Pantyhose vending machines.

More then just for a quick snack, vending machines can sell pantyhose for the woman on the go, and are in almost every metro around Santiago.

They're incredibly practical if you think about it. You leave the office for the metro, and realize you have a run in your stockings the day of a big meeting and don't want to look trashy, buy new panties! In the metro! Change at work. So smart, even thoughtful really. 

They even suggest a kind of value for the Chilean professional woman. There must be a large enough population of working women for it to be profitable to have these at nearly every metro station.

Lauren

Ads.

We don't watch very much TV at the apartment, maybe the evening news, an occasional movie, and our soaps when we remember (I am kind of interested in a new comedy Almacen however), but when we watch TV it's not the shows that get me. It's the ads.

In the U.S. commercials cast those who use their products as cool or more attractive. They appeal to the individual. You will be better off if you buy this, they say. As someone who's given up on being cool a long time ago, I don't find them very effective (except that I guess I think about the products advertised more then the ones that aren't).

Here however it's not about looking cool, it's about doing what's best for your family. You as an individual won't just be happier, this Coca Cola/Pampers/Activia/whatever will make your entire family better off, it will bring communities and neighbors together, these commercials say. In this way it's both more effective, and it feels a little more sinister. You'll buy this if you love your family, and if not .. well ... you must not love them that much.

I found myself getting choked up over an Activia commercial the other day. How a yogurt that helps with digestion was cast as a means of bringing the family together, I can't really say.

Perfect example of this pasted below.  A yogurt commercial that both plays on crucial role the family plays in Chile, but also on the nostalgia many people have for the pastoral south of Chile, where many people still have family.

Lauren

Giving blood.

Donating blood in Chile is another one of the things that is different than how it is in the U.S. When a family member or friend is in a car accident, rather then getting blood from a large bank, like in the U.S. the onus is on the family members to get blood for the relative in need.

When I first heard this I thought that people wanted you do donate in honor of their relative who needed a transfusion, to replenish the supply or something. In fact it's for a specific person. It seems like just another source of stress for family members when they are already worried about the health of their family.

However, so often I've heard people say that they want to "do something," really get active in their loved one's recovery, and feel like they're doing something other then sitting by their bedside, and this definitely gives families a chance to get involved .. I guess.

On another note: I finally found out why nail polish is so strictly prohibited in surgery. Apparently because the natural color of the nail is red (because of the red blood cells) if one's nails turn white during surgery, it means something's gone wrong. Good to know.

Lauren

'Are you in love?'

Apparently a popular saying in France and Chile for when someone cooks something very salty. They are in love because they are too busy thinking about the person they are in love with to watch the amount of salt they pour into their cooking, the saying goes.

I've never heard this before, but I like it.

Lauren

Bureaucracy.

All the crazy running around town for this little card.

So yesterday was pretty close to being my own personal hell. My visa was supposed to arrive in the mail, but never did, so I had to go to the foreigners' office. I set my alarm especially early, but didn't get out the door until 9 a.m. Thankfully, the foreign office is just down the street.

Cutting to the chase, after eight hours of climbing stairs, visiting various levels of the foreign office, civil registration office, and at least three international police stations, I ended the day broke and with my fingers covered in black ink and baby oil. This, it seems, is standard procedure.

To explain: The ink and baby oil were the last part of my ordeal. There use of a fingerprint on documents here is extremely common, and I had to get fingerprinted on more then one occasion yesterday.

The baby oil/lotion was to remove the ink, although it seemed to only further slicken and smear it. I walked out of the last building, after standing for two hours in a bathroomless gigantic office, with my hands held in front of me like a surgeon who'd just been prepped for an operation.

Before moving to Chile I knew very little about the it. South American country, land of wine,  bass ... and that's about it. I kind of wanted it to be a totally new experience, and avoided doing research. Even so, in my minimal research I'd heard the bureaucracy in Chile was infamous well before I left. I still think the U.S. is probably far worse in this way, but this experience may change my mind.

What makes matters worse is that all Chilean government offices close at 14:00 -- yes, 2 p.m. Which means you absolutely must take time off work to get these things done because there is no way you can do this on a lunch break. Thankfully, my job is very flexible with my hours. But how do people with more rigid schedules make this work? Especially foreigners, most of whom are Peruvian, Bolivian, or Ecuadorian and usually work very difficult jobs, which, I imagine, are not as flexible.

