Jo jo jo!

Yikes! My how the time has flown by! I write you guys from a little internet cafe in Rivadavia, a town outside of Mendoza where I'm staying with my friend Flor, a.k.a. the most generous and friendly gal in the world. So let's see.... here's a rundown of the life of the Loomis:
Friday, December 21st: Finished my TEFL course! Drank champagne with the volunteers and handed in my portfolio. Sweet relief. Then out to a ritzy bar with the Chilenos.
Saturday, December 22nd: Off in a bus to Mendoza! Met at the terminal by old friends Esteban and Juli... We go to Esteban's dad's ranch house where I play in the pool with 6 of E's 10 siblings. Play= I drag around 3 on each arm and translate their names into "English."
Sunday, December 23rd: More of the same, plus chilling in the park. I love Mendoza a lot.
Monday, December 24th: I wake up sick as a dog. Get on the bus to Rivadavia, THROW UP ON THE BUS, and am basically a waste of space zombie for the rest of the day ( a "waste-of-space zombie", not a "space zombie"--- that would be way cooler). At the Christmas eve dinner, I meet Flor's entire family and then go to throw up more. The joke of the night is that I must be pregnant. I tell them I got to know Chile, but not THAT well.
Tuesday, December 25th: Feliz Navidad! The call home, although necessary, is of course hard. Another year goes by without Dad's Christmas mornin' french toast. We pass the day drinking mate, watching the rain (which ruined the traditional Christmas lie-by-the-pool) and watching Mickey Mouse on tv.
Wednesday, December 26th: I'm finally at 100 percent again! I log on to the comp for the first time in five days and promptly freak out about my future.
I hope you guys all had wonderful holidays. I promise to be in better contact soon!

My awesome visit to Viña and Valpo with Amy, Kate and Courtney: A Poem

If you´re wanting to go to Viña del Mar,
Just take a bus, you don't need a car.
I did it just now, it was just so easy,
Cause there were three girls, waiting for me!

We made a fresh lunch in the hostel room,
Experienced travelers, they knew what to consume.´
Off to the beach, in the sun we did bake,*
And FIVE TIMES felt the shudder of a fuerte earthquake!

At Amy's host fam´s, we ate completos,*
And laughed at dirty jokes, it was first rate-o.
Then to El Huevo to dance on one of five floors,
Reggae, salsa, metal, hip-hop, the choice it is yours!

I got scammed by a taxista, but I learned my lesson,
Don't trust a "discount" he calls a "Christmas present"!
At Amy's pal Pietro's house, we ate homemade lasagna.
Nothin´ cures a hangover like comida Italiana!

A few hours later I was so sad to go,
And say goodbye to these friends I had just come to know.
Now they're back in the States, more adventures in store,
I thank them for a weekend that has now become lore!

*With layers and layers of sunscreen, moms!
**A hotdog like you have never seen, with fresh avocado, tomato, pebre and fresh bread!

TEFL: Terrifying English and a Freaked-out Loomis

So, last Monday little Abby Boom Boom wandered into my first day of TEFL thinking, basically, that I didn't really need the class, just the certificate. I mean c'mon, I've tutored ESL for 3 years, volunteer-taught in Austin, I know everything, right?

Oh, so very, very wrong. At the school, I am learning sooo much about language teaching techniques (or at least as much as you can fit in in two very busy weeks) and realizing just how very hard it is. Thank goodness my TEFL teacher, Margaret, is so great, and my compañera in the class is awesome as well: only 28, with a Renée Zellwegger-look and a super relaxed, kind attitude, she has indeed disproved my previously mentioned assertion that married people are boring. Together we are two warriors of TEFL, fighting off the spectres of Tarzan talk, echoing, classroom narration, metalanguage and too much TTT.
Confused? I was too. There are so many codewords and acronyms in the TEFL-verse that it can be intimidating, but I quickly learned the ones that correspond to my weak spots:
Tarzan talk: Our first week we were practice teaching with a group of beginner volunteers. I've mostly worked with beginners, so I wasn't that worried, until Margaret told us that translation was highly discouraged in the classroom, even for people who are just starting! However, you're also not supposed to use "Tarzan talk," a.k.a. "Read. Ask. Tell teacher she pretty." Margaret showed us it wasn't impossible on the first day by giving us a mini lesson in Portuguese. By the end of the hour I was saying "eu so Abby" and I also didn't feel like I had been talked to like a guagua (Chilean for baby).
Echoing: When I first read on the online course that many teachers have a problem with repeating everything that their student said, I thought that was ridiculous. "Well that's one thing I won't have a problem with!" I scoffed to myself.In the class I taught on Friday, Margaret took notes. Echo count? 8. My bad!
Classroom narration: Another common teacher problem I assigned to less brilliant trainees. Cut to me last Thursday in class: "Now, I am going to shut the door!" My double bad!
Meta-language (a.k.a. the terms for elements of English grammar): Until last week, Spanish was hard and English was my friend, my mother tongue, that little blanket of simplicity and ample vocabulary (see? I said "ample," not "big!")I could curl up in when rolled r's and imperfect subjunctive were stabbing me in the heart. Now that I'm actually supposed to underSTAND why English, the muttiest of all mutt languages, is so freakin' weird, I hate it.
TTT (a.k.a. Teacher Talking Time): The worst of all! The big rule is that students in a language class are going to learn the most if they, duh, speak the language. Which means ol Loomball, the Baroness of Banter, Goddess of Gab, Queen of the Quip, Countess of Chatter, Potentate of Purposeless Palaver, better shut up.
In short, it's been tough. However, we are so lucky to have patient, fun and enthusiastic volunteers (who even brought Christmas cake and coffee last Friday, score!), and slowly but surely I'm starting to feel comfortable all by myself up there.

