Do I Look French from There?

My regular homeopathic pharmacy has been out of garlic tablets for at least two weeks. Garlic's good for my blood, so I passed by there this morning and peered through their glass front door with a hopeful expression. The clerk inside knew what I was looking for and gave me a thumbs down. Still no garlic.

On my way back home, I stopped in at another pharmacy. This one, I rarely use. An older woman with full fringe bangs and shoulder-length hair helped me. She "sold" me the garlic tablets, but then I had to go to the other counter to pay. A man took my money there.

He was 50-ish with salt and pepper hair and Buddy Holly glasses. A nice-looking guy in a nerdy way.

In the background, a female singer was crooning, "The More I See You." He hummed along, singing a word here and there.

"Buena musica," I commented to him. He held up a CD cover and started talking about how much he loved jazz and blues.

I mentioned a video that I had seen last week. The nine-year old Norwegian, Angelina Jordan, sounds like Amy Winehouse reincarnated.

"I love Amy." He showed me his playlist of oldies, telling me in Spanglish that he also loved Etta James, Ella Fitzgerald, Tom Jones. My kind of music. Our music conversation was going swimmingly when, out of the blue, he asked me, "Are you Canadian?"

I shook my head. The older lady joined us, and I asked in Spanish, "Do you like to dance?"

"¡Sí!"

I leaned slightly over the counter, trying to peek at his ring finger, but his hands were out of sight. "Are you single?" I asked him.

The older lady moved closer to him and said, "He's my husband."

"¡O, perdón! Vale la pena preguntar, ¿no?" Oops, sorry. It never hurts to ask. Luckily, she had a good sense of humor and found it funny instead of threatening.

He carried on, unfazed, and then must have decided that I was French because he began speaking to me in French.

Many people here have mistaken me for French or German, even Russian. Let's see. I know precisely...oh right...zero French. Well, that's not strictly true. I could throw around some "Bon jour" and "Merci" in a terrible accent. Beyond that, I would have to be mute.

I must have a "European face," but that's where it ends. I'm not skinny enough to look French below my collarbones.

~~Sally Rose
Author of Penny Possible & A Million Sticky Kisses
iamsallyrose.com

Vexed

I've had to change peluqueros again. This must be the fifth or sixth one I've tried here. I've lost count.

After an incident with one in El Centro back in 2012, I'd been trekking out to Barrio Yungay to Marcos* who did a consistent job of maintaining my hair style.

The problem? It was two-fold. Over time, I'd noticed that all the magazines in the salon had disappeared and were replaced by religious pamphlets. Along with my haircut, I could expect an evangelical lecture.

Then, there arose the scenario of their son and his learning English. This year, he was accepted into a "prestigious" Chilean school. He had not learned much English before and, now, he is struggling at the new school.

On my last visit to the salon, I'd had the foresight to take my Kindle and was reading the latest trashy novel, in plain view of their religious propaganda, when I heard a little voice say, "Hello, Tía."

I looked up to find Juanito* peeking into the salon. Since they live upstairs, this didn't surprise me, but this time, his mother frog-marched him in, one hand on each shoulder, and plunked him down in a chair opposite me. In his 12-year old hands was his English textbook.

"Please, he needs help with his homework. He doesn't understand it," pleaded his mother.

This wasn't the first time that they had asked for my help. I'd given mini-English lessons on previous salon visits and, last year, his mother had emailed me a homework assignment, along with a note begging me to do it for him. The task had been to translate a report which he would then have to read in class.

Put between the rock and being forced to find a new hairdresser, I'd reluctantly done the translation and sent it back with a stern note, reminding her that Juanito would learn nothing this way. They calmed down for awhile, but this year at his new school, he seems completely lost.

I looked at Juanito, seated across from me, and started asking him questions in English. "Does your teacher speak to the class in English?" I already suspected the answer to this, and he confirmed it with the blank stare.

I asked him again, in Spanish, and he shook his head. "Can he speak English at all?"

"Oh, yes. He can."

"Then, why doesn't he?"