At least there wasn't any bribing or other form of corruption in order to file my paperwork, like is common in other South American countries. For this, I am definitely grateful.

Lauren

Teeth of garlic

In looking up recipes here, I noticed that cloves of garlic are referred to as "a tooth of garlic" or "three teeth of garlic."

Kind of tickled me pink and thought I'd share.

Lauren

Chilean hospitals.

This is something I have so much firsthand knowledge of, I could write a book about it. Emergency services? General care? Operations? Private versus public care? I've got all the bases covered.

Recently, a bump that's been a bit annoying has grown a bit more noticeably painful (and unsightly) so I visited the doctor who told me I have a benign tumor pressing into my tendon creating the discomfort. Why the doctor felt the need to bust out the "T" word if it's benign is beyond me. I prefer to say bump.

But onto Chilean hospitals and healthcare in general: They're fantastic. Quick, clean, efficient, and overall less expensive then services in the U.S., I can see why people leave the country to have surgeries.

The hospital I'll be going to (pictured above) is not only gorgeous, with frosted glass, pleasant and informative doctors and nurses, good equipment, informative "what to expect with your surgery" pamphlets, it also has a faint smell of aromatherapy products. If I wasn't having surgery here, I could easily confuse it with an upscale hotel.

There are some quirks however:

--I have to take all my documentation, sonograms, blood tests, everything to and from the hospital with every visit. Rather then keep them on record at the hospital, I cart them to and from our apartment with me almost everyday. I now have a sack, provided by the hospital, filled with papers from the hospital.

-- There's also this obsession with people not wearing nail polish during surgery. I mentioned this to Daniela and she agreed saying that the first thing people do if they find out their sister has been in a car accident is rush off to the drugstore for nail polish remover. There is to be no nail polish in the operation room, which strikes me as a bit odd. But hey, I'm not going to complain about an attention to details when it comes to surgery.

--Administrators also don't all wear scrubs. They wear identical suits. Blue blazers with blue slacks, floral shirts, and heals, of course, to keep it classy. I'd seen these women walking together during lunch hours in downtown Santiago wondering what kind of job would require all their female employees to all wear the same suit. It's hospital administration. This can be a bit confusing for me.

I'm used to looking for certain cues when I'm at the doctors. Person in scrubs means nurse or administrator. All these women in suits, which one am I supposed to talk to? The organization and layout of the hospital is also confusing. I've never had surgery before and now I am doing it abroad and in another language, which can every once in a while be a bit overwhelming.

But with such attention to details, reassuring and informative doctors, and a nice aromatic smell when I wake up from surgery, I'm sure I'll be fine.

Lauren

Oh. My. God.

In the past few months, I've heard these words more often then I ever did (or even noticed hearing them) in the United States. Chileans say it to you passing in the streets, at parties, or they might even ask you to say it for them at parties. The stereotypical American "Oh. My. God."

One of the adverse side effects of U.S. television and movies being pervasive across the world is that people have a somewhat skewed view of the U.S. and U.S. culture. This phrase seems to be one of the things that Chileans seem to think we say every ten minutes -- and maybe we do.

Walking down the street, people -- strangers -- will say this to you if you have that from-out-of-town look. The appropriate response still alludes me.

It goes without saying, this has to be one of those things that gets filed under the Things I'm Not So Crazy About when it comes to Chile and I'll be happy if I never hear that three letter phrase again.

This obsession with saying The Phrase has turned me totally against it, if only because I feel like a representative of the U.S. and don't want to reinforce the OMG stereotype. This has made me far more mindful of how I express my surprise/excitement/dismay/disgust with something. I often catch myself mid-OMG-ing, stopping short with an "Oh my .. !" rather then saying the full phrase.

Truthfully it's not Chileans I get frustrated with when I hear this. They're just repeating what they hear on 1990s sitcom reruns. The OMG monster is a product of our own creation. Cultural globalization at its worst. All I can hope for is that another U.S. sitcom and subsequent catchphrase take off soon because OMG! this is getting really old.

