I'm here, I'm here, I'm here!

Today, which began yesterday, has been a long day. Right now, it's almost midnight in Santiago, and I am writing from my room in the home of my Chilean family. Needless to say, I was more than pleased to find that they had Internet! I don't intend to spend all of my time here blogging away, but it is actually comforting to me to be able to sit down and let my thoughts flow. I apologize in advance for errors in spelling. My mind is functioning in Spanish now and, on top of that, it's fried and tired and sleepy, so no language I try to use will be any good at this point. Here's my best effort at updating you on my travels and my first day:

Yesterday (the 7th), I flew out of Chicago O'Hare at 5:50. After saying final goodbyes to Mom, Dad, Brittany, Grandpa, Kelly, Bridget, and Rob, I was taken to the airport by Zak, who generously volunteered for the job. Since he was the last one to see me, he was the one who got all my tears. Nothing had seemed real (and to be honest, even though I'm finally here, it doesn't seem completely real), and only when I was about to turn my back on him (and my car!) and walk away, COMPLETELY ALONE, lugging my two suitcases behind me and hauling my new Kelty backpack along, did I finally get the sense that this adventure truly is beginning. Saying goodbye to Zak was especially hard because he was the last shred of my normal life that I had to cling on to before embarking on something completely foreign. He was "that person" I've been envisioning-- the one who, in all my prior visualizations of that moment, stands and waves at me until I go through the glass doors into the airport and I can't see him anymore. He was stern, though. He said, "Go, Amanda," and I went, but not without much hesitation. In addition, since Zak is getting deployed in just a short while and will not be retuning for a good year, I had an extra hard time releasing him from our many hugs. Eventually, I obeyed, though. I felt glued to the ground-- glued to the familiar-- but then I got enough motivation to take a few steps toward the door. I was on my way.

I managed to compose myself once inside (partially because I felt like an idiot and a few people shot me some pitiful stares). I checked my bags and found my way through security and to my gate fairly quickly. I had a sandwich, charged my cell phone, and stared at the girl across from me for about an hour and a half, wondering if she was also part of this program. Every young person I saw, especially those with backpacks like mine, inspired these thoughts. I guess I was desperate to find someone to talk to, someone who had just said goodbye to all of his or her family members and friends too, someone who could remind me why I had signed up for such a thing! Who willingly walks away from everything that is comfortable and safe and wanders blindly into the unknown?

Alright, so I'm not entirely blind. I am armed with Frommer's Chile and Easter Island guide as well as the Lonely Planet edition, and I also have in my possession Webster's Spanish Grammar Handbook, the Berlitz Latin American Spanish phrase book and dictionary (thank you, Katharine), and my trusty Webster's Spanish-English dictionary. I have talked to friends who have studied in Chile (many thanks especially to Ali) and have read up on Chile's history, politics, and geography. It's not like I'm completely unprepared. However, I suppose it's impossible to prepare emotionally for something like this, and that's the part that is hitting me now. I really won't see my friends and family (save for my mom and sister who, Godwilling, are visiting in May) for at least six months. Six months! And I won't be at Marquette like everybody else when classes resume next week. I'll miss the graduations of some of my dear friends, and I'll miss the freezing Milwaukee winter (oh, wait... I won't actually miss that. Sorry, Marquette amigos!).

The things is, and the thing I realized on the plane to Miami, I haven't been basking at all in the excitement of this entire thing. I've been anticipating my departure as if it were some sort of imminent doom. When I got on the plane in Miami, I pulled out my journal, and the resulting writing session was something like a pep talk for myself. I had to remind myself that I thrive on this: new experiences, new people, new places. This is the opportunity I've been waiting for since I was in middle school and learned that "studying abroad" was a possibility in my future. This is the part where I place my trust in my beautiful support system and my wonderful God and embark on something fantastically unfamiliar. This is what I've wanted-- to see, to grow, to come alive and come into my own. Nobody ever told me this would be easy, but I decided to do it anyway. A fortune I got once from a cookie comes to mind now: "We are made to persist," it said, "That's how we find out who we are."

And God provides. On my plane from Chicago to Miami, I was blessed to be seated next to that same girl I'd stared at while waiting at our gate. As it turns out, her name is Mariel, and she's from Chicago. She graduated from college in Colorado four or five years ago and, for the past year, has been living in Buenos Aires, Argentina. She was home for Christmas-- for the first time in a year-- and was gutsy enough to get back on the plane and return to Buenos for another year, this time as a teacher. This girl was beautiful, and she made me feel so much better about all of this. She told me about her own study abroad experience in Spain, and she talked about her first year in Argentina and also about how it felt to be home-- and to leave-- again. She said this is it; after this, she'll stay in the States for awhile. (Her family will kill her otherwise!) I was in awe of her bravery, independence, and calmness, and it was contagious (thank God). I began to calm down and get excited, for the first time in awhile, about living in Chile. She reassured me, even though she didn't know me. What a wonderful favor this stranger did me by placing her faith in me with little to no knowledge about me. I kept thinking, "Mariel, if my parents knew how you have helped me in these three hours, they would give you a huge hug" because she really was exactly the person I needed just then.