"The first day of school, he asked who could understand him in English. When no one raised his hand, he gave up and started speaking to us in Spanish."

Uh-huh. If the kids can't understand the English teacher, isn't it his job to actually make sure that they learn how? I suggested that Juanito's parents go to the school and speak with the teacher, ask him why the kids aren't being taught in English. If the teacher wasn't receptive, my advice would be to complain to the administration.

"But how could we do that?" What?! "Why don't you come and do some workshops?"

I explained that I would soon be leaving Chile for this year, that I was not available to begin workshops. I thought that they had understood me.

They ignored my recommendation that they speak with the teacher, but they went to the administration alright...to ask if I could come to the school to teach remedial workshops to Juanito's class.

Next thing I knew, I had received an email from an "inspector" at the school, inviting me to send in a proposal, along with lesson plans, so that they could approve it before I arrived to do the free workshops.

After stewing for a couple of weeks, I wrote the inspector a polite note, explaining that I'm not going to be here long enough to begin workshops this year. He wrote back to say that I should inform Juanito's parents.

Since I'd already tried to inform them and they'd chosen not to hear me, I didn't bother to attempt it again. This, of course, all means that I've had to find yet another peluquería.

I've managed to locate a salon downtown where I was able to relax and thumb through the latest issue of Vanidades while waiting, and best of all, the Linda Hunt doppelgänger stylist doesn't seem the least bit interested in learning English.

~~Sally Rose
Author of Penny Possible & A Million Sticky Kisses
iamsallyrose.com

*names changed

Top of the List

Do you like lists? I'm a list-maker, so when I see a new list of something that interests me, I usually read through it.


Thia week, I found Chile on two lists. The first was a Thrillist article called "12 of the Most Unbelievably Cheap Paradises on Earth."


I wasn't expecting to find a Chilean city on the list. I was simply scrolling along, reading about Bulgaria, Panama, Cambodia, and others when I discovered that Nº. 12 was Las Trancas, Chile.

I have to confess that I've never been there, don't really know exactly where Las Trancas is. If you enjoy hiking, skiing, and snowboarding, you might want to check out Thrillist's idea of "paradise," though I have my doubts that you could actually grow cacao there.

The other list was presented by Condé Nast Traveler, "The Most Colorful Cities in the World." My first thought? I live near one of them.

Valparaíso, Chile, easily belongs on this list with its wildly painted buildings and murals. I scrolled through the list, past our neighbors, Brazil and Argentina, shaking my head at some of Condé Nast's choices. Where is Valpo?

Once again, Valparaíso was the final city on the list. This colorfully painted coastal city, built on hills, is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. No list of cities with colorful buildings or street art would be complete without her.

I like to think of Valpo the way poet Pablo Neruda did, "Valparaíso, how absurd you are...you haven't combed your hair, you've never had time to get dressed, life has always surprised you."

~~Sally Rose
Author of Penny Possible & A Million Sticky Kisses
iamsallyrose.com

Ojos Abiertos

In my quest to find viable volunteer opportunities for teaching English, I recently attended a meeting of a new organizaton called Ojos Abiertos.

"To empower children to grow as individuals and valuable community members through initiatives designed to nurture empathy, support learning, and promote respect and self-autonomy" reads its mission statement.

The founder of the group is a dedicated young woman named Helen who has put together an international team of volunteers to spearhead the program. Their first project will be at a municipal school in Conchalí, on the north side of Santiago.

Last year, I had met with the director of this school. He is serious about improving the lives of his students and is determined to give them more opportunities for success in life. Ojos Abiertos is proposing English and art workshops at this school.

When I visited, I did a brief English encounter in a 7th grade classroom. Like at most Chilean schools, the kids were timid, but curious. By the end of the presentation, most of them had warmed up enough to participate.

Afterward, as I was leaving, one of the girls from the class ran up, leaned into me, and blurted out, "I think you are a very good person."

I put my arm around her shoulders, looked into her shining eyes, and told her, "I think you are a very good person, too."