Lauren

Allende: Suicide or murder?

This was a question that boggled me in my first few months living in Chile. Allende was the first democratically-elected socialist president in the Americas and the president who preceded the dictator Pinochet. Everywhere I read about Salvador Allende's death, it said something different.

Reading El Mercurio, if there was a reference to Allende's death, it mentioned it as a suicide. La Nacion, the government-owned newspaper that has since been dissolved and had been leftist, would refer to his death as murder.

Allende's thick rimmed glasses have since become iconic, not only representative of his death but of socialism, and songs have been made about these glasses, and they've been printed on shirts and mugs. They are one of the few artifacts that survived from the day that Allende died and are on display at the Museo Historico Nacional.

The story is that those leading the military junta rushed into Allende's room, and the official story was that he immediately committed suicide seeing that he'd been defeated -- but this was reported by those leading the junta. There's no real impartial story on what happened in that room.

It's interesting to see how different newspapers refer to the same event differently. During the regime there was a saying about El Mercurio, the leading newspaper in Chile: El Mercurio no dice la verdad (El Mercurio doesn't tell the truth), stemming from their poor coverage of disappearances, murders, and torturing that took place during the regime.

This is an easy way to gauge what way a newspaper leans. Allende committed suicide? Right. Murder? Left. But that still doesn't answer my question: Which one should I read?

Lauren

Being tall.

Increasingly, my height has become an impediment to everyday life. I never considered myself especially tall in the U.S., maybe slightly taller then some people, but here I'm enormous.

On the metro, many people's heads don't reach past my throat (you can really tell when everyone is crammed in the metro and there are five people pressing in from each side). In taxis my knees are always pushing into the seat in front of me, or my head is hitting the top of the car -- definitely not fun if you hit a bump in the road.

Last night I went to the movies, a gorgeous old 1920s-style theater that had been converted into a movie theater. Slightly distracting though, was that I couldn't sit down without my legs hanging out to the side. Thank God for isle seats.

I've noticed this too when clothes shopping. When I arrived in Chile the second time, I came with a little more then 10 days worth of clothes -- the expected duration of my stay. I "had" to do some shopping. Especially with a load of laundry costing $4 (!!!!) dollars each, and many new clothes costing about $5.

The sleeves of the cardigans I bought are about 4 inches short of my wrist, and the crotch of the pantyhose reaches just above my knees.

I'm not particularly tall. 5' 7" (170 cm.) or so, but here I'd have to shop at special stores in order to find clothes that cover my entire body (or the parts I want covered). Thankfully, there are many "American stores" (thrift shops) where people trade U.S. brands. Without this, I don't know what I'd do.

Lauren

Cleaning Products.

Cleaning products. One of the things I didn't imagine I'd really have an opinion on, or even miss, when I moved to Chile. But the cleaning products here are amazing. Almost too good.

A small dab of wood polish on something and it shines so brightly you can see your reflection in the wood. Generic disinfectants practically burn the dirt off a surface, no elbow grease necessary.

It's almost scary. Chile is an advanced country, definitely no longer in the "developing nations" stage, but I question what kind of tests and safety regulations there are on the chemicals in these products.

I'm not going to have any adverse side effects from using these things, no blindness, dizziness, or sudden death .. right?

Instead of filling my suitcases with loads of piñones, alpaca scarves (from Peru mainly, not Chile), pottery from Pomaire, or other interesting cultural items when I leave, I imagine packing loads of cleaning products since they beat those sold in the U.S. hands down.

My only hesitation is that should the bottles of cleaning liquid explode, my clothes would be reduced to a few singed threads rather then be bleached or stained from the cleaning products -- they are that strong.

Lauren

It's an L.A. thing.

Working in a very international company, you get to know people from everywhere. We have many Swiss and Chilean people, folks from Germany, England, everywhere. This has given me a chance to see what people from these countries are beyond stereotypes.

I have noticed people being here and being one of the few American friends people know means I'm a representative for the United States. Anything I do, say, the way I act, walk is seen as characteristic of someone from California. On the upside, anything I do that's odd, quirky, unusual, socially awkward people just chalk it up to being from L.A.

"Oh ... that must be an L.A. thing?"