Our plane arrived in Miami about a half hour late, around 10:30. By the time I made it through the airport to my next gate, the plane to Santiago was already boarding. I basically took a breath and got directly in that line. I was in the Miami airport for a total of about 20 minutes, and I never stopped moving. I said goodbye to Mariel (she was flying on to Buenos) and hoped I would get the chance to sleep on this flight, which was to be a bit over 8 hours, through the night, arriving in Santiago this morning (the 8th). I was surprised to see how tight this plane was. We were 7-across, and I had zero legroom. My backpack barely fit into the overhead compartment and, after struggling with that for awhile, I was a bit concerned that the next several hours would be absolutely miserable. How would I ever get to sleep? It was loud and hot and crammed. I had strategically booked a window seat, hoping it would give me more options for sleeping positions, and that was the only positive thing about the situation for a moment.

And then I met Eric! The gentleman next to me was clearly Chilean, but I didn't want to say anything for fear that I'd mess up in some way (Should I say "hi" or "hola"? Does he want me to just leave him alone, or is he the type of person who talks during flights? Is he irritated because I made him get up twice already so I could go get something else I forgot from my backpack? etc...).Eventually, because I never keep my mouth shut for long, I said hello and introduced myself. After all, we were going to be sharing a space all night. When I heard that his English was perfect, I asked him if he was going on a vacation or going home. He told me he lives in Florida but grew up in Chile and was making this trip to visit his dad. He hasn't been to Chile in five years, but he was able to dispense a multitude of advice over the next two or three hours. Simple things about cell phones and taxis and what to order at a bar, but obviously things I need to know! He was a valuable resource and a very kind travel companion, and we discussed everything from his family to my program to the history of the strong Mapuche people in Chile (a native population with quite the history, similar to the Native Americans of the US). We chatted through dinner (surprisingly delicious; thank you, American Airlines) and then decided we should try to sleep. This didn't go over very well, but I dozed on and off for most of the flight and, before I knew it, I was being served breakfast and saying goodbye to Eric, who I felt a strange connection with. I decided that if this kind, generous, patient man was anything like the rest of the Chilean people, I would be just fine.

I had no idea what to do after I got off the plane, but I followed the flow of traffic and found myself in the line for Immigration. I waited forever, had a long talk with the nice immigration officer, who was trying to tell me something about registering my visa (I have since figured out what he was talking about, and there's nothing to worry about), and then I proceeded to baggage claim. I found my bags quickly (it was smart to bring red ones!) and then moved toward Customs, which was quick and easy. I had no problems with anything in the airport until the easiest part: finding the lady holding the "Alberto Hurtado" sign.

I must have looked really lost because a security officer kindly offered to help me find who I needed to find. In broken Spanish, I explained to him who I was looking for. He left me and scanned the area, returning with no results. Where the heck was this Isabel?! We wandered for ten minutes before I remembered that I had her cell phone number. The officer kindly funded my call to Isabel, and although she said many things to me, I only understood "coffee shop." Luckily, this was enough; the officer knew what I was talking about and took me right to the coffee shop, where I found six students waiting for me beside Isabel, a short, smiley, older lady with the sign. They were gathered only ten feet from where I'd been, but they were facing the other way and I hadn't made the necessary turn in the first place, so I understood how I'd missed them. It made me feel silly, though, when several more people showed up, all of whom seemed to have far fewer navigational problems than I'd had!

We waited for all of the students who were arriving this morning and then departed. We loaded our stuff in a coach bus and got on, grateful to get out of the heat. I'd been smart enough to pack some shorts in my backpack and I changed into those, relieved to take off my jeans. It was probably 85 degrees out (everything's in Celcius, so I'm going off of what it felt like to me), and the heat is incredibly dry, so I was feeling pretty hot and thirsty. The ride to the University was short, and Isabel took the time to explain that we would be meeting up with our families here and then going with them for the rest of the day. We would be meeting up again in the morning for breakfast and Orientation.

I recognized my host mom, Gladis, and her daughter, Carolina, immediately. Most of the families were congregated inside the lobby of the building, but they were waiting on the steps outside. I was reluctant to go and greet them (what if I just thought they looked like the people I'd seen in the pictures from Carolina and really they weren't? I'd feel so foolish...), but then they called out to me. It was my natural instinct to run to them and give them besos (kisses) on the cheeks and fall into their warm embraces. I had no idea who these people were, but they were calling my name and looked happy to see me, and that was good enough for me. We took my things and began walking. I fielded as many questions as I could as well as I could on our 3 or 4-minute walk to their home, which is right in "Santiago centro" (basically the center of town, so close to my school that I won't need to take the metro). We unlocked a front gate and then another door and entered a building that seemed to me like an apartment complex. We walked up a flight of stairs, and then I was walking in the door of my Chilean home, a small, humbly decorated, but welcoming home, probably the same size in total as the main level of my home. They showed me to my room, which is sparsely decorated but good enough for me. I had a home. And a family. And a space of my own.