She gave me a big hug, and an even bigger grin, before running back to join her circle of giggling classmates.

If you have ever considered volunteering, think about contacting Helen at Ojos Abiertos. You will probably receive much more than you can give.

~~Sally Rose
Author of Penny Possible & A Million Sticky Kisses
iamsallyrose.com

Coffee Encounters

As opposed to my last post about the ten best bars in Santiago, now here's a list of nine cafes to help us survive winter.

How many of these have I visited? Not as many as the bars, but considering that I only drink decaf, which is almost impossible to find here, and that I drink it at home in the mornings, I'm surprised that I've actually visited three out of these nine.

Two of them are in my neighborhood and, if I'm honest, I didn't drink coffee there. At Colmado, I've had lunch and at Bon Bon Oriental, they serve delicious, gooey Turkish delicacies.

The other one I've investigated is in Barrio Italia. I went to Xoco Por Ti, which is not a café but a chocolate bar. I was also in Rende Bú, not the one on the list, but their location in Barrio Italia, which was known as the "cat café" during the month of June because it operated as a cat adoption center. At both places, I drank hot chocolate.

My own neighborhood is teeming with cafes. Many of them have buenda onda, a nice vibe, but I cannot vouch for their coffee. Now a caffeine teetotaler, I'm still buzzed from 1983.

~~Sally Rose
Author of Penny Possible & A Million Sticky Kisses
iamsallyrose.com

Happy Hours

Frequently, I am contacted by folks who read this blog and are planning a visit to Chile. They ask me where to stay, what to do, how to get from A to B. I enjoy playing virtual tour guide and I offer advice when I can.

Many people want to be in the heart of it all. They choose to stay in Barrio Bellas Artes or Barrio LaStarria where you can hop onto the Metro or a bus, and it's easy to walk to restaurants and bars.

When I first moved here, back in 2011, it was almost impossible to find a restaurant open between the hours of 5pm and 7pm. They firmly shut their doors after lunch and didn't reopen until Chilean dinner hour. Now, with a huge influx of tourists, more and more places are staying open all the way through, from lunch until closing.

Walking through LaStarria, you see signs announcing "Happy Hour." Though most Chileans don't arrive to get "happy" until around 9pm, the Happy Hours usually start after lunch, which means around 5pm.

A recent article in The Guardian said that Santiago is "out to surprise" and listed the Top 10 Bars in Santiago. I might disagree about some on the list, but I have visited most of them. Six of them are within a five minute walk from my apartment...and you wondered why I post so many photos of cocktails.

~~Sally Rose
Author of Penny Possible & A Million Sticky Kisses
iamsallyrose.com

Flojera

I'm not getting any work done. All I want to do is sit and stare at the Cordillera.


We had just enough rain over the weekend that I can clearly see those majestic Andes Mountains for the first time in almost three months. I could be doing other things, but I only want to sit quietly and soak in this view.


Earlier, I went to an expat meeting. I didn't know anyone at the meeting and the inevitable getting-to-know-you questions were asked.

"So, what do you do here in Chile?"

I get asked this question a lot, usually by well-meaning people. It's a normal question.

Since I'm not here for a job, if I'm feeling cantankerous, sometimes I reply, "Nothing." That's usually a conversation stopper, so instead I often say, "I'm retired," which doesn't fare much better.

This frequently earns me a skeptical once-over. "Really?" as if they can't believe it. "What do you do all day?"

"Well, let's see..." I laugh because explaining my schedule is complicated. Should I tell them that I'm an excellent time-waster? Or that every day is different? I usually launch into a spiel about classes and workshops, which satisfies their curiosity.

"Oh, so you're a teacher?" Not really, not at the moment. I haven't quite learned how to admit the truth, that I'm a writer.

Except on days like today when it's far too tempting to sit and watch the sun light up the snow-capped Cordillera. Today, I'm definitely a flojera, a lazy mountain watcher. Can you blame me?