"Riiiiight. Yeah. Definitely an L.A. thing."

It's both a relief and kind of disappointing. It overlooks personality differences, because they're just assumed to be a cultural difference, rather then personal preference.

I'll admit, in the States I was as guilty of this as anyone I know here. A quirky foreign friend wasn't quirky. They were just .. foreign. Now that's how I am to my foreign friends.

If I don't like mayonnaise on my cold, overcooked broccoli it's because I'm American. I'm vegetarian (which admittedly, is a very "L.A. thing") means that I have a 1.) Unhealthy diet, and therefore 2.) am very American because of my eating habits. Seen running through the park with an iPod, it's because I'm Californian and that's what a Californian girl does. If I can't party for days on end, drink with friends until the sun comes up, or go to club at 4 a.m., it's not because it's not my thing, or I happen to be more of an early bird. It's because I'm North American.

This though, is fine with me. I'm not a party pooper, just .. foreign.

Lauren

Baseball analogies

Never before moving to Chile did I realize how many baseball analogies I use in everyday conversation. "Batting 1,000," "come out of left field," "hardball," "knock ___ out of the park," there are so many.

But since the U.S. and Japan are the only two countries who have any real interest in baseball, these analogies don't really work with the Swiss people I work with or the Chileans I know.

I say these things, and people just stare at me, that familiar stare I know I give people when I can't understand their accent. Blank, no reaction.

We did recently have a Swiss-Japanese girl join the team (we have maybe the most international business in town). Maybe she'll share with me in the baseball analogies.

Lauren

Mendoza.

Mendoza is to Santiago, as Tijuana is to Los Angeles -- if TJ were an inexpensive resort town. Close, but international. Enough to get out of the city for the weekend, but distant enough to feel international (especially when you're freezing at the peak of the Andes which is where the border).
It's know as the Malbec capital of the world, and I ventured there with a few new friends where we did a bike-and-wine tour of vineyards, laid about in the beautiful park there, and generally ate good food and relaxed.The park here is enormous and I would say rivals Central Park in its lakes, trees, and it's definitely got it beat in the number of gorgeous fountains.

The brightness of the stars when we were driving across the Andes was incredible. Chile is known for it's ideal star-gazing sky and I had almost forgotten how bright and remarkable the stars are here.

I did have a moment of homesickness where I intensely missed friends, family, and familiarity when I got home (note to self: traveling when you crave something known and familiar is not a good idea), but a few kind words from friends has helped ease that for now.

Pictures of Mendoza's parks and our bike-and-wine tour to come soon.

Lauren

Cabin fever

Recently I've been getting a little stir crazy. It's both the perk and the downside of living so close to everything, everyone.

I've even done some impromptu gauging of how close everything is, and noticed the farmer's market is less then half way through "Gimme Shelter;" the park is about the same 3 minutes or so and that's starting from the elevator on the 15th floor. Museums, bars, cultural centers, friends are all close and so is work. Almost everything is about a 2 km. (1.2 mile) radius from the house. Which is wonderful, but it's also getting a bit boring.

I can't remember the last time I even got on the metro; my legs take me everywhere.

At the very least it's a good view to have, but I'm getting a little restless. So for the weekend, a few friends and I (a good mix of ex-pats: a German, Colombian, two Swiss people, and the American) are headed to Argentina -- to be posted about tomorrow. We're headed to the boarder town that's still in the Andean Cordillera, Mendoza. Lots of trees, wine, biking, and it's very cheap.

I'm already holding my breath until the weekend!

Gabriela Mistral Cultural Center

 From the outside, standing at Av. Alameda the cultural center is huge.

 The glass roof was made to look like flying kites. Kites are huge in Chile, and during the weekend of the bicentennial you could see hundreds of kites in the air.

During the Pinochet regime the beautiful houses behind the Gabriela Mistral building were reserved for people in the cabinet or serving under Pinochet.

These door handles were first made under President Allende, the first communist to be elected to office in Latin America. These were installed as a "Power to the People!" kind of symbol. When Pinochet came to power, these were turned upside-down, to create a Do Not Enter look.

