30 before 30: #10 Eat dinner at Chez Panisse

My earliest memory of a famous restaurant and chef is thanks to a beautiful children's book called "Fanny at Chez Panisse" that explores Alice Water's world from kitchen to food through the eyes of a little girl. It is one of my most beloved books from childhood - so it makes total sense that an adult foodie would have eating dinner at Chez Panisse on her bucket list.

Since I moved home in 2009, I have rolled up all the loose change we accumulated in our piggy bank (which is actually a cow bank but who's mooing?) and saved the cash for an occasion to celebrate. Acceptance into UCSF was just that occasion, so celebrate we did :)

When we walked into this little Berkeley house-restaurant, we were hit with the coziness of the dining room that sits adjacent to the gorgeous open kitchen. What I wouldn't do to stand and watch that kitchen for a service. From the fresh asparagus resting upright in a jar of water to the chickens rotating over open flame to a glimpse of Alice herself, I was in heaven.

We started with Sorelle Bronca Prosecco and ripe green olives (a rarity - apparently one of my mom's favorite things that she has only been able to find at Diablo Foods). The first course was dungeness crab toast with lemon mayonnaise and a little Gem salad. Really light and fresh - I desperately want to recreate the herb vinaigrette. We were also very close to stealing the cute Chez Panisse-etched water carafe before the braised pork belly with green lentils (my favorite course of the night) were served.

The main third course was spit-roasted Bill Niman chicken with herb butter and sherry-vinegar sauce; spring vegetable and black trumpet ragout and at that point we all had made the switch to the Leonetti Sangiovese we brought with us. I am extremely skeptical of a Sangiovese from Walla Walla, Washington (or any wine from Washington that matter) but I stand wildly corrected since this was truly delicious and a perfect pairing for the meal. A Pink Lady apple and sour cherry jalousie tart with kirsch ice cream was served for dessert and came with a "Congratulations" sign on my plate (nice touch Chez Panisse!). Normally a prix fixe meal is not my favorite - why go to a renown restaurant only to have the entire table experience the exact same food? But actually, that's exactly why prix fixe is genius for a meal like this. We all experienced the exact same food at the exact same time. We considered it, discussed it, and enjoyed it. There was no stress over what to order or regret in your choice once it was made. The whole experience was simple. The Art of Simple Food, if you will.

Harvesting with Joy

UCSF College of Nursing

February 23, 2011

Dear Carrie Shaffer:

I am pleased to inform you that you have been admitted to the Masters Entry Program in Nursing (MEPN) at the University of California San Francisco beginning Summer 2011. We welcome you and wish you success in your studies.

(Logistics, Logistics)

Congratulations on your acceptance and welcome to the UCSF community. We are confident you will find your experience with us academically rewarding.

~ ~ ~

Sometimes during sporting events that aren't going so well for the home team, the announcers will say something to the effect of "this crowd is just waiting to erupt -- this stadium is waiting to explode with triumph." Well that is how these last five months have felt. Constantly on the cusp... expectant... just waiting to erupt. Those who plant in tears will harvest with shouts of joy. Like the crowd that explodes in triumph when the game winning touchdown, home run, or goal is scored, every cell in my body elevated to the heavenly realms in pure exultation when I read "admitted."

And I know well that all glory, honor, power is Yours, Lord.

"Not-me" Me

I met with a friend this week to catch up.

I've been treading water, close to the other shore but not able to make a sprint to it yet. Just treading for now.

Doing what I should be doing. Repeat.

Doing what I should be doing. Repeat.

My friend told me I seem to be living by the spirit. Not based on me telling him I am doing what I should be doing, but in response to me talking about waiting and matchmaking (or not) and going off the grid.

Anyway, he had a point. And - (deep breath for run-on fragmented thoughtstream) - I wonder if the stuff I do or think that doesn't feel characteristically "me" *is* what it means to be living by the spirit. Like is that "not-me" me actually the spirit and I am being supernaturally motivated? Can it be so subtle and subconscious? Can it be concurrent with the countless little and big parts of my life I DON'T surrender?

What I'm trying to say is... can someone be a wretch and a saint at the same time?

What I'm also trying to say is... I think my friend might be right about this presence. Getting here has been costly, but living this way is effortless.

30 before 30: #15 Paint on Canvas

The sea of science-heavy courses I waded through in the last two years has incited my neural cortex to tap into networks it has never used before. It has been an amazing experiment because somehow, someway I defied my english lit and political theory-trained brain and became a scientist. And while this is all very surprising and exciting, it also can be... extremely boring.

In my school electives, I never once took an art class. I remember taking a clay class and a drawing class at the Lafayette Community Center but I believe I was all of 6-8 years old at the time. This personal history is probably fine and understandable since the bulk of my creative energy has always been elevated in my writing and I showed no particular aptitude for art. But now I'm an adult who never took an art class.