~~Sally Rose
Author of Penny Possible & A Million Sticky Kisses
iamsallyrose.com

Livin' It Like I Mean It

Tomorrow is the anniversary of Pablo Neruda's birthday. A Nobel Prize-winning Chilean poet, Neruda has been dubbed "the greatest poet of the 20th century in any language" by Colombian novelist, Gabriel García Márquez.

Isla Negra, on the Pacific coast an hour and a half west of Santiago, was one of Neruda's three homes. Though I've been to Valparaíso many times, I have never visited his home there, La Sebastiana, but I've been to Isla Negra and to La Chascona, which is here in Santiago.

In addition to being a renowned poet, Neruda was a collector. The houses are full of seashells, wine glasses, and ships' mastheads. His "toys," which he claimed helped him retain his youthful spirit. My impression is that he loved food, wine, women, beauty, and words. Neruda lived large.

Maybe I was inspired by him the day I visited Isla Negra because I did something beyond my usual comfort zone.

Outside the entrance to Isla Negra, a woman was selling homemade chocolates from a small stall. In the background, “Marble Halls” from Enya’s Shepherd Moons album was softly playing.

I stood in the street and sang to her in English that she couldn’t understand. She closed her eyes to listen, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, while passersby stared at the looney gringa, singing in the road.

After my performance, she dug underneath her counter and brought out a tattered guest book and a pen. I wrote her a note in Spanish about how delightful it felt to stand in that exquisite spot and sing one of my favorite songs.

I also bought chocolates to serve for once. Maybe that’s what had made the woman so happy. She was smiling as I walked away.
~~A Million Sticky Kisses

I think I'll take a page from Neruda's book and follow his example of living large. More singing, more laughter, maybe some dancing or howling at the moon. Live it like I mean it.

~~Sally Rose
Author of Penny Possible & A Million Sticky Kisses
iamsallyrose.com

Exploring Chile

When thinking about what to post today, I reviewed some options. Should I rant about Santiago's eternal smog? Yawn, cough-cough. Or voice my opinion of Chile's soccer team's Gonzalo Jara's "disappearing finger"? If you don't already know, you don't want to know.

No, I'm feeling lazy and a bit resfriada, a little under the weather. I think the smog has finally gotten to me, so I will show you a lovely little video, made by a vacationing woman from Slovenia.

Rahela Jagric, an international filmmaker, and her boyfriend spent a month traversing Chile by bus. Here is her video, "Exploring Chile."

As she quotes Gustave Flaubert, "Travel makes one modest. You see what a tiny place you occupy in the world."

~~Sally Rose
Author of Penny Possible & A Million Sticky Kisses
iamsallyrose.com

What Next?

Marmite, beloved by Brits across the globe, will soon be available in convenient, airline acceptable jars.

Starting July 1, these babies will go on sale at some stores in Great Britain, and there is talk that a mini-Bovril is in the works, as well.

This should make for some happy travelers, considering that jars of Marmite are one of the most confiscated items at the London city airport, second only to jam.

For us non-Brits, maybe someone could package small jars of Nutella or peanut butter for those long flights, though I'm pretty happy with just taking chocolate onboard. There's no restriction on that unless I try to travel with...oh, say...40 or 50 lbs. of it.

In the past couple of weeks, I've discovered two new chocolate places here in Santiago. One is not strictly a chocolate store, but I had a delicious cup of hot chocolate there when I went to visit the "Cat Café," otherwise known as Café Rendebú, in Barrio Italia.

The other is also in Barrio Italia. More like a chocolate stand with a few outdoor tables, Xoco Por Ti is tucked away in one of Barrio Italia's many hidden passages. I had a frappe there and I can highly vouch for the quality of the chocolate.

When I lived in New York, I was a member of a Meetup for chocolate lovers. I went on chocolate tours, and I made it my business to visit any and every new chocolate shop within the five boroughs. Though the list in Santiago would be shorter, I am thinking of doing the same thing here.

Anyone else game for chocolate discovery in Santiago? Marmite and Nutella are optional.