 "Don Allende" as Bar The Clinic refers to him. A poster with him outside during Santiago a Mil, a variety of affordable and free cultural events including symphonic performances, marionette shows (which I was trying to attend), theatrical performances, and dance among others.

  Big cloth fish in the middle of the cultural center.

The Gabriela Mistral cultural center was initially constructed under communist president Salvador Allende as a place for culture, but shortly after he was overthrown by the military junta and the presidential palace was bombed in 1973, this became the government headquarters.

In 2010, for the bicentennial, it was restored to its original use, as a cultural center, and is host to a large library, rotating art exhibitions, and other cultural events.

There are tons of sculptures throughout, but what is more interesting to me is the history. That the two houses of government were once moved here from Valparaiso to be in Santiago. The bombing of the palace that is just down the street is another totally fascinating component of this building's history.

The outside of the building is beautiful, and I love the glass over the patio made to look like kites. This is a beautiful place to just wander through, and is (like everything) close to the house. Just a short walk down beautiful Lastarria.

Lauren

Language

The other night, while having friends over for dinner, we talked about life as non-native speakers in Chile and how sometimes you can come off sounding unnecessarily terse or shoot of an email that is unintentionally rude. This got me thinking about some of the language differences between English and Spanish that have continued to trip me up.

That there are two verbs to describe "to be" ser (permanent) and estar (temporary). Although it would seem clear cut which of these to use in a sentence, it's not always so plain. I'm sleepy? Clearly a good use of estar.  But to say "He's dead", a seemingly permanent state, you would actually use the estar verb, although I'm not sure why. In case he was just sleeping?

The verb "to know" is among those that have two categories. To know definitively, fundamentally saber and to know someone, be familiar with a place conocer. To me this is one of the strangest sentence constructions. In speaking with someone about travel, you might ask "do you know Pucon?" like it's a friend you may or may not have met a party. In response you could say "I don't know Puncon, but I'd like to someday." This, to me at least, sounds like Puncon's an awfully popular person who everyone would like to get to know, rather than a place.

Then there are then no distinction words, which are also confusing. There's no difference between "on" and "in." Or cracker and cookie. One day while packing a picnic, I asked to be directed to where the cracker/cookies might be and was shepherded off to the isle with thousands of cookies, none of which looked like they'd go well with goat cheese. But for some reason, there is a distinction made between the two types of cherries, blonde guinda and red cereza, but none made between peaches and nectarines. Both are duraznos but nectarines are "bald peaches" duraznos pelones.

Food can be tricky like this. It took me a good while relearning all the words for foods here since many have indigenous origins and aren't the same as the Mexican or Spanish from Spain that is taught in schools. Adiós elote,  aló choclo.

Then there are cultural differences that make writing a polite letter, email or speaking politely more difficult. How you say please is huge. It can sound demanding to use please, like someone in a position of power commanding someone to do something. By no means is "please" the magic word here. Instead it's all about intonation. To me, what sounds like baby talk.

Although I can read and understand people, these are the finesses in language I have yet to refine,  cultural differences in how people speak to one another, the subtleties. 

Lauren

Neighbors

Our apartment -- 27 stories high.

Our building is in the Recoleta neighborhood of town, near Patronato which is where a lot of Asian families are. Our proximity to so many places, Bellas Artes, La Vega, Patronato, where you can buy homemade tofu and Asian products, means our building is a strange mix of people. Many Koreans, people with tattoos, gay couples -- in other words people that you often don't see in Chile, which is kind of nice. A diverse blend of people.

Riding the elevator with your neighbors you get to know people's stories. There's the architect (often accompanied by a "foxy lady" in the words of Daniela) from the 24th floor who I sometimes do laundry alongside. The ex-economist/"vago" (his words, not mine) who lives on the 22nd floor and is the Chilean version of Woody Allen -- big glasses, same shaped face -- but with a deep gravelly voice. The Asian lady who's always out of it, sometimes wearing clothes still with the tags on them,  impatient for the elevator to get to her floor. Then there's the professional tanner who's always at the pool on the weekends promptly when the sun comes up and has a really unhealthy looking brown color and is always yelling at her boyfriend, making everyone else uncomfortable.

