I like frogs

The truth is that I know how to learn Spanish. All I need to do is enter into an intimate relationship with a Cuban. I just haven't gotten around to it yet, and for that, I apologize to everybody who is miserable enough to have to look me in the eye and ask, "habla espanol?"
Anyway, I was going to discuss my adventures in Chile in another thread, but then I remembered that it's better to blog about such things than it is to pollute the forums with irrelevant anecdotes.

But now that I think about it, I don't remember much.
I know that I was determined to learn, and the program was fantastic. They matched every student up with a hot Chilean coed. Because I was the weirdest, shyest one of the bunch, I got the hottest girl, maybe. Maybe I just liked her because she was kind enough to volunteer to help me with Spanish.
Anyway, I can remember a few things that were kind of cool. Like the pisco.
Pisco is great. It's crazy good, as far as liquor is concerned, and the pisco in Chile flows like water. And I don't mean that there's just a lot of it (which there is). What I mean is that you're probably familiar with American restaurants where you can get infinite refills of water for free. In fact, you might even drink water in order to save money. Well, that isn't the case in Chile. In Chile, I never got a glass of water for free. They charged for water by the bottle and papaya nectar by the glass. I have no idea how those good people can stand eating with so little to drink. But when you go to a nice restaurant, every table has a glass in front of the plate. Like, a tall glass. Like a water glass. And then a waiter will come around with a pitcher, and you're just about thinking, "Oh, good. I won't be eating with a dry mouth today." Suddenly, you get this lime green glass full of pisco! And it's bottomless!
Nowhere have I ever been do they charge for the water but provide bottomless brandy. But in Chile, those peeps are maniacs, yo. I think the drinking age is like 2 and 1 month instead of 21. So all us colelge kids were plastered pretty much all the time, which was nothing unusual or special. And pisco is great tasting for alcohol. I would've brought a bunch of bottles back, but I don't really care for it. I think I actually became drunk for the first time down there. White wine. I have absolutely no recollection of what happened except that I was on the beach, and it was Summer in the States, which meant it was winter in Chile, but all of us douches were tearing our clothes off and jumping into the Pacific anyhow...
Whatever happened, I didn't wake up knowing Spanish, so I maintained that I was still a virgin.

Chorillana.

Gas was the US equivalent to, like, 2 bucks per quarter gallon. Nobody drove. There were buses all over the pace that took you to everywhere. For a non-native and a gringo like me, that was definitely the most difficult part- getting around. I had to figure out what the bus routes were, figure out how to call the bus, make sure I got on the right one, struggle silently through crowds of Chilenos and then communicate with the bus driver in some of the most crooked, broken spanish he'd probably ever been cursed to hear.
Actually, there was a time when I decided to go for a walk on an overcast day. The weather got really bad and began to pour mercilessly. I tried to find my way back, but everything was grey and I was irritatingly wet, and cars drove by and totally drenched me so that, amid that confusion and being in a strange part of a city that I'd never been to in a country that I'd never been to somewhere near a bus stop among many that was some distance from my residence, I was thoroughly lost (and stupid).
I flagged down a taxi and told him in awful nub Spanish about where I was, but it was my 1st day, and I couldn't even remember the name of my hotel. Only the name of my street. Freaking Calle Sucio. What a trip, right? SO eventually, he figured out which place was mine, and he took me there. But not before bitching about how it was further than he liked to drive. I gave him a good tip though, so I think it was all good.

Anyway, the pacific ocean is absolutely beautiful. There are large, marvelous rocks and crashing waves and clean, smooth beaches. I was able to walk the beach every day because even in the beautiful, touristy town of Valparaiso, I was able to find a place to stay for less than the average rent in an apartment in the States. Truly, the land was a paradise, and if I had a US income to support me, I would gladly live there.
My favorite time was at night, around 10 or 11, when I would throw caution to the wind and walk down dark alleys in the city (I was very confident in my strength, my height and my alertness. Aka again, very stupid. If I was a Chileno visiting New York with this kind of attitude, I would be so dead hat dead isn't a good enough word to describe it, but I was curious, like a dead cat; also incorrigable. What I'm saying is, don't be a wanderer. You may not be as lucky as I was). In the dark alley, near midnight, there was a chess club. And all these men would gather and wait for a skinny older gentleman to arrive. Then they would all shout, "Maestro!"
For some crazy ass reason, they totally let me into their group, even though I almost never said anything. I only analyzed the board. They even let me play a game, which I purposefully drew, since I didn't know what type of mannerly protocol was expected from them. I think they thought it was funny, since I had dominion over the board, clearly, and then threw it away. But what a trip.
I can say with some certainty that people from Chile are some of the absolutely most friendly group of people I've ever met, as far as a poll of meeting random strangers and not being able to speak the language goes. Patient, kind and accepting. Flabbergasting.

Like California, Chile is one of those awesome places where you can wake up early to take a walk on the beach and then drive to a mountain and go skiing. In fact, Chile is kind of like what California would be like if it was a country of it's own. Maybe with more chill people. Entirely liberal, full of young ideas waging war against the system, spray-painting Eddie Vedder's name all over the walls at the campus, throwing Molotov cocktails - did I mention that a gang attacked the university I was at with Molotov cocktails? Yeah. It was a total riot. People were screaming and violence was erupting everywhere. It was a nuts place. I learned a lot about culture and whatnot (I sound like it, right?)

I think they treated me a little like royalty. I was probably supposed to take some of the girls for my own, but I didn't. I should regret that, but I kinda don't.
They had a papaya soda called Pap, and it was amazing.
They had awesome dance clubs. In fact, the music was terrific.
[spoiler]look at that word: Terrific. It has the same start as Terror with that terr. I wonder if that means anything.[/spoiler]
The dance music in that time was great. I learned to appreciate some great artists like Julieta Venegas, Los Babasonicos and Sinergia.

Todos me deben plata!

It was around that time, when I visited, that MTV was all "Screw music videos. We gotta prepare for the future. The era of Snookie cometh, and that right soon!"
But in Chile, MTV was alive and well with awesome music videos. It was the year that the Killers busted out with their revolutionary Somebody Told Me. Yeah. That place is like Miami upgraded. The land of beautiful oceans, spectacular music, and late night chess. And beautiful women speaking to me about The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock in a language that I fear I shall never grasp. Where the pisco flows like water.
Oh, how I long to return, and this flippant blog cannot do the experience justice at all.