Ciudad Jardin. The Garden City.

It never was the Jewel of the Pacific that Valparaíso was. When Valpo was at its prime (before the devastating earthquake of 1906 and the opening of the Panama Canal in 1914), Viña was were the upper levels of the socioeconomic stratosphere built their mansions and resorts, casino, theaters, and beaches. It is now home to Chile´s most popular music festival, long stretches of beach and rocky shoreline, and various naval facilities. 

People actually use the exercise
equipment provided at the beach

The Presidential retreat is located in Viña.
Note the cannon. Chile´s coastline is lined with cannons. 

In a way, the city still is a retreat for the wealthy. We stayed in a 16th floor condo in Gran Oceano with our primary contact's mother-in-law for the first two weeks of our stay, and learned that the complex is mostly vacant for 10 months of the year because so many Santiagoans own condos that they use during the summer months. 

Everyone knows Gran Oceano

There is a mall, complete with retail chain stores, movie theaters, and fast food. There are librerías (which don't actually sell books), botonerías (which do actually sell buttons), and mercados (that match what I imagined South America to look like). Right outside the grocery store chains, you'll find fruit stands, carnicerías and panaderías. 

Mercado Central Fish Market

It's a city where everyone but everyone wears skinny jeans everywhere (to work, church, and play), street sweepers actually use brooms and rakes, and beautiful green spaces, like Quinta Vergara, exist blocks away from a huge casino.

Quinta Vergara

Viña Del Mar Casino

It´s a city where it's hard to find a good Malbec throughout the year (but a good carmenere is impossible to not find), buskers have talent, and people buy stuff (band-aids, sewing needles, whatever) from people peddling their wares in restaurants and on the bus.

It´s a city that overlooks a horseshoe bay filled with container ships, navy ships, sail boats and some incredible Southern Hemisphere west coast sunsets. 

Not a bad view to have while hashing
out frustrations with having to break through
Spanish language learning blocks

Another not bad view

Nobody sends personal mail. Very recently, I wanted to send a card -not a postcard, a card- to my aunt and uncle. It took a week and a half to find an appropriate card (confirmation cards and birthday cards are the only options available, unless you dig deep), then another two days before I found an envelope (which seem to be sold separately!). 

It was a good choice for me, in the end. I met some people that I would love to know for the rest of my life. The air is clean, the ocean is lovely, and it is easy to navigate and get around. We both met people who would slow down and help us with the Spanish, and people who wouldn´t (which was great, actually).

Speaking of ¨"home," though...the energy and the vibe of Viña reminded me very much of my hometown of Duluth, but with a 1990s-era South American flavor. (This was both frustrating and awesome. Frustrating in that Duluth is not the town for me - awesome in that Viña felt familiar relatively quickly).

Thanks for letting me pass through, Viña. 

Welcome to the desert, part three

Beauty in the Atacama.

Valle de la Luna

This valley was named after the moon in 1969, when images from the Apollo 11 mission looked so much like the terrain in this part of the desert. From salt caves to sand dunes, there is a lot going on in this small geographic area. 

It had snowed a few days before we arrived, leaving just enough moisture in the air for a bacteria to grow (although I gather the bacteria can´t live for more than 10 days). 

Bacteria on the ground

Landscape of the Moon

Stratification

Sand dunes

Salt Caves

Salt Caves

The valley being other'wordly and all,
I tried to catch a ride through the galaxy. No go.

Valle de Muerte

Death Valley was originally named for Mars. Gustavo Le Paige, a Belgian Jesuit priest, called it Valle de Marte, but (like me) his accent was so bad that the locals heard "muerte". 

It will always be Mars Valley to me

El Tatio Geyser Field

The geyser field is among the highest in elevation in the world. It is so cold that ice forms on the ground, right next to the boiling water. 

Geysers at sunrise

Ice and boiling water, together at last

Beautiful colors
at the geyser field

Salar de Atacama 

The salt flats formed over a million years ago, leaving behind an excellent source for lithium extraction. The high elevation, limited amount of rainfall, and high evaporation favors the continuous accumulation of salt. 

Salt flats

Looks like dirty snow
I felt like I got spring this year, after all

Laguna Chaxa

At the eastern edge of the salt flats lies this little lagoon. The lagoons form from water that trickles down from the mountain. It meets with a "salt wedge" of material that allows the water to rise. The lagoons have lower salinity, allowing for wildlife and vegetation to survive. 