Tomando gin* y jugo

So last weekend Lizzy visited, and this weekend I got to hang out with yet another fellow American- none other than the Capital S oh yes so fresh N double O P D O double G Y D O double G ya see? Yep, Snoop Doggy Dogg rolled into town, and Benja and I just had to be there. The concert was unprecedented in two ways: not only was it the first time in Chile where I understood more than the majority (and got to translate things like "Chile has the loveliest mother----in' ladies in the world" for Benja), but it was also the first (and probably last) time I was actually glad that 90 % of Chilean dudes are shorter than me. Snoop was great, and it was a really interesting cultural experience as well. Benja was very concerned that I would be robbed. The next day at the dinner table I realized this was because the concert had a lot of, according to my family, "gente flaite," a.k.a. common, ordinary... basically, poor people. I said that I felt more at home than ever, surrounded by hip-hop style, and my host dad responded that maybe in the U.S. it's harder to distinguish who is "flaite," but here you can tell. Don't get me wrong, I'm very lucky to be living in a lovely apartment in such a nice part of Santiago, but I'm also trying to take what my family says about other Chileans with a grain of salt. After all, it was basically me (a starry-eyed gringa) and Benja (a.k.a. Carlton Banks) in the middle of this "rough crowd," and we were just fine. But maybe that's just the magic of Snoop.
Ed.'s note: According to my dear friend and former Chilean Laura Coco, the best translation she heard for "flaite" was "sketchy." I assumed that the word was classist, or at least my fam's use of it, because my bro was also laughing about how a Chilean rapper, Zaturno, was shouting out certain poorer neighborhoods and all the "gente flaite" were freaking out. So basically, I don't know if "flaite" is always classist, but I definitely got that vibe.
*O.k, Benja saw this blog and said that nobody translates gin into Spanish, it's just "gin." Whoops!

It Could Be Worse

On Wednesday, I tripped in the subway and even though the only person around had on headphones and pretended not to notice, I still felt very embarrassed. Today Paul, an older dude in my Spanish class, said he saw a guy get his foot caught exiting the bus and he was DRAGGED for half a block BY HIS FOOT before the driver realized to stop.

An Anguished Abby

(I've decided to write this one in third person for a little change of pace)
Today things began to look a little grim for the ol Loomball. This past Monday she had the opportunity to talk with Margaret, her future TEFL teacher. Good news: Margaret, a vibrant redheaded American with a variety of colorful skirts, seemed both totally nice and totally with-it. The bad news? Margaret told ol Luminosity that the TEFL class was going to be intense: in class from 9-5 everyday (part of the time practice-teaching) with up to four hours of homework! Also, there would be only one other classmate to share the burden (a woman, Margaret didn't know her age, married... and everyone knows that married people are boring*). The Loominostrich's joy at nearing the finish line of her occasionally tedious Spanish class disappeared faster than the last jug of wine at an asado. All of a sudden, trying to decipher Antonio Banderas' speed-of-light Spanish accent for four hours a day didn't seem so bad.
Little did Loopy Loomis know that things would only get more drastic. When she awoke in a pool of lovely Santiago sunlight this Thursday morning, she had one thing on her mind: what the hijo de puta huevon pelotudo indudable concha de tu madre was she going to do after the 21st of December? She had a bus ticket to Mendoza and a couple of friends who had said they could host her. Months ago. But after that? Panicked, she ran to dear ol Margaret. The Loominator poured out her fears and this is what Margaret said: "Oh Abstrocity. Here's what you need to do. Get your certificate to teach English. Once you get to Mendoza, hit the streets looking for jobs. Email the people in Buenos Aires and check out some schools in Santiago if you have time. You probably won't get a job, or at least more than a few classes, because it's the summer and the season really doesn't start until February. Other than that, be practical, don't spend a lot of money, cook for yourself (!), don't go out very much (!!) and mooch off your Argentine friends as long as possible."
Abacus held her head in her hands and began to softly weep. What kind of a plan was this? What if her money ran out before she got a job? What if her Argentine friends didn't mean it literally when they said "you can stay as long as you want"? Margaret gave her a pat on the shoulder. "Most importantly," she said, "don't stress out." Clearly, Margaret did not know who she was dealing with.
But don't worry dear readers. There was a light at the end of the tunnel for our friend AbFlex. It came in the form of a miraculously successful phone call to her friend Flor, in Argentina. "Oh amiga!" said Flor, "you just HAVE to spend Christmas with me and my family! Besides, everyone knows that the food/people/clothes/nightlife/air/Spanish/music/wine/plant species in Argentina are far superior to that of Chile!" Upon hanging up the phone, she felt a little less Loomiserable. Maybe she still had no idea what to anticipate in the year 2008. But she had a to-do list, and plans for Christmas. For now, that would do.
*only kind of true.

¿Qué pasa Mufasa?

This weekend my dear friend Lizzy/Lib/Eli Roehm visited Santiago, and boy did we paint the town red! Here we are on the balcony of her hostel in the Plaza de Armas:
It was so nice to chatter away (in Spanish, gotta keep practicing!) with such a good friend, and I finally got to do all the fun stuff downtown that I hadn't gotten to do yet! Lizzy and I ate salmon in the Mercado Central, checked out the view from the Cerro Santa Lucia:visited Pablo Neruda's house, La Chascona (here's some graffiti from outside that) , got ice cream with Mark, our new gringo friend from the hostel (and a fan of the Powder Kegs!), had a lovely dinner of gourmet hot dogs with my fam, went dancin, went to the museum, saw juggling and acrobatics and talked and talked and talked, what a treat. Lizzy even met a charming Chilean guy: Oh and P.S.: In Mendoza I got the nickname "Rey Leon" (Lion King) for having a lot of hair. The title of this post is a Chilean update of that nickname.