The Guide Life

First of all, it’s been a long while. A lot has changed here in terms of my life and what I do on a day-to-day basis. My life before, contrary to what my facebook made it look like, was not nearly as eventful as it may have seemed. Sure, I uploaded some sweet pics of awesome places in Patagonia, but the actual amount of time I spent in those places was very little. I spent my days running between my Chilean home and a classroom full of pre teen and teenage girls. When I wasn’t working I was walking around my neighborhood, chasing the only 3 golf balls I owned around the beach with an old rusty sand wedge, playing the occasional pick up soccer game, or just sitting on a bench staring out beyond the straight of Magellan to what seemed to be the end of the world, the vast unknown, pondering a mixture of English and Spanish thoughts.

These days of what seemed like nothing actually taught me a lot about what is important in life, what is necessary to be happy, and that living simply is the way to be. It also brought to my attention the cold, hard truth that volunteering to teach was not something I wanted to do for another semester. My heart yearned for a new challenge, different scenery, adventure and a certain degree of uncertainty. Through a series of very fortunate events I stumbled upon a guide job opportunity at the Hotel Rio Serrano, just outside of the Torres del Paine National Park. It was like a dream come true. Ever since the first time I visited the park back in August of last year I was in love. The pure majestic beauty and brilliance of this place is something that doesn’t exist in many parts of the world. It is truly a special place and there is something about it that drew me in. To be able to live and work in this incredible place has been everything I wanted from my Chilean abroad experience. And now my life does actually resemble my facebook profile, the incredible scenery, awesome people, and continuous adventures daily. And on top of it all, they pay me to do it, a fact I still find hard to believe sometimes. 

I have had the pleasure of meeting and guiding for some incredibly interesting people. From college professors, to lawyers, to travelling families, to people that would’ve believed anything I told them solely based on my long hairedness, general lack of overall hygiene and my almost but not totally legitimate title of guide. But no matter their background or level of gullibility, they all have had different lessons to teach and advice to offer that I have been incredibly thankful for. They have encouraged me, supported my previous choices that have led me to where I am, challenged me, inspired me, and have been utterly surprised at how young I am. 

As previously mentioned, this place has a way of showing you what is absolutely necessary in life, and that in truth is very little. A roof over the head, clothes on the back, food in the belly, and something to wake up for every morning. It has also shown me that not everything you see can be believed. False peaks give way to more to climb just as horrendous conditions can turn into the most beautiful of days. But this translates into something we see everyday, such as someone’s life on social media, mine included. There are often many other factors that do not reach its light, and often for good reason. But before you go comparing your own life to others based on these outlets, don’t forget that many things go unpublished and that there is often more to someone, or a situation, than meets the eye. So instead of being quick to judge and slow to trust, I encourage you to do the exact opposite, because in this manner, experiences are made richer and connections stronger. Obviously the shady looking guy in a dark alley late in the evening probably isn't the best place to start, but I'll let you all use your sense of discretion to try this one out.

My time here is coming to a close, for now anyway. My dad is currently in route to join me on a 10 day backpacking trip in the very park that I spent the last 3.5 months working in, and I am stoked. After that, I will spend about 1.5 months traveling to the North of Chile, Bolivia, and Peru before returning home at the end of June. For how long? Who knows. But one thing is for certain, I am still left with a yearning for adventure, for new challenges (mental and physical), for spontaneity, and for a wide open road with endless possibilities. Where my next adventure will take me, no one knows for certain just yet, and that's kind of the way I like it. Until next time. Chau!

The Summer Camp Classroom

Teaching, like anything else worth doing, requires a great deal of time and dedication, and not to mention, your own personal style. There are lots to choose from, which leaves you with the rather difficult decision of which suits you best. For example, theres the dictator, who lets no undotted i or uncrossed t go without a point deduction. And at the other end of the spectrum you have the Waldorf school style, where the teacher lets the class dictate what i's are dotted and what t's are crossed. I find myself somewhere in the middle. If I had to name it, it would be the camp counselor mentality, because no matter how much I try to pretend to be a teacher, I'll always be a camp counselor at heart. This leads to lots of games, lots of noise, a certain amount of discipline and respect, and no shortage of candy or fun.

The Summer Camp Classroom

Along with this style comes a certain shade of the "sometimes it's better to ask forgiveness than permission" mentality. There are many days where, well, I'm just plain loud. The girls yell, chant, scream, and run in these absolutely ridiculous games that I come up with (aka find on ESL teaching sites) for them to play. And every now and then, there comes a knock on the door, or a look through the window, that, without saying anything, says "Shut the hell up you damn gringo I don't know how you are teaching these girls anything but please do it quieter."And that's when I have to ask the girls to quiet down and in turn, apologize to the teacher whose test I just totally interrupted.