More flamingoes

Laguna Miñiques

This lagoon has a lot going on around it. Volcanoes, desert, snow, and wildlife. 

Perfectly shaped volcano, if you ask me
The Inca thought so too. They did their
sacrificing to this, the Licancabur Volcano

Lava Rocks

The lava rock formations come from magma that bubbled up from below the surface. 

Lava rocks

Welcome to the desert, part two

Although you´d expect the driest desert on earth to be fairly inhospitable (at least, insects and snakes believe this, and did not show themselves to me during the week in the desert. I´m cool with that) there is some really interesting diversity in the wildlife and plantlife front. 

Three species of flamingoes live in the Salar de Atacama (the salt flats): the Jame's, the Andean, and the Chilean. The Chilean flamingo does an adorable moon walk while it's eating its microorganisms (no shrimp, of course) from the salty waters. 

Los Flamencos National Reserve

Vicuña herd, cousin to the camel

Andean fox, primary predator

We also saw llamas, birds, and an adorable little viscacha (part of the chincilla family) which moves about like a wallaby. 

We were also on the lookout for llatera (not to be confused with llaterá), a funky plant that grows only in the desert. I never did see the bright green blob I was was looking for, but I did see lots of bushes and grassy patches, admired the local use cardón (cactus wood) of and ate ice cream made from the fruit of a chañar tree. 

Forest in the desert.
Those roots dig deep.

Cactus wood has been used
to make items for everday use,
and also in construction of
houses and churches

Cachiyuyo
Tastes like salty clover

Rica Rica
used for headaches
and stomach nausea

I think I did see llatera after all.
It definitely wasn´t the bright green desert blob
I was looking for.

Welcome to the desert, part one

The timing of our trip to the desert was deliberate. We started our time in Chile by exploring parts of Southern Patagonia and Chiloé, and we wanted to compare the southern part of the country with the north. We also wanted to compare our pre-immersion Spanish to post-immersion Spanish abilities. I am pleased with how much more I understand, but feel like two more months would have been just enough to break through the next wall.  And yet, the timing of the desert trip was off. I am really sick of not being with my husband, and it's an odd thing to be surrounded by some of the most interesting and beautiful and I have seen, and only want to be at home. 

The Atacama Desert, the driest on earth

For the first time in months, my towel actually dried (not the case in the ocean-side town I've been staying in this winter), and I finally had use for the lechuga cream (yup, lettuce lotion) I bought back in March. 

At these altitudes (between 7,875ft and 14,200ft above sea level) and at this time of year, it is both summer and winter. Hot in the sun, and cold in the shade. There were times that I thought my water bottle spilled in my purse because my hip was cold. Each time it turned out that my hip was simply shaded by the purse. The temps dropped to below freezing at night, so I bundled up in at least three layers of clothes, including my hat, mittens, and scarfs, and at least 3 wool blankets to sleep. I never did sleep very well. 

Speaking of high elevation, I have been living at sea level for the last three and a half months, so going to mountain elevation was a bit of a shock to the system. I don´t think I had altitude sickness, but I was constantly aware of the elevation, so I picked up some of mate de coco tea. Coco leaves, popular in the Andes for centuries, act as a blood thinner and can help a body  adjust to higher elevations. 

Desert Life

Humans have lived and survived in this desert for over 12,000 years. I made it one week.

Tourist town. Not tourist town.

San Pedro de Atacama is set up for tourists, and serves as a relaxing and charming jumping off point for exploring the nearby parts of the desert. Although the surrounding villages don't have the "deliberate desert" look of San Pedro, they are set up for tourists as well, with artesenal crafts and llama meat. 

Llama meat

No matter the size of the village, there is a church, a . Agriculture is possible in the desert because of the rivers and drainage from the mountains. The Inca had settled the northern part of Chile as well, and left behind terrace farming (and sacrificing children and animals to volcanoes). 

   

Village of Solcaire

Quinoa and beans

Desert Death
An archaeologist´s dream, a genealogist´s nightmare. Everything is preserved so beautifully because of the lack of moisture, but it is not going to be easy to find your long lost relatives in the desert. 

The San Pedro de Atacama Cemetery is quite possibly the most unique I have seen, with mounds of dirt and a simple cross (sometimes with full names and dates) to mark the graves.

Mausoleums made of mud