Enter Beginning Painting.



Despite being enrolled in the most time consuming class known to the medical field this semester (Organic Chemistry), on Monday afternoons you will find me in Berkeley City College's fifth floor art studio alongside a fantastic conglomerate of overweight scraggly gray haired hippies, fresh out of high school dark lipsticked hipsters, buttoned up eyeglassed asians, and a few oakland-raised black athletes who need an easy A to keep their scholarships (all of this would be racist if it weren't true). Between the demonstration on how to make paint from dandelions you grow in your back yard to artsy fartsy videos that describe process to spending a few hours at Blick Art wandering around with my supply list to having the actual space and time to just TRY, I am profoundly stimulated.



Stimulated, yes. Good at it? Absolutely not. I'm a god-awful painter. What a glorious place to be when there is no real consequence to failure.

International Film Showcase at the Orinda Theatre

Although I am deeply envious of the people who are committed to reading the Sunday Times week after week, I have never been much of a newspaper person. As such, I am sure I regularly miss out on interesting tidbits or local events. So one advantage to living with newsie parents is having a mom who literally clips out articles and ads she thinks I should see. Last week, it was this article from the Contra Costa Times: "Orinda film buffs bring passion for Foreign Cinema home" which also featured the following picture of none other than my beloved friend Dori's dad, Efi Lubliner...

Efi is a long time film buff who also screens films for festivals and laments the fact that the Bay Area might never see some of the films he is exposed to due mostly to underfunding for a more widespread release. And so, the Lamorinda Film and Entertainment Foundation (www.ifef.org) brought the Norwegian Film called "Max Manus" to the historical Orinda Theatre for a limited engagement and intends to follow up with a new foreign film each month.

This weekend, your average theatre is showing visual vomit like Sanctum, The Roommate, The Rite, and No Strings Attached. If you share my disdain of these money and time wasters, you ought to go out and support a beautiful little local theatre and the efforts of a handful of your neighbors who are trying to contribute something special to our community. "Max Manus" screenings have been extended to February 10th and the next film is called "Illegal" and begins screening on February 25th.

30 before 30: #28 Consistently identify a constellation other than the Big Dipper

Well... If three times is "consistent" then I can check this one off the list.

I understand that Orion is not the most difficult or obscure of the constellations to identify, but on December 21, 2010 I was introduced to each individual star thanks to Jedd Goble's expertise.

Roy summoned us away from the Catan game to the front of the house were the lunar eclipse was in its very early stages. Jedd had received a telescope for one of his boyhood Christmases and managed to find it, dust it off, and set it up in time for us to see each stage of the eclipse... AND try to fulfill one of my 30 before 30s while we were at it.

I found Orion in Tahoe when it stopped snowing for a moment last week. And again tonight when my mom and I were taking out the trash. She was very disinterested and unimpressed. Bah.

So Orion it is! I also will need to find a summer constellation to learn, I think... so that I can always consistently identify a constellation other than the big dipper no matter what the season. Is it too early to schedule a lesson, Jedd?

2010

Soundtrack of 2010: Needtobreathe The Heat and Outsiders

Most ridiculous TV show I watched that isn't Big Brother: Real Housewives of Beverly Hills

Best new-to-me discovery: Lafayette Library and Sideboard Cafe in Danville

Place I wish I could un-discover: Sacks in Berkeley

Best way of redeeming time: Audiobooks during my commute

Worst way of wasting time: Settlers of Catan iPhone app

Most effective personal enrichment initiative: 30 before 30 list

Best thing I cooked for the first time: Boeuf Bourginon

Worst thing I cooked for the last time: Eggplant dip

Food high: Rosemary Cashews

Food low: Meat sweats in Argentina

Best reason to be in the Bay Area this year: Giants postseason and World Series!

Most unexpected joy: A little room above a Tango studio in San Telmo

Recommendation Godsends: Ben Getto and Rachel Goble Carey

Best rediscovery: Speaking Spanish

Strongest spiritual message: God's timing is better than mine. By alot.

Random act of cross-generational culture: Taking Hannie to Annie at Regional Center but failing to keep her awake for the second half

Stupidest money expenditure: Upgrading to Business class from BA to DC

Biggest failure: Big fat UIC rejection

Greatest blessing: Heart group

Day that has prompted future blacklisting from calendars for thieving the world of Praise Goh: October 25th

Top music moment: Camaron Ochs live at Swirl

Favorite Julie blonde moment: Asking if Chris Tomlin was singing at Geoff's funeral.