~~Sally Rose
Author of Penny Possible & A Million Sticky Kisses
iamsallyrose.com

Arturo vs. The Devil

Here in Chile, we are in the thick of the Copa America soccer tournament. Soccer aficionados here are rabidly fanatic.

So far, Chile won its first game against Ecuadór. Then, we tied Mexico in the second game.

Yesterday our midfielder, Arturo Vidal, decided to go out to the casino, have a few drinks, and then drive back to Santiago. Before he made it back, he crashed his cherry red Ferrari into a tree. Apparently, he was slightly injured as were the other people involved. Charge: drunk driving.

Today, there is a big uproar about his behavior and this accident. Should he be punished? According to Chile's drunk-driving laws, he's subject to jail time. Should he be suspended from the team? He who scored two of Chile's three goals against Mexico? He is a star here, a dios. Should he be held to the same standards as an "ordinary" person or is he above it all? He would not be the first celebrity to escape punishment simply because they are famous, but if there's no punishment, what kind of message does it send?

Our hero and role model has already declared on camera, "No fue culpa mia." It wasn't my fault.

So, whose fault was it? I'm reminded of the old Flip Wilson skit, The Devil Made Me Do It. Maybe, like Geraldine, he was kicking the devil instead of putting his foot on the brake.

It looks to me like "the devil done got old Arturo," as Geraldine might say.

The world is watching you, Chile. When you decide his fate, will you stand up and be a role model or has the devil got you, too?

~~Sally Rose
Author of Penny Possible & A Million Sticky Kisses
iamsallyrose.com

Travel through Reading

“We all become travelers in a different way. … I became a traveler through reading,” said famed travel writer, Paul Theroux, at an address at the University of Maine.

I remember being fascinated years ago by his book, The Great Railway Bazaar. Maybe I was encouraged by his advice not only to go on vacation, but to make a home in a different country, learn the language, and immerse myself there.

From an early age, I had the same idea as he did. In the introduction to my book, A Million Sticky Kisses, I wrote the following:

They told me that I’d been “vaccinated with the phonograph needle,” meaning I talked too much, and that I’d “never met a stranger” which meant that I’d talk to just about anybody. How else was I supposed to get information? A curious little girl, I wanted to know what was out there in the big, wide world.

At night, I’d lie awake and listen to the whistle of the midnight train as it passed through like clockwork. I always pondered where it might be going. In my imagination, it was always somewhere “exotic” and exciting. Where to tonight? Chicago? New York? Out West?

I wanted to hop onboard that train and discover all those places, to find out what was out there, to be somewhere, anonymous, where it was up to me to mind my own business.

Our house wasn’t in a neighborhood full of kids. It was on the outskirts of town, and my little sister was six years younger than I was. Most of the time, I ended up playing alone, lining up my dollies and reading to them or “teaching” them from old school books. I made up stories, mostly about traveling to faraway places and what those places, and the people I’d find there, might be like.

I don’t remember how old I was when the idea came to me. One day, I’m going overseas...

From a childhood dream to my reality for the past four years, consciously or not, I followed Mr. Theroux's advice.

~~Sally Rose
Author of Penny Possible & A Million Sticky Kisses
iamsallyrose.com

Día del Patrimonio Cultural

There is a brass band playing outside. Enthusiastically, if slightly off-key. They are celebrating Día del Patrimonio Cultural de Chile, a nation-wide festival which lasts, not just one day, but all weekend to honor the different dimensions of cultural heritage in Chile.

In my neighborhood, the brass band is here in conjunction with the bomberos, the fire department. They play a song or two. Then, the bomberos release a stream of water from an antique steam-powered water canon, shooting it high into the air to entertain the cheering crowds.

I spoke with one of the bomberos, wearing his official company uniform which was festooned with medals. He explained to me that this engine was one of the first "fire trucks" in Santiago. It has been lovingly preserved and is used only for celebrations like this one.

When I first moved here, four years ago, a bombero approached me on the street. He had a clipboard and asked me to sign up to give a monthly donation to the fire department. In Chile, firemen are not paid. They are all volunteers.

