this just might have been the most entertaining day ever

a happy thanksgiving to all of us gringos living in a land void of the day dedicated to gluttony. for the first time in my life i worked both thanksgiving day and black friday. fortunately, i enjoyed the annual binge today since it couldn't happen during the week. and however entertaining it was!

chef craig volunteered his apartment and expertise to the outing. he made:

• turkey...oh wait, chicken, since turkeys were too large for the oven
• cranberry sauce...i mean cherry sauce. cranberries apparently don't exist here
• homemade stuffing...stove top, how simple you make our lives
• homemade pumpkin pie...no cans of pumpkin. pumpkin pie is unheard of here
• homemade pecan pie...yum

the rest of us brought food, too. best friend, sara, and i chose to make pretzel salad and mashed potatoes at her place. we ended up buying a box of brownies, as well.

problem #1 = no 9x13 pan

problem #2 = oven doesn't have the right temperature and apparently bakes unevenly

problem #3 = no measuring cups

problem #4 = jello takes a long time to set-up

problem #5 = public transportation is bumpy

problem #6 = metro closes at 10:30 and buses go to unknown places

no problem on the pan. we found this flat giant one in the oven. no problem that the oven only heats to 250 instead of 400, we'll just bake the pretzel crust for closer to 15 minutes instead of 8. after about 10 minutes the burnt smell alerted us to take it out! good thing we still have some pretzels. we'll just find another make-shift pan, bake some more pretzels, then combine it with the not-so-burnt half of this one. actually, worked nicely.

all right, so no pan for the brownies, either. why don't we bake in skillets more often?

the crust was decent in our opinions, and the cream cheese/whipped cream mixture just barely covered it. i was making the jello and it called for 1/2 liter boiling water, which the box told us is 2 1/2 cups. i took a coffee mug to measure water and boiled it. i poured the boiling water into a pitcher with the jello pack to mix. the pitcher was already 3/4 full and i wondered how in the world i was going to fit the 1/2 liter of cold water. sara looked for another container to mix in, and it then hit us that this pitcher was filled with much more than 1/2 liter of water. i had used a big coffee mug, not the small one! haha. oops. we just compensated with less cold water and no longer needed a different container. but then when we poured the jello on top, it magically sunk to the bottom and turned out looking a little crazy. we put the finished pretzel salad in the fridge and the door wouldn't shut so we removed part of the door and took a deep breath.

the mashed potatoes were the easy part because we opted for a boxed mix we found. uncertain one pot was big enough for both boxes, we made the potatoes in two. after the water boils, you remove the pot from the heat and stir in the mix. well, we had no hot pads, so i grabbed a towel and slid the pot over to the unlit burner and my towel caught on fire! thankfully i flailed it around and the flames went out, leaving only one end of the towel slightly singed. after mixing the potatoes, i went to combine the two pots and totally dropped the one pot into the other. sara took over at this point.

it was time to leave and the pretzel salad was still liquid. praise god for tin foil in the house! we covered it and walked carefully. we hadn't even walked out of the neighborhood yet and sara was covered in jello. it sloshed out the sides little by little and we realized we were going to have to get on the bus with it! sara was going to need a seat. definitely. but then our bus had a flat part so she got to rest it there, being sure to tip it accordingly as we came to sudden stops and hit various bumps. we likened it to that game with the little ball.

dinner was so good it hurt. i still have a food baby at this point in time. too bad we enjoyed one another's company so much that we didn't leave until 10:30, when the metro closes. imagine our excitement when sara and i found a bus stop with the two buses we needed! 212 for me and 104 for her. at least, 212 is what people had told me runs by my house...

the streets were unfamiliar and after about an hour (yes, it takes that long to get home) i asked a lady if our bus goes by my street. "no, mi amor. este es santa rosa. baja con nosotros y hay otro bus por alla." she was basically saying, "nope, sure doesn't, but we'll help you out." i got off the bus with her and her husband whose giant bag with bows sticking out the top told me they'd been christmas shopping, and a small group formed strategizing which bus i should take. i crossed the street with a girl asking me if i was lost. what gave her that idea? some gringa wandering a dangerous street at 11:30 at night asking about a street that is super far away!

the little blue bus i needed arrived in no time and one of my rescuers told the driver to tell me when i was at my destination and to look out for me. people really are nice here. they take a responsibility for getting you home safely and protecting you along the way. public transportation. what an adventure.

side note: no, i don't take safety lightly, but living in a foreign land requires a humor only a traveler can understand.

and that, my friends, closes out one of the best days ever.

When in Chile...

"If a Chilean robs you, let him. It's part of his culture." This quote from the Spaniards holds just as true in Chile as it does outside the country. Although, I hear theft is even worse in other South American countries...