Grape of the year: Old vine zin

Most disgusting and connecting human moment: Thai woman and I exchanging looks of utter disgust from a man spitting loudly next to us in the street

Cutest thing that happened at all: Keira

Craziest and most wonderful thing that happened to a friend: Julie Fox getting Zeke

Best after midnight moment: post-Disneyland McDonalds run with Taylor and Jacob

Not my finest moment: Outing a friend who isn't "out" yet

Best book I read all year: The Help by Kathryn Stockett

Best place to invite myself over to: Roy and D'Aun Goble's home

Most embarrassing moment: Going ass over head in the very front of a room of 70 women on the first day of bible study when my chair broke

Best "What's in her bag": Pure Illumination Lipgloss

Most despised Catan opponent: Kevin Carey

Best part of my daily routine: Sarah and Vinnie at Alice 97.3

Smartest realization: I am too old for shots

Even more fun after all these years: Disneyland

Favorite past time: Trying to remember 1990s sunday school or camp songs

Things I'll continue to stand by: Halloween is dumb and I am too pretty to do math

Things I have to reconsider my original stance on: Dogs and Chemistry

Best made-for-TV moment: Spotting Patrick in the Sunday street fair crowd from my corner table cafe perch in Buenos Aires

Best Pandora Station: Ace of Base

"ADVENTURE IS OUT THERE!" moment: Helicopter tour with Mom and Dad on Kauai

Most awesome butt buddy: Jen Weaver

Still feels good: Tahoe

Lesson learned about olive farming: Planting is a lot of work and picking isn't so bad!

Biggest community travesty: Yellow Wood closing its doors

Best thing to say to someone before they testify in court: "I will give you a thousand dollars if you do your whole testimony with an accent."

News story I actually followed: Johannes Meserle trial and verdict

Most important human moment: With Brennan in the hotel at Paul's wedding

There's a first time for everything: Gutting a sturgeon for dinner

Something that could take many categories to describe: Losing Geoff to cancer

Most uncomfortable place I felt comfortable: Soi Cowboy red light district in Bangkok

Still my favorite person to discuss "the times" with: Sweeting

Irresponsible but awesome Aunt Carrie moment: Teaching 13 year old Taylor how to drive

Favorite thing to encourage Kyle to say: I right, you wrong!

Favorite thing to encourage Nathan to say: Pick, roll, flick.

How I will remember 2010: A year characterized by the unimaginable lows of cancer, death, rejection, sacrifice, and refreshed trauma. A year redeemed in part by the simplest joys, overwhelming grace, and a continued capacity for hope.

But things never happen the same way twice...

In honor of Dawn Treader's release, I am reposting my favorite Aslan-Lucy exchange of the entire Chronicles that so embodies the Lord's sweetness and tenderness in putting up with me:

"Welcome, child" he said.
"Aslan," said Lucy, "you're bigger."
"That is because you are older, little one," answered he.
"Not because you are?"
"I am not. But every year you grow, you will find me bigger."
For a time she was so happy that she did not want to speak. But Aslan spoke.
"Lucy," he said, "we must not lie here for long. You have work in hand, and much time has been lost today."
"Yes, wasn't it a shame?" said Lucy. "I saw you all right. They wouldn't believe me. They're all so -"
From somewhere deep inside Aslan's body there came the faintest suggestion of a growl.
"I'm sorry," said Lucy, who understood some of his moods. "I didn't mean to start slanging the others. But it wasn't my fault anyway, was it?"
The Lion looked straight into her eyes.
"Oh, Aslan," said Lucy. "You don't mean it was? How could I - I couldn't have left the others and come up to you alone, how could I? Don't look at me like that... oh well, I suppose I could. Yes, and it wouldn't have been alone, I know, not if I was with you. But what would have been the good?"
Aslan said nothing.
"You mean," said Lucy rather faintly, "that it would have turned out all right - somehow? But how? Please, Aslan! Am I not to know?"
"To know what would have happened, child?" said Aslan. "No. Nobody is ever told that."
"Oh dear," said Lucy.
"But anyone can find out what will happen," said Aslan. "If you go back to the others now, and wake them up; and tell them you have seen me again; and that you must all get up at once and follow me - what will happen? There is only one way of finding out."
"Do you mean that is what you want me to do?" gasped Lucy.
"Yes, little one," said Aslan.
"Will the others see you too?" asked Lucy.
"Certainly not at first," said Aslan. "Later on, it depends."
"But they won't believe me!" said Lucy.
"It doesn't matter," said Aslan.
"Oh dear, oh dear," said Lucy. "And I was so pleased at finding you again. And I thought you'd let me stay. And I thought you'd come roaring in and frighten all the enemies away - like last time. And now everything is going to be horrid."
"It is hard for you, little one," said Aslan. "But things never happen the same way twice. It has been hard for us all in Narnia before now."
Lucy buried her head in his mane to hide from his face. But there must have been magic in his mane. She could feel lion-strength going into her. Quite suddenly she sat up.
"I'm sorry, Aslan," she said. "I'm ready now."