I have been completely bombarded with information and stimulation from this world around me, every inch of which is brand new to my eyes. I am trying to express myself (in Spanish) to my family-- my "mom," Gladis, my "sister," Carolina (who is also 21 and studies Social Work at the same university, Alberto Hurtado, that I will attend), and the many people who come in and out of this home (I have met at least five today); but, despite my best intentions, I often can't say what I want to say. I expected this, obviously, and I expect to be fairly lost for a little while, but it really is an experience unlike any other that I've had to be almost completely incapacitated as far as self-expression is concerned.

We've managed to have a few reasonably successful conversations. We decided to make lunch the first priority (lunch here is the main meal), venturing back to the University to eat in what seemed like the cafeteria. I couldn't even tell you what it was that I ate, but it was good and I was hungry. And Mom and Zak, you'll be happy to know that I used my very best table manners, faltering only when my naughty watermelon squirted everywhere. They asked about my family, and I did my best to explain my parents' jobs and personalities, to tell them about my sister and my Grandpa and my friends at school, and to defend the fact that I have no idea what I'm going to be "when I grow up." Overall, it was a success. I even asked a few questions, which was probably a good thing because after awhile my strategy of answering only what I'm asked and not speaking any more than that would have become noticeable. They commented repeatedly on how tall I am (I feel like a giantess here) and asked if I liked to walk (I'd better!), and they were overjoyed when I informed them that I attend Catholic Mass weekly (so do they).

Gladis determined that my next priority should be contacting my family (you'd like her, Mom). So, we found a small shop with booths for calling internationally and computers for accessing the internet. After failing to connect with my home line and both my parents' cell phones, I decided to send an email instead. I guess there is some sort of code that we don't know, and it made calling too difficult today. I explained that it's OK-- I plan to use Skype to call and perhaps they can call me here, too; an email would be sufficient, I reassured them. Gladis was bound and determined to make sure I called "mi mama" but it just wouldn't work today. I know that my parents were happy to receive my email, though, and I was relieved after sending it.

I unpacked, then, which took a little while, but no one rushed me. I had a glass of water (they're going to slowly introduce me to the local supply, so today I'm on a strictly bottled diet, which goes against everything I believe, but I guess I'd rather not get sick!), and I must have looked gross because they asked if I'd like to shower. It was actually quite refreshing to shower and I was relieved to find there was indeed hot water (I'd heard horror stories from some people who studied abroad in various countries and went months without hot water). Afterwards, Gladis suggested I take a nap. I happily accepted that invitation and was about to lie down when she gave me an "Are you crazy, gringa?!" look and told me I should dry my hair. I told her I usually let it air-dry. She gave me that look again, and I got the blow drier and went to town. Then, I tried to taker her up on the nap option again, but she had her shoes on and asked if I was coming with them to do some errands. How could I say no? Besides, I wanted to see the city. So, we walked around the bustling, rather gritty, downtown area and ran errands-- making copies of the house keys for me, getting food at the supermarket for me (I had to make SO many decisions!!), and finally returning home, sweaty and tired from the walk, but alive, despite the bus drivers' every efforts to kill me each time they flew by the curb. Finally, I got to take that nap. And it was beautiful.

The homesickness was kicking in-- it seems to be triggered by moments when I'm not doing something, when I'm all alone, and when I'm particularly tired or emotional, which makes sense. A nap did me some good, and I woke up, despite wishing to sleep into the next morning, because I heard some voices in the hall and figured it was time for dinner. Gladis made me a ham and cheese sandwich, got me a glass of milk (YES!!!), and dished me up some of the best ice cream I've ever had. We ate dinner on trays in Gladis and Carolina's bedroom and watched a ridiculous Chilean reality TV show called "Juego del Miedo." I met three more people and then decided I was exhausted, at which point I gave everyone kisses (I'm not sure how often to do this, but I want to err on the polite side, so I'm going to kiss the heck out of everyone) and went to my room, where my brain is now lying on the floor in 10,000,000 pieces.

Just kidding. But I do feel quite drained, and I know that trying to function in Spanish all-day, everyday will be exhausting. Hopefully, as I improve, it will become less so, and I'm excited to get better. My family is also excited that I have a good attitude about learning the language. They tell me to ask lots of questions, remind them to speak slowly, and try my best. Half the time, I know my verbs are conjugated horribly and my vocabulary is severely lacking, but we manage to communicate. This is why I love language and people and traveling-- we are seriously not all that different. We can speak and sense and learn from one another. It's going to be taxing but living here is going to help me so much with my Spanish. Carolina and Gladis will never speak English to me (they really can't, even if they want to), and if I can maintain that same dedication to learning when I'm with the American students too, I'm sure to improve. Again, strangers have placed their faith in me: Gladis has already assured me that I'll be speaking Spanish "perfectamente" when I return home. We'll see about that!

I'm not sure what's up for the weekend, but there was talk of a museum visit. I'm going to roll with the flow. Tomorrow will be great because we'll get some type of direction. I'm excited to get to know the other students in the program and start class, but I'm going to try to savor these first few exhausting, difficult, bittersweet, overstimulating days.

Goodnight, all. Besos for everyone!!

Amanda