entonces, exploramos

,

Alright, well I realize that I've not written in awhile, but things have changed here in Viña/Valpo since arriving. Now it's cold. Cold and foggy. I really wouldn't mind the cold if only the fog would lift so I could see the water as I ride to class every day.

Speaking of classes, students are protesting the raise of the student price for the micro (city buses) so most of my classes are on paro. They're stopped. The only class that is officially meeting is my Conversación y Cultura Chilena class, which meets three times a week for an hour and a half. So I have things to do. I also said meeting "officially" because my Spanish Lit class, which had me way stressed in the beginning, as been sort of meeting. Just a couple gringos and the teacher. This has actually been a really big blessing that I didn't realize until today. We've been having one on one sessions with the teacher and she makes sure we understand absolutely everything before she moves on. I can understand her a lot better in these meetings than in the classroom too. There's something about being in a classroom with Chileans. When I'm not making direct eye contact it's harder for me to understand everything. I never realized just how much I rely on direct eye contact when speaking Spanish. Or also, if someone Chilean asks a question in class, I usually miss the question, and in turn don't understand the answer. But after these little meetings we've had, I feel much better about a lot of the material.

The past couple weekends have been spent exploring Valpo more, which I am very happy about. I live kind far-ish from a lot of the cerros of Valpo, which I guess has prevented me from getting up there and exploring. A couple weekends ago we went to La Sebastiana, which is la casa de Pablo Neruda, with the ISA group, and afterwards went over to El Museo Cielo Abierto, which are streets and ally ways filled with murals.

The view from the top floor of Pablo Neruda's house

This past weekend I went over to the ex-carcél. It used to be a prison but has now been transformed into almost a museum of murals and art and culture. We couldn't actually enter the prison itself, as they are renovating it I guess. However the murals were fabulous. I feel like painting one, not like I'm a real experienced muralist or anything.

One of the walls of murals at the ex-carcél

this wall was covered with a black cloth and somebody made these ojos grandes

I do feel really frustrated about one thing, and that's that I feel my ability to speak hasn't really improved to where I thought I'd be. I can definitely understand muuuch much better. So much better, although I still have problems now and then obviously. But I do lack some confidence speaking. I guess the obvious solution to that is to speak more. So, yeah. I'll be doing that.

I miss everybody. So so so much. I'm enjoying myself, but I feel like things would be perfect if everybody could be here with me.

Also... at the risk of making this super-long (although it might be necessary after failing to write anything in forever) I want to share this. I think it's exactly the words how this place makes me feel. It's not the entire poem, but here is a part of "A Don Asterio Alarcón, cronometrista de Valparaíso" or "To Don Asterio Alarcón, Clocksmith of Valparaíso" by Pablo Neruda

Olor a puerto loco
tiene Valparaíso
olor a sombra, a estrella,
a escama de la luna
y a cola de pescado.
El corazón recibe escalofríos
en las desgarradoras escaleras
de los hirsutos cerros:
allí grave miseria y negros ojos
bailan en la neblina
y cuelgan las banderas
del reino en las ventanas:
las sábanas zurcidas
las viejas camisetas,
los largos calzoncillos,
y el sol del mar saluda los emblemas
mientras la ropa blanca balancea
un pobre adiós a la marinería

Calles del mar, del viento,
del día duro envuelto en aire y ola,
callejones que cantan hacia arriba
en espiral como las caracolas:
la tarde comerical en transparente,
el sol visita las mercaderías,
para vender sonríe el almacén
abriendo escaparate y dentadura,
zapatos y termómetros, botellas
que encierran noche verde,
trajes inalcanzables, ropa de oro
funestos calcetines, suaves quesos

Translation:
Smell of a crazy seaport,
Valparaíso has,
smell of shade, of stars,
a suspicion of the moon
and the tails of fish.
The heart takes to shivering
on the tattered stairways
up the shaggy hills.
There, squalor and black eyes
dance in the sea mist
and hang out the flags
of the kingdom in the windows-
the sheets stitched together,
the ancient undershirts,
the long-legged drawers-
and the sea sun salutes the emblems
while the white laundry waves
a threadbare goodbye to the sailors.

Streets of sea and wind,
of the hard day swaddled in air and waves,
alleyways singing upward
in a winding spiral, like shells-
the market afternoon is shining,
the sun touches the merchandise,
shop fronts smile like salesman
opening windows and dentures,
shoes and thermometers, bottles
enclosing a green darkness,
impossible suits, clothes of gold,
gloomy socks, bland cheeses