My best friend, Sara, and I went to Viña del Mar this weekend with Pablo's family from church. Viña is a vacation hot spot for the six million of us residing in Santiago, though the tourism books claim it doesn't amount to much. Thanks to the divine weather and good company, my experience was far from mundane.

I caved-in and bought a "banano". That's right folks, I now proudly own a fannie pack. They're cool here, so you'll have to take my word on that. Sara and I plan to bring the style back to the states - they're just so practical!

We bought picnic food and hit the beach ASAP. The beach was busy, but not overly crowded, and after downing our sandwiches I laid back and my eyes gently closed. My backpack was right by my feet but I had the thought that I should probably be touching it. My toes stretched forward and I didn't feel it so I opened my eyes to see a high-school-aged boy unzipping my backpack. At the sight of me he walked away and I looked around meeting the eyes of everyone who had been watching the "almost theft" happen. I busted out laughing. Too predictable!

The curious part to me was that no one said anything. There were definite onlookers. Granted, fear is a motivator and sometimes pick-pocketers come armed, but I feel like given a similar situation in the states, we would speak up. I'm fortunate I didn't wait another moment to open my eyes or my few possessions would have surely been swiped, but seriously?!

However, I must say, stereotypes are far from all-inclusive. One of my favorite (now) experiences of renewed faith in Chileans was a day a few weeks back when the temperatures in the city soared. I had eaten garbanzos the night before and woken-up sick the next morning, causing me to not work my morning hours nor eat much of anything. I assured myself I was well for night classes and hopped on that metro that was quite possibility one hundred degrees too warm for my state of being.

Still numerous stops away, I was dizzy and losing consciousness. Looking around at those seated next to me I admitted, "No siento bien." The man sitting diagonal from me advised I get off the train and I took his advice, only to fall to the floor as soon as I stepped foot on the pavement. He had followed me off the train and tried to help me walk. Again, I sunk to the floor and the next thing I know I was on a stretcher in the metro station!

I was taken to a small back room where the metro workers brought me a glass of sugar water and cool rag to wipe off my face and neck that was now drenched in sweat. The man who had followed me off the train was there and had carried my purse.

If ever there was an opportunity to take advantage of an opportunity to steal, I'd say a passed-out gringa would be one of them! However, not only did he wait there until I felt recouped, he flagged down a cab, took it with me, refused to let me pay for it, and gave me his # in case I had any further troubles!

So what do I think of Chileans? Inconclusive. The culture may teach me to be on guard and not let that trust I grew-up cherishing rule my decisions, but all confidence in the virtue of humanity here is far from gone.

Here I have a wonderful Chilean family who loves me regardless of how much of their food I eat, how little chores I do, how many times I don't understand the words they say, or how many times I've woken them up when I come home late. They renew my hope and encourage my heart.

God knows what we need when we need it and his faithfulness to me in recent weeks has been completely undeniable.

Machas a la parmesana

How to make super great clams:

• Go to your local fish market in the morning.
• Buy the more expensive clams that were just brought in that morning.
• Watch the people clean them.
• Take them home and wash the shells.
• Place the shells on a tray.
• Put one clam on each shell.
• Next, put cheese on top.
• Then, a bit of butter.
• Sprinkle oregano.
• Put on the grill.
• Once warm and melty, squeeze a little lemon juice.
• Enjoy!

I think I ate about 50 of these last weekend....yum.

La Nana (housekeeper)

Kena was my Chilean family's housekeeper. She cleaned Mondays and Thursdays from 9:00 in the morning until 5:30 in the afternoon, earning 20 luka, which is about 40 USD. She cleaned well, but my family started noticing things like laundry detergent, coffee, and shampoo weren't lasting as long as they used to. My Chilean mom's cousin used the same housekeeper and noticed the same.

Last week, my older sister came over to do laundry and there was no detergent left. She called mom who told her where she could find another bottle, but upon opening it, sister found it was filled with water. Though she hated to do so, she opened Kena's purse and sure enough, there was a little bottle filled with detergent.

Mom wanted to talk to Kena about it and preferred to do it in person, but not alone. Since I don't work until later today, she had Kena over this morning and sat her down. Mom asked if she believed in God and prayed before starting the conversation. She told Kena about the missing items and how if she needed anything she could ask and the family would happily give it to her. Mom told her how well she cleaned and counseled her to never take anything from future families she works for. Kena denied stealing anything, but mom dismissed her nonetheless.

I walked Kena out, locking the gate after her. When I came back inside, mom had tears in her eyes because she knows Kena has it worse off than us, but she just couldn't keep someone who was dishonest. I told her I admired the way she handled the conversation and it was obvious she cared.

Theft may be commonplace in this culture, but it's encouraging to be reminded that stereotypes never hold true for every individual and there are people who fear God and desire to live lives of integrity. I'm fortunate enough to have been invited to live with a family with those kinds of values.