Into the Twilight Zone...


This weekend was my first official adventure here in Chile. This monday and tuesday there were no classes, so myself and 9 other international students decided to do a bit of exploring. Our original plan was to rent a cabana in the Andes and go skiing, but we didn't make plans far enough in advance, so we ended up renting out a room in a hostel in a town a few hours south of Santiago, called Chillan. After a 5 hour bus ride, we arrived in the seemingly empty town and proceeded to search for our residence. Sarah's expression in this picture sum up the group sentiment quite well...one of frustration, confusion, and complete exhuastion after our five hour bus ride...



We eventually found our residence a few blocks from the bus station. We were given a small room containing ten beds and one table. The room smelled of dust and there was only one single fluorescent light bulb lighting the entire space.



We were quite skeptical, but were quickly served dinner by the man who owned the residence. Our stay at the hostel cost about 8 dollars a night, which included breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Our first two meals were served by the sweetest little girl named Pia. At one point, I was standing with her in the hall when she decided to show me where we were staying on a map of the city of Chilan. She stood on her tip toes and pointed to a spot on Itata street, and then proceeded to ask me where I was from. I told her I was from the United States. After hearing this, she once more stood on her tip toes and proceeded to search for the United States on her small map of the city. I couldn't help but chuckle to myself at her innocence, but it was quite obvious from her reaction that the people of Chilan are rather sequestered.



The town was rather deserted the entire weekend, but I found it particularly intriguing. The houses were painted in bright and obscure colors, and the streets were lined with trees waiting for the spring's sunlight to blossom. Half of the streets were paved with cobblestone, and on our way out of the town on Tuesday, we even saw a horse-drawn carriage. Walking down the street felt as though one had walked into a completely different dimension, straight out of a story book filled with color-enhanced photographs.





I found an array of interesting details throughout the town, such as the broken bottles that lined the top of this wall. I've noticed in Chile that all of the houses seem to be fenced in, and a majority of the fences and walls are adorned with some sort of menacing trimming such a as small metal spike trim that seems to be rather popular. This house, however, had a combination of barbed wire and broken glass bottles protecting it's contents.



The town seemed to be more of a ghost town, save for a number of stray dogs and an occasional pedestrian or taxi cab. The area seems to be rather poor, however there was an interesting contrast in a few of the buildings and a few vehicles that I found parked on the side streets.



I also found that the buildings that seemed the most run down and in need of attention were the most interesting. There was so much character in this small, empty town. I could have gotten lost for hours, wandering through the maze of streets decorated with brightly colored buildings and bare trees.





When we arrived on Sunday, we were surprised to find out that there was a ski resort a few hours from our hostel. So monday morning, we piled into a rented van with two guys we met at the bus station -- a native of the town and another exchange student from New York. The 12 of us drifted in and out of sleep during the two hour drive, and awoke half way through the trip to find that we were surrounded in snow. We pulled over to put snow chains on the van tires, and then proceeded onward for another 45 minutes up the mountain.

After a long wait in a confusing ski rental building, a group of 6 of us wandered out onto the slopes, with only one having previously been on a slope. Poor Patty tried her best to teach us the basics, but being rather new to the sport as well, she had a very difficult time doing so. Mark and I managed to get enough of a grasp to venture out onto an actual path with Patty after a couple of hours on the practice hill.



The mountains were absolutely gorgeous. I had never been on an actual ski slope before, but I think the Andes far surpass anything back in the United States. I insisted upon taking out my camera and snapping pictures every time I fell --which was quite often on my first time down the slope. I was in complete awe of the scenery, and quite often found myself slowly drifting toward a cliff while I was looking at the mountains off to one side. Thankfully the three of us made it through one of the easier paths two times, complete with a few trips on the ski lift --something of which I've always been both petrified and intrigued. I am by no means an experienced skier today, and still don't know how to stop without running into a snow bank or squatting and dragging my butt until I slow to a stop, but I am able to say that I first learned to ski in the Andes mountains.



On a bit of a different note, the slopes were an interesting experience because I noticed at one point while waiting for the lift, that a lot of people there were speaking english. This isn't all that surprising when you think about it since the Andes are a big attraction and it's currently ski season here, but what I found interesting was that I didn't really notice for a while that my native language was being spoken. I've reached the point where I think in spanish --or at least attempt to-- and have to think twice when spelling cognates in english, but I'm apparently not completely adjusted to living here. If I were, the english language would have seemed out of place to me. So I suppose I still have more adapting to do...and I must admit that I'm actually rather excited for it.