30 before 30: #27 Host a tea

~A Christmas Tea for Friends~

On Saturday, December 11, 2010

from 2-4 pm at the Shaffer Residence


~The Table~

Christmas plaid placemats
Winter green setting plates
Grandma Dorothy's fine china
Grandma Dorothy's silver flatware
Grandma Dorothy's silver teapots
Cranberry red napkins in silver rings set with candy canes
Kisses, Holiday mix, and Peppermint Candy Jars
Strawberry Preserve party favors

~The Menu~

Orange Cranberry Scones (served with lemon curd or honey)
Gingerbread Scones (served with clotted cream)
Egg Salad Tea Sandwiches
Shrimp Ceviche Cucumber Cups
Strawberry Macaroons
Chocolate Peppermint Cheesecake Bars
English Breakfast Tea
Cinnamon Spice Tea

~The Friends~

Renee Travers
Jen Weaver
Rachael Dailey

Jenn Kleist
Nicku Bastani
Jessica Gracewski

Farewell to Hogwarts

When I heard the final chapters of the Harry Potter movies would be released starting this November, I realized I was far behind the Harry Potter reading curve. I had read The Sorcerer's Stone right around when it came out my Freshman year of high school and everyone was in a total frenzy over it. I eventually got to Chamber of Secrets a few years later but was not by any means amongst those who were reading it in the hallways between class. I'm sure I read Prisoner of Azkaban at some point during college. But I stopped there. And stopped watching the movies, too.

So I found myself four long books away from being caught up and more pressing science-heavy textbooks to read for class. But my impacted schedule required a lot of driving to and from Oakland - often through Caldecott traffic, I should add - and my library card was hardly getting worn out with overuse. So began my triumphant return to the deliciousness of children's audiobooks. I grew up listening to Adventures in Odyssey, Tales of King Arthur, and Sherlock Holmes tapes before bed. And I was transported to that four poster bed littered with stuffed animals on all sides each time I listened to Jim Dale bring the Harry Potter characters alive with wonderful attention to detail. Jim Dale's Voldemort hisses just at the right time... his Dumbledore sings of ancient wisdom... his Hermione with just the right touch of annoying self importance.

I listened to my last of the Deathly Hallows cds last night in the car between class and lab. And I couldn't help but get a little emotional about it all. Harry Potter has been adored and admonished, declared brilliant and completely stupid. From opening the first book at 13 years old to turning the last page at 26, I'm sure I have felt that spectrum of criticism myself. But today I am truly sad to say goodbye to Harry, Hermione, and Ron - and to their world of Hogwarts and Diagon Alley and 12 Grimmauld Place. What wonderful places these books have allowed my imagination to go!

"Tell me one last thing," said Harry. "Is this real? Or has this been happening inside my head?"
"Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?"

Orange October

I was there when they clinched the division against the Padres.



I was there when Lincecum threw 14 Ks in Game 1 against the Braves.



I covered my face and held my breath and cheered and boo'd and worried and yelled and danced my way through watching the win in Game 1 over the Phillies.



So if this is what torture feels like, I'll have more please!

Argentina: Two Months Later

"This happens with many events and anecdotes in my life: it seems I have lived them, but when I write them down in the clear light of logic, they seem unlikely. That really doesn't disturb me, however. What does it matter if these events happened or if I imagined them? Life is, after all, a dream." (From "My Invented Country" by Isabel Allende)



I arrived in Buenos Aires alone and without a laptop, so my attention to writing about it suffered miserably as a result. It all happened as beautifully as it did in Chile, however, and all of those happenings are tucked neatly away in memory.

Meg lives in BA and has weaseled her way into the nicest group of friends - gorgeous, wealthy friends I should add - who showed me what a good night out in BA looks like. Fernet and all.

Patrick showed up a few days after I arrived and thanks to our accustomed ways of instant communication being cut off, we had to hope we would cross at just the right window of time on a corner in San Telmo during the street fair. I was sipping an espresso when I saw him with his hands in his pockets and shoulders shrugged up from cold in the Sunday crowd of antique shoppers. When I yelled out to him, everyone turned their heads to witness our reuniting embrace.

The three of us managed to eat enough for six in the time we were together - Meg knew Palermo restaurants like the back of her hand. I am now convinced there is such a thing as death by lomo, and suffered meat sweats thanks to my previous 40 days of vegetarianism.



I saw beautiful things - things that made me feel life so fully that it had to spill out into my eyes. Trained tango dancers on the street and groups of locals following alongside. The puente de la mujer. The floralis generica. The thinker statue. And death never looking more lovely than in the Recoleta cemetery.