I didn't know this at the time, and I was a little leery of signing up. "Let me think about it," I told him.

"If we get an alarm for your apartment, we're not going to think about it before we come to rescue you."

I signed up as a donor that day. Living only a block or two from the fire station, I hear the alarm at least once a day. Luckily, it's never rung for me.

~~Sally Rose
Author of Penny Possible & A Million Sticky Kisses
iamsallyrose.com

Back to the Future

As I was preparing to write the May newsletter, I opened up my Mailchimp account and put in my user name and password. A notice came up that said, "It seems that your system clock is set too far into the future."

Huh? What does that mean?

I was scratching my head over it, thinking that if this were the future, "A Million Sticky Kisses" would already be a Nº. 1 Best Seller. Hollywood would have called, and my friend would have sent his tux out to the cleaners so that he could accompany me to all those Oscar parties.

Then I remembered that Chile is in its own time zone which, apparently, doesn't exist. At some point last summer, the government declared that we were not going to move the clocks around any more. We are forever stuck in a Daylight Savings Time warp.

Right now, if we weren't renegades, we'd be at GMT-4, but we are renegades, so we are at GMT-3, which none of my electronic devices recognizes on its own. Therefore, I have to manually set my computer to Buenos Aires time, thrusting myself...too far into the future.

As for the other, a girl can dream, can't she? In the immortal words of Bloody Mary in Rodgers & Hammerstein's South Pacific, "You got to have a dream. If you don't have a dream, how you gonna have a dream come true?"

If you'd like to receive my monthly newsletter, you can sign up here.

~~Sally Rose
Author of Penny Possible & A Million Sticky Kisses
iamsallyrose.com

Poquito de todo

It's not all just about teaching, though. Would you take a look at this exquisite coastline?

Chileans joke that when God finished making all the other parts of the earth, he took what was left over and made Chile. Driest desert in the world, the majestic Andes, surf-worthy beaches, awe-inspiring forests, imposing glaciers, Chile has it all.

The WorldPost thinks so, too. Their "Through Your Lens" article's featured country this week is Chile, showcasing photos from social media users. They call Chile an "under-rated travel destination."

I'd have to agree. Chile is a photographer's dream. What are you waiting for?

~~Sally Rose
Author of Penny Possible & A Million Sticky Kisses
iamsallyrose.com

Presenting A Million Sticky Kisses, the Story of a Gringa Teacher in Chile

People often ask me, "Why Chile?" If you've read this blog for awhile, you may already have a clue to the answer. If you haven't, I'll give you a hint: volunteer teaching.

If you'd like to know the story of my original visits to Chile to be a volunteer teacher, it's all in my book, A Million Sticky Kisses. Now available on Amazon in both print and Kindle versions.

Watch my new book trailer here.

~~Sally Rose
Author of Penny Possible & A Million Sticky Kisses
iamsallyrose.com

Not Lost, Just Wandering

This week, I received two Facebook friend requests from former students.

I taught these kids two years ago when I was volunteering as an assistant in 11th grade "Social Communication" classes in English. Their teacher had requested a volunteer. It turned out that she was pregnant and didn't feel well enough to be at school at least half the time.

Given the choice of going to school only when she was present or going no matter what, and teaching the classes myself, I chose to go. There was no book, no lesson plans either. I never knew in advance whether or not the teacher would be there, so like a good Girl Scout, I started preparing my own lesson plans "just in case."

If someone had previously told me that I would be teaching 16 year olds, I would have told them to have their head examined. But these 16-year olds were a dream, polite, respectful, and timidly interested in learning English. I spent the entire year in their classrooms and, because of their enthusiasm about English, I also initiated extra workshops on two levels. Level One was for those who needed reinforcement. Level Two was a conversation workshop for those who were already able to communicate in English.

I grew close to those students. Probably too close because, when the year ended, saying goodbye was heartbreaking.

The school had been sold and these kids, "my" kids, all had to move to different schools to complete their final year of high school. One young lady, a smiley girl who had always been excited about learning English, was also moving to a new area of Santiago.