And the guy on our floor, the 15th stories up, who also likes to do laps in the pool and with whom I share stories about swimming, like where to shop for goggles. There's also the other guy on our floor who has the white cat that jumps onto other people's balconies and then gets put into the hallway until his owner gets home.

Being one of the very few white people in the building doesn't allow my any anonymity. No matter where I go, out for a run in crazy clothes, for a swim in the afternoon, out to work, I'm instantly recognized. The white girl. Unlike when you usually meet someone and kind of have to study their face to remember who they are, I stand out like a sore thumb in our building. "Hey! Lawden!" There's no need to remember my face, my skin tells people that it's the crazy girl on 15 who's going for her afternoon swim.

And being that I'm one of the few white people living in the building with another white person (Stephen) we're always mistaken for siblings. Stephen, Mexican/Italian, and I, German/Heinz 57, have almost no physical features in common. But we're both white and living in the same apartment. It must be how minorities in the U.S. feel when mistaken for relatives.

Either way, I do like the diversity of our building and all our crazy neighbors all the same, even if it means they think I'm related to every other white person in the building.

Lauren

The story of Osa

Among the street dogs we see and meet, there are a few of our favorites. Daniela and Stephen seem to have taken a liking to Clinton (named after Clinton Kelly for the fancy vests he wears), and the two tough dogs in the park they've named the Petes. There's also Laz formerly No Name, a small white dog who they didn't give a name. After a scare that he may be a dead dog we saw, Daniela and Stephen renamed him Laz (for Lazarus).

I've got my own favorites. Calcetines, a large red terrier who lives near the library/cafe in Provedencia. Mellow Yellow, a tail-less golden something that I'm sure is Theodora's father.

And then there's Osa. Osa is a small timid black dog that lived in front of our building. Very sweet, she was always afraid of people and other dogs. She would cower and shrink away while other dogs, even ones with owners, would eat her food. Little by little she started coming out of her shell, although she would still cower if she saw another dog. Not too long ago we found this note taped to the spot outside our building where Osa would sleep. It says "Encontré casita :)". Someone had given her a home and
left a note for the neighbors that looked after her.


There's actually a small community of people who look after the dogs who live in the park. 
They live in the apartments alongside the park (usually a little more wealthy, older crowd) 
and feed the dogs, build them small houses, give them tags and collars so the dog catchers 
don't take them away, and even take them to the vet for necessary operations (if they get 
hit by a car or something).

Regardless, Osa is no longer part of this crowd and now has a home which was happy news.


Lauren

Produce

It's summer time in Chile, which means everything is in season right now. Beautiful squash, white beans, berries, blackberries, strawberries, five kilo watermelons, everything. The farmer's market right now (which we live across the street from) is booming with the most gorgeous food.

Yesterday Stephen (my roommate/friend) and I were at the farmer's market two hours. The green beans looked so good and (and so cheap -- $.70 a kilo!) we bought two kilos. And today for a picnic I picked up a half kilo of strawberries and blackberries for about $.80. I swear, this sounds so cheesy, but you can taste the sunshine in the produce here. It's just so good.

Below are some pictures of fruits and vegetables from La Vega (to be posted about later).

Lauren

 The enterence.

 A stall at the mini Vega filled with all kinds of fruits and vegetables.

 This pumpkin is probably twice the size of a pumpkin in the U.S. You can buy a slice for about $.60 and it'll last forever. The summer stew that's very popular right now, porotos granados, calls for squash, green beans, white beans, corn, and tomato. So delicious.

So much watermelon right now! They're at almost every stall.

Anniversary!

So today marks my one-year anniversary with the country of Chile! This time last year I set foot on the soil of Chile for the first time. I thought about this preparing the magazine's anniversary issue for February (which I'm very excited about!).

Below I've posted a few pictures, just a few of many highlights of this past year, from the most memorable, exciting, exhausting, scary moments of life in Santiago.

Lauren

Our first visit to the south.

 Working with MERCY Malaysia in the south of Chile after the earthquake.

Constitucion

The annual day of 1,000 cuecas

A day without a car exhibit at the Bellas Artes muesum.

... and demonstration outside that preceded the exhibit.

casa

Light show projected on Palacio La Moneda for the bicentennial.

At a football match against Uruguay -- what we thought would be Bielsa's last game.