I woke up each morning to tango music drifting up through my floor from the studio below and talked to Leti for hours over coffee as dancers stretched around us before their class began. In my desperation to find an soda bottle like the ones they used in old tango salons, I ended up in a winsome conversation with two old men in a dusty antique shop where I only understood every third word but all the good natured gestures they offered.

Argentina has felt like an unlikely and imagined dream in the light of what I came back to that characterized the two months since. But its continued proof that O'Henry had it right when he said "that life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating." Fortunately, they do not predominate my life too often.

To Mom, on my first night in Argentina

Just got to Buenos Aires an hour or so ago. I loved Chile - mostly for the Chileans but also for Valparaiso which is the most enchanting city I've ever been to since Capri off the Amalfi Coast in Italy.

More on Chile some other time but for now, I have only been in BA for about an hour and already have had an adventure. The bed and breakfast I found to stay at through a series of connections sent a driver to the airport for me. Always a relief to have that prearranged because foreign taxi drivers are very aggressive with fresh-out-of-customs tourists. Anyway, so Andres whisked me out of the cold and after holding my breath that I could withdraw cash from the ATM (you never know what international ATMs will or won't accept) we made the drive to a little neighborhood of BA called San Telmo.

He pulled up to a street where there was literally nothing that remotely resembled a bed and breakfast. It's like a NYC side street where you would have to ring the bell to get into any building at all and very little signs of life other than the main drag nearby. So we get my bags out of the van and walk up to 950 Carlos Calvado street where there is one of many large steel doors and a tiny bell to ring. So he rings... We wait... He rings again... It's windy and cold and dark and damp... And then a little key shake and the door swings open to a short Argentinian woman who looks about 70 and maybe weighs 125lbs and doesn't hesitate to grab my huge monster bag and exclaim "bienvenidos carrie" (w rolled r's of course). And she beckons me inside and the door slams behind me and I look up as I feel a whoosh of sweaty warmth against my face. I am in a high ceilinged bright hallway that angles up to a dance floor where there are no fewer than 15 sweaty dark Argentinian men dancing gracefully to intense loud music in the middle of a tango class. Leti guides me through the floor luggage and all, and I "permisso" my way through the dancers as she grabs a skeleton key from the rack, and marches me to the back where there is an airy checker floored courtyard and up the stairs to my end of the hallway room number 5 that has a balcony overlooking it.



The room is plain and clean and perfect. There is a quaint reading salon next to it and Leti lives on the top floor. I told her in Spanish (for that is all she speaks) that I would refrain from yelling and making loud noises throughout the night on account that we are now neighbors. She laughed heartily and said I had better not! There is no TV and sometimes the Internet works and sometimes it doesn't and I would expect nothing less.

I dropped my stuff and came back downstairs - a new class going on, this time co-ed. With women in high heeled tango shoes. Leti shouts a dinner recommendation to me and says it is muy famoso. Been open since 1842. And I am here now... At a tippy corner table with a glass of cab sav since they are out of malbec. I told the camarero that it tastes the same after a glass anyway, so cab sav would be fine and he should not let anyone act like they can actually tell the difference. He laughed and I stopped being the poorly-spoken gringa in the corner and started being someone who he might enjoy just a little bit even if I can't understand his Spanish very well and keep asking him to repeat himself. The place is packed. It's about 10pm here - time for dinner. I ordered the Argentinian version of antipasti, since that's what everyone else has on their table despite the ten page menu.

I know you didn't approve of this trip, mom. But you should know this is what makes me feel the most alive.

Pastel de Choclo

"Our typical cuisine is simple because earth and sea are generous; there is no fruit or seafood more delicious than ours - that I can assure you. The more difficult it is to put food on the table, the more elaborate and spicy it becomes, witness the examples of India and Mexico, where there are three hundred ways to cook rice. We have one, and that seems more than sufficient to us." (From "My Invented Country" by Isabel Allende)

Chile is not known for its culinary triumphs. Thirty cents will buy you a freshly fried corn patty called a sopaipilla that you can top with your share of spicy mustard and even spicier salsa. For a little more, you might run into an empanada shop that delivers what you think it will, but tastes only half as good as you are expecting. And for about a dollar, you can hit the late night bar crowd's jackpot called a completo - which is just a glorified hot dog dressed in enough mayonnaise to cause a coronary. And although the fruit and vegetable markets are divine and it seems like there are all the makings for deliciousness to abound, something simply misses the mark. I am not alone in this opinion - my most sophisticated foodie friend to date who lives in Santiago remains totally discouraged by Chilean cuisine.