On the final day that I was at school, I asked her where she would be going to school. She said, "I'm not going to school any more. I'm going to study at home."

I stared at her for a few seconds, thinking that this day would be the end of her education. Then, without warning, I suddenly burst into tears. Shocked, she gave me a hug and patted my back, murmuring, "It's okay, Miss Sally. Don't cry, Miss Sally," which only made me sob harder.

I hate losing track of a student, but since then, I had heard nothing from her nor about her...until last week when she "friended" me. I can't wait to hear how she's doing.

No more tears now. Can you see me smiling?

~~Sally Rose

Time Warp

Back in Chile a little more than a month and I am just now settling into a regular routine again.

I suppose it didn't help that I arrived here exhausted, only stayed a few days, then set off for a week in Chiloé. In reality, I've only been back in Santiago for three weeks, but one thing is apparent. I'm not in Kansas any more, Dorothy.

I instantly jumped from spring into autumn. Skipping summer altogether, I returned to my tiny downtown Santiago apartment where my sedate existence was upturned. Like in Jerry Seinfeld's Bizarro World, everything is opposite.

Contrary to the quiet of the past six months, from 1 to 2pm, a lone saxophonist stands near the corner of Merced and Miraflores. I can hear him from my apartment if I am in my kitchen. In the evening, a band of buskers paints their faces and marches through the neighborhood like clockwork, an itinerant flute and drum corp. Late nights, I can hear another musician on a different corner. I'd feel like I'm living in the circus, except that I like this music and it's far enough away to sound soulful or lively, rather than ear-splitting.

My internal clock is now shoved forward a few hours. Instead of going to bed at 10pm like in the US, I'm sometimes finishing dinner at 10pm. Time slows down here, yet fast forwards to late night party and dinner invitations whose start time is more a suggestion than an expectation. Depending on where I am, I'm either in bed with the chickens or up until the cows come home. A slight exaggeration, but welcome to Bizarro World.

~~Sally Rose

Santiago Street Art

Today, I took an Urban Art tour. We met at Metro Bellas Artes to begin with the murals painted by Chilean artist INTI.

From there, we walked down Santo Domingo, into Barrio Esmeralda, along the Mapocho River, and across into Bellavista. Our guide, Paola, was very well-versed because her boyfriend is a Chilean grafitero, a street artist. She explained the history of the art, the methods used to paint the murals, and the codes of conduct among the artists. We learned a bit about Chilean history and the back stories of the art, as well. See more photos of Santiago murals here.

Urban Art Tours is still in trial stages. Once it's up and running, I would highly recommend it if you enjoy viewing and photographing street art.

Ñam, ñam

This weekend, Santiago is hosting the Ñam food festival, a showcase of foods produced in Chile.

In front of me in this photo is a sandwich called chacarero. Mine was made on the Chilean bread staple, the marraqueta. It started with sliced beef, but not just any beef. This was wagyu.

I have all but given up eating beef here unless it's ground because I'm convinced that Chilean cows run up and down the Andes every day. Most beef here is tough, stringy, and dry. Eating it is like trying to chew shoe leather, but the wagyu was a different story. Tender, juicy, and flavorful.

So what's that other stuff on the sandwich? The red is obviously tomato, but what about those green things? That, folks, is green beans. A chacarero comes topped with sliced tomatoes and steamed green beans. This one was also slathered in a spicy sauce.

"Do you like picante?" asked the food truck lady.

"Picante, picante? Or Chilean picante?" I asked her because most things that Chileans consider spicy "hot" taste barely seasoned to me.

She mistook my question and replied, "Medio picante, entonces." You want slightly spicy.

"No, no. Full picante." I assured her.

My sandwich came dripping with hot sauce. As I balanced my plate to walk away, she handed me a pile of napkins. It was a good thing, too, because between the hot sauce, the juicy meat, and the green beans scattering like autumn leaves, it was a messy scene. Picante and, oh, so ñami.