Preunic

These pictures definitely do not capture the craziness that lies within this place.

So I'm told this is the cheapest place to buy beauty products in Santiago, and the first time I visited this place it was absolutely madness. 

There are two counters behind which are the majority of  products that are sold in the store -- or at least the small, easy to steal products. In order to get something here, you have to go to a counter, get the attention of a very busy salesperson, who then gives you a receipt. Not the receipt showing you paid for the product, but a preliminary receipt before you actually go pay. 

Then you wait in line and pay, choosing to either pay in full for your products or in cuotas, incrementally. I never understood what this meant, so when someone asked how many cuotas I wanted to pay in I was confused. This term was new. I just wanted to pay, take my things and leave. After paying you take your final receipt back to the counter where another very busy bagging person hands you your purchase. 

If you want things from both counters, sunscreen and shampoo say, you have to get two preliminary receipts, pay (thankfully at the same time) then give your receipts to two bagging people. 

This whole process can be exhausting. Forget examining or thinking about price vs. quantity vs. quality. This is not the time for such indulgences. You better know what product you have in mind before you set foot in this store.

During this process there are all kinds of people trying to grab the attention of an over worked saleswoman, and it's very noisy and over stimulating. The only thing I can liken this to is the first time I visited the stock market when I was little. The shouting and pointing for things you want to buy; it feels like you need to make a bid on something before someone else snags the product. It's actually kind of exhausting to visit this place.

Because when I first moved back to Chile I was just visiting, I only had a 10-day supply of all my beauty products. Shampoo, face wash, conditioner, soap -- all the essentials -- so I found myself in this place all.  the. time. replenishing my minimal supply of beauty products. 

Now that I'm well stocked after the holidays (with shampoos and lotions that will probably outlive me), I probably won't be visiting a Preunic anytime soon.

Lauren 

Eathquake, the movie.

I just found this online via Daniela. It's a movie about the Feb. 27 earthquake in Chile and looks amazing. I'll definitely want to check this out.

Lauren

Fingerprints

The key to getting into our apartment -- a finger scanner.

This is another one of those things that is far more common here then it is in the United States: Getting your finger scanned instead of using identification cards or keys.

Doctor's offices use these to look up your information and records. Apartments like ours, use them as keys. The back of each Chilean carné (identity card) has a fingerprint on the back and anytime you get something notarized you use apply your fingerprint to the document you're getting notarized. The first two seem practical. People sometimes forget their wallet, a card, or their keys. But you always have your fingers handy, so there's never any looking things up, calling a locksmith, having to drive home to get something. But on your ID card? I don't really see the usefulness in that.

At first I was a bit squeamish about this. I think it's my American skepticism and how present the phrase Big Brother is in U.S. vernacular, but the idea of your whole life being associated with your fingerprint gave me the creeps.

And, although this is highly improbable, what happens if you lose your finger? And what do people without their right index finger do? Is there a hierarchy of the digits? What about people without arms, how would such a person get into our building? I guess the concierge (which almost every building has) would have to let them in. I did however find out that there is a hierarchy of the digits, and at one time knew what finger was second most important after the right index finger. But I've forgotten.


Lauren

Walk to work

So since moving back to Chile and walking to work everyday, I've realized I this is the most beautiful walk to work that I've ever had (which isn't saying a whole lot because I graduated college two years ago). But! I've worked all kinds of jobs, before and during college. My walk to work is really stunning, and it's pretty short -- about one kilometer give or take away from the front door of our apartment.

Because it's so pretty I thought I'd share my walk with some commentary. Happy weekend!

 The view out the front door of our apartment. Just pas those bushes is the Mapocho river.

 The Mapocho river.

 A fountain in Parque Forestal, just a block from our apartment.

 La Casa Naranja: an arts center and nice restaurant, bar.

 The Bellas Artes muesum.

 Cute cobblestone street

 Outside the Emporio la Rosa ice cream store and cafe (they're ice cream is amazing!).

 Check out the amazing architecture.

 The always busy Baquedano, where people congregate. It was here that people came to celebrate after Chile advanced in the World Cup last year.

 MoviStar tower

 Second park I get to walk through, Parque Bustamante

Lauren