And so, expectations low and criticism quelled, I ventured into the nearest lonely planet option once my cold and walking threshold reached its breaking point. Un Cristal por supesto, y... ummm uhhh... un momento porfa. Chilean food, Carrie, keep going for traditional chilean food. My eyes scanned over everything until I caught something I recognized - Pastel de Choclo! Yes, I'll try the pastel de choclo. Less than five minutes later, this is what was placed in front of me:

It was so hot, the steam could not stop pouring out of it. But once I coaxed it down to a manageable temperature, it was sweet corn and onions and succulent pieces of chicken and... an olive! what? how could an olive be so harmonious with these flavors?... and a hard boiled egg?? so unexpected. It was soulful and crusty and soft and balanced. This is a terrible analogy, but do you remember those candles you bought as a tween that promised to melt down and reveal little treasures? It was like that in a way. Just layer after layer of flavor and warmth and perfection. I felt like Rachael Ray on $40 a day (another bad example but you catch my drift) discovering the best kept cheap secret in the land. In one well ordered serendipitous meal, Chile proved it is not a total international culinary loss. Call me a glutton if you must, but I can think of worse things than death by pastel de choclo.

Jorge

"The first thing you can say about Chileans is that we are friendly and hospitable; at the first hint we throw open our arms and the doors of our homes. I've often heard foreigners say that if they ask directions, the people they approach accompany them personally, and if they seem to be lost, their informant is capable of inviting them home for dinner, even offering a bed if they're in difficulty." (From "My Invented Country" by Isabel Allende)

There is much to say of Sweeting's roommate Jorge, but I suppose it is really all best summarized by the first two hours I was in his apartment. I already spoke of my traveling woes - the lost luggage and the summer clothes in winter weather and the forced Spanish use so early on. I showed up at Sweeting and Jorge's apartment a little - a lot - battle weary. I arrived just in time for Sweeting to let me in and then duck out for one of his evening classes, leaving me shivering under the covers and fretting about my suitcase loss with a promise he'd be back in a few hours and things would be better. One hour gone: cold... no call from the airline... not getting out of bed... might as well nap. Hour two: Why won't they call? Why can't I call out of Sweeting's stupid phone? My whole vacation is going to be ruined! Hour two and three quarters: The phone rings. THE PHONE RINGS!!! Hello? Spanish. Lots of fast phone Spanish. In a panic I manage a "espere senora, por favor!! espere!" and run out to the common room in a frenzy, throwing the phone to the still unfamiliar Jorge telling him to figure this out for me!

Sweet Jorge. He patiently, calmly, cooperatively converses with his countrymen on the phone. Confirming to me nonverbally with intermittent eyebrow raises and head nods that my luggage is en route while giving verbal directions to the airline. He handles everything and that moment made every single worry wrinkle that I will be cursing myself for in 20 years to subside. I sink into the dining room chair next to Jorge's work station, pick out two cigarettes from his carton on the table, and light them simultaneously before handing him one and exhaling out a weighty mixture of stress and smoke.

Sorry to disturb your peace and quiet, Jorge, I say in Spanish. Although very willing to help, he seemed a little tentative about the sudden intrusion into what was clearly HIS space. HIS dining room table turned office desk. HIS cigarettes. HIS tranquilo. I'm taking this all in when I also realize that the Beatles are playing softly in the background. And there is a bunch of photography equipment strewn about. And there are about 15 huge pieces of funky artwork hanging around on the walls. And a Spanish-English dictionary on the shelf. And so I start asking him about everything... and the discomfort melts into engaging conversation. About his fiancee and his artwork and how the flatware on one of the canvasses represents that he needs her like he needs food. About his photography and how people have to eat spinach like Popeye in order to get strong and how he thinks that Sweeting has done quite well for himself in Chile. About the funny English/Spanish translation mistakes like "embarazada" being used by gringas to express embarrassment but actually means pregnant and the importance of differentiating between "relaciones" and "MIS relaciones."

Another hour passed before Brian got back from class, and it was obvious he was happy to see I had clearly settled right in and made myself at home. And for the two weeks I was there, it was a lot of Brian at work and Jorge and I at the table chatting. To revisit the original quote, it was two weeks of Jorge throwing open his arms and his door at the first hint of my arrival. Giving me directions. Making me dinner. Always glad to discuss Beatles or post-Beatles songbooks. Being patient with my fear of the gas heating system. Teaching me about Spanish and about Chile. Teaching me that I was in his world... and was welcome in it.

The Mechanics of Cold

"We Chileans are enchanted by states of emergency... In summer we die of the heat and in winter of the cold, but no one has air conditioning or decent heating, because that would be tantamount to admitting that the climate isn't as good as they say it is." (From "My Invented Country" by Isabel Allende)

Sweeting warned me weeks ago that he could see his breath in his apartment and apologized in advance. Frankly, I only half believed him. I had been monitoring Santiago weather for weeks and as far as I was concerned it looked to be about like San Francisco weather is right now; 60 something during the day, maybe 40 something at worst by night. Well. That has turned out to be true. But what I did not take seriously enough was the fact that INSIDE the buildings would be colder than OUTSIDE the buildings. Literally the temperature drops about 10 degrees from the time I get the first door unlocked to the time I get inside and up one flight of stairs to the apartment. After an inevitable five to ten minutes of wrestling with the three locks on the door, one of which is particularly tricky, my hands are freezing, goosebumps invade my body, and I can see my breath with every sigh of frustration at my inability to figure out something as simple as how to open a door.

Inside the apartment is no refuge. We sleep with five layers of blankets and comforters and a "hot water bottle" in the form of a nalgene that is now better used as a heat source than a water source. I realize what a gringa I am every time I turn on the water faucet to wash my face, sure I will coax hot water from the red side of the handle. Alas, for a few seconds of hot water, one must cross the apartment into the laundry room, ensure the gas switch is flipped to "on", double back into the kitchen to punch the nozzle of the beast of a contraption in until it snaps on and a few flames begin to light up in the little window, then go back to the bathroom and turn the faucet on with enough gusto to incite the hot water to flow enough to please the waiting beneficiary. Then, everything back to the off positions. How are there not more gas explosions in this country?

I am sure I sound spoiled and complaining. But actually I am more fascinated than anything else. The Chileans are all so comfortable with the process and I'm near-terrified to even flip the gas switch. As I write this now, I can see my breath in the air and know it is time to get out of bed and get outside... I'll warm up out there.

Chilenos

"Being so far from everything gives us Chileans an insular mentality, and the majestic beauty of the land makes us take on airs. We believe we are the center of the world - in our view, Greenwich should have been set in Santiago - and we turn our backs on Latin America, always comparing ourselves instead to Europe. We are very self-centered: the rest of the universe exists only to consume our wines and produce soccer teams we can beat." (From "My Invented Country" by Isabel Allende)

I have never traveled so far away only to find myself as comfortable with the culture as I do here in Chile. On one of the first nights I was here, I met Marie and Francisco - a girl from Milwaukee married to a boy from Santiago. Marie explained to me that there is just something about Americans and Chilenos that mixes wonderfully. I now know a number of people in Chilean-American relationships and am aware of even more.

I can't quite put my finger on what makes us so similar. Maybe it is difficult because I can't fully believe our similarities given our completely different histories. The academic in me is always looking for the affects of Pinochet's still-very-recent reign of terror over this country. Every old man with a missing leg or arm... every woman with some kind of deformity... hell, anyone I see who looks 40+... makes me wonder what they've seen; what they've felt. I will say that I notice a palpable hesitance in all Chilenos. They are more reserved, more shy, more quiet, more tranquilo than any other latin american nation I have encountered before. I myself feel incredibly hesitant to broach the subject of las desaparecidas or anything related to those years and events. It's too soon, I've decided. Too soon.

Politics aside, the similarities are endless. Movies premiere here almost immediately after they do in the States. Chilenos love flash mobs (who doesn't love a good flash mob!?) and the popularity of Glee has soared to equal if not greater heights than ours. Chilenos are quick to exchange greetings in passing, throw a few luca in the hat of someone in need on the streets, live in a society where they can trust their policemen, and frequent their Saturday morning farmers markets. We share an arrogance about our countries - that we are (or should be) the center of the universe, as Isabel Allende writes in her memoir. And even though I already digressed from the history/politics side of things and labeled them as completely different, September 11th is a date on our calendars we both mourn; for Pinochet's coup and Al Qaeda's attacks. Chilenos love to barbeque, spend long weekends at the beach with their families, and of course their reputation for winter sports precedes itself.

To travel so far and feel so at home is not something I am used to feeling in my journeys. But I think I like it.

Santiago

"In Chile everything is centralized in the capital... If it doesn't happen in Santiago, it may as well not happen at all." (From "My Invented Country" by Isabel Allende)

Depending on the route of your flight from the States, you can count on it taking about 24 hours to land you a birds eye view of the Andes - snow capped and endless - before your descent into Santiago de Chile. I arrived without my bags which had not made the connecting flight in Buenos Aires, and was therefore thrown back to the Spanish 3 unit on travel vocabulary. One thing I will say that has come through loud and clear on this trip is thank GOD for Lola Danielli. That woman is an absolute saint for being so wonderfully stubborn and demanding about the three uses of "ser", five uses of "estar" and all the differences between "por" y "para" to a bunch of entitled high school brats who wouldn't try hard enough to meet her standards. Well when they lose their baggage somewhere in Latin America, the joke is on them and the few of us who stuck it out with her will have enough to draw from to explain "the plane was late, the baggage didn't make it, it's not checked through to SCL, it was on a different airline, I'm wearing sandals in the middle of winter and really need my bags, here is the address and phone number where I can be reached now please please find my bags." (And indeed they were found and arrived at 268 Merced, Santiago Centro only a few hours later much to my satisfaction and relief.)

And Santiago... I think much of Latin America can best be described as Europe-like but with grit. And I like me some grit, so it suits me quite nicely. Of course the United States has weaseled its way into some of the infrastructure here - McDonalds and Starbucks are a universal certainty now I think. But they are not so omnipresent as in other countries and are in fact difficult to find amongst the cafes, churrasco/completo shops, and of course the bookstores which are more plentiful than any other commercial venture. A country whose bookstores outnumber anything else is my kind of heaven.

Santiago is remarkably centralized for the tourist and although the metro system is fantastic, I prefer to walk through the bohemian graffitied streets of Bellavista, the curved refined Lastarria, the crazed Huerfanos, the distinctly Spanish-style Plaza de Armas. I'm surprised by the number of street dogs in such a progressive, modern city but they don't seem to bother anyone else so I am trying to withhold my judgement. I'm confused by the main drag being named "Avenida O'Higgins" instead of something more "latin" sounding, but it doesn't seem to bother anyone else so I am trying to withhold my judgement. But the parks, the plazas, the occasional cathedral and old ornate buildings make Santiago feel like somewhere people go to live.

#9 Fly First Class

Ahhh the luxuries of First Class flight. Special priority check-in, luggage, security lines, and boarding - breezing past the sweaty, travel-weary, long-line-waiting, jockeying-for-boarding-position peons. Excuse me sir, could you step OFF the red carpet so these PRIORITY passengers could get through? Music to my ears.

Preflight beverage service - in a glass! A real glass! Huge seats, ample overhead storage space, coats hung up for you. A reminder to all passengers to please use the bathrooms in their ticketed cabins.

A menu detailing your many on-board dining options, a little bowl of mixed nuts while you mull them over, and of course... an open bar, which was taken full advantage of by my five-bloody-marys-in neighbor and myself, to a lesser extent.

Since when is the SFO - IAD flight so short!?

But I digress...

Oh wait, no I don't. Domestic first class flights on mediocre aircrafts are really nothing at all compared to International Business. I had experienced the unparalleled deliciousness of United's lay flat seats on a Rome-DC flight about a year and a half ago, so when the email confirming my upgrade came through, the outlook for the next 11 hours of my life improved dramatically. Comforter-style blankets, fluffy pillows, personal on-demand entertainment systems with hours and hours of movies and tv and games and map-watching. A courtesy amenity pack complete with little sockys for your cold feet, Murad lotion, toothpaste and toothbrush, an eyemask, and a pen (for your customs forms of course). I board, I eat dinner, and I push the lay flat button. A full 8 hours later, I wake up to the smell of coffee and breakfast and the announcement we will be landing in an hour. My neighbor asks me how I slept? Beautifully, I say. Never better.

Now people... I know what all of this sounds like. I realize how indulgent and ridiculous it is to pursue such creature comforts. I understand your disapproval. And to you I say... too bad :)

And to my status-loving, travel-savvy, miles-obsessed friends, I say... you know JUST what I'm talking about :). (Oh and by the way, my flight was delayed so they gave us apology gifts of $200 off domestic flights, 10% off international, or 9000 bonus miles... which would you have chosen?)

Admittedly I am still intrigued by the International First Class cabins... especially the ones that are upstairs on huge aircrafts that the peons don't even get to feast their eyes on (myself included in the peonery). First item on my 40 before 40?

Omnivore's Dilemma

30 days of vegetarianism has come and gone and yet still no meat. Under no more obligation to follow through on a self-imposed challenge, the omnivore's dilemma is more relevant than ever.

As was likely apparent in my previous posts, I have above all actually enjoyed this! I ordered things on menus I never would have, I made recipes I would not typically have prioritized, and surprised myself by how little I missed meat. To be fair, I live in Northern California... land of year-round produce and lots and lots of vegetarians. Whole Foods in Oakland became a weekday lunch haven for me... and cost-wise that is probably not a very sustainable plan.

Now I am in South America for three weeks and am certainly not intending to deprive myself of any quintessential local cuisine (read: argentinian beef or empanadas de carne), but neither am I in any rush to reincorporate meat into my diet. Perhaps it will slowly creep its way back onto my plate, and my intention was never to be authoritarian about this in the first place. But for now... I like vegetarian me. So maybe there is no dilemma at all.