Luckily, the teachers are very understanding and don't give me too much grief about the absurd amounts of noise my classes manage to produce, but they definitely do think I am just running a dance studio and summer camp out of my classroom. Which is totally fine by me.

My antics may be unorthodox, loud, silly, and annoying to anyone not in the class (and some in the class), but the girls have fun for the most part and are learning and practicing their English while doing it. And that to me is the best thing that I can give them, because we all know that they will probably never remember a single thing that I taught them, but they will remember the silly games, songs, and dances. And that they were all in English. And that English can be fun. And who knows, they might even remember the crazy gringo that taught them all to them.

Over the past few months I have really come to enjoy teaching and have put everything that I could into my classes and extracurricular activities. From class, to teaching line dancing, to performing in school talent shows (not by choice), to playing basketball during breaks, and taking countless selfies, these girls have given me back everything that I have put in to teaching and then some. Teaching is one of the greatest opportunities I have ever been given and it has given me a wealth of knowledge and experience that cannot be found in many other places.

(The Fake ID line dance in talent show I was "forced" to be in)
I like to call it leading by example.

So I guess what I'm trying to get at is this, my teaching style was one that was my own. It was me in a nutshell. And because it was my style, I didn't struggle with trying to develop it or balance it, and I could focus on my students. It allowed me to teach, and teach in a way let my inner enthusiasm and care for my students show. A wise man once told me, the students don't care how much you know, until they know how much you care, and I believe it was this that allowed me to lead ridiculous games and activities and have my students actually buy into them. They saw that I was genuinely excited to teach them all of the things that I did, and that made more of an impact than any meticulously planned or well thought out lesson ever did.

The Power of Silence

Silence. To some, it's a beautiful thing. To some, it's a horrid thing. To some it teaches. And to some it bores. I have experienced all 4 forms of silence during my time here, and as I have, my perceptions of it have changed. It's a double edged sword that you can slice through the challenges of life with, or be cut down by.

In my first week here, silence was hard to come by. In Santiago, I was in a hostel with 44 other volunteers who were all as eager and excited as I was start the teaching journey. We had little time and lots to share. As you can imagine, there was little sleep, lots of socializing, and plenty of noise. In addition to this, we were in training for the better part of 8 hours per day. We were taking notes, listening to lectures, and participating in activities. During this time, silence was boring. We were all so excited and full of energy and life that we couldn't stand to be silent for much longer than when we were sleeping. And even then, it wasn't guaranteed.

Then I moved along in my journey to the south. Magallanes as they call it here. I went from being 1 of 45 to being 1 of 2... within a 300km radius. In addition, I had a week off, which most would have loved to be blessed with. For me, it left a lot of room for boredom and silence. My spanish wasn't very polished, I was in a new place, knew no one, and was quite shook up to be honest. During this time, the silence was horrid. I didn't want to be alone, I just wanted to be around people I could actually talk to. Luckily, this abundance of free time didn't last long and and as I got to work, my mind was taken away from silence and the loneliness that accompanied it.

The horrid stage of silence would hit me every now and then during the 1st month and a half. It would come in waves, when I was sitting at home on my computer out of sheer lack of having anything to do or anyone that I was brave enough to ask to do it with me. These times were testing, but with a little help from family and friends, I made the most of it.

Through these times silence was my teacher. It taught me to be independent in thought, in action, and in motivation. It taught me how to revel in my boredom, to enjoy the feeling of having absolutely nothing to do. It also led me to activities that I simply didn't have time for in the states, like playing the guitar and reading a good book. But most of all, it taught me to enjoy the silence.

Thus I reached the "silence is a beautiful thing" phase. I spend a large majority of my days in a school with 1000 screaming, giggling, game playing, sass dealing girls, which is about the farthest cry from silence I have ever experienced. And if I'm not in the school, I'm with spanish speakers, which means interpreting, translating, thinking and speaking in Spanish. In which case, there is no silence to be found in or out of my own head.

Through this learning process I have grown to treasure the times of silence, and learned to use the double edged sword that it is to my advantage. I have discovered many things about myself and life because of the peace and power of mind that come with it. I can't think of a better way to end this post than by sharing a quote I recently found, and by inviting those of you who read this to sit and enjoy some silence, because sometimes there's nothing better than doing nothing.

"Within each of us, there is a silence, a silence as vast as the universe. 

And when we experience that silence, we remember who we are. "

- Gunilla Norris

Adventure

I'm nearing the halfway mark of my time here teaching, and my how time flies. I've seen highs, and I've seen lows. I've seen gorgeous days, and I've seen bad ones.  I've explored, and I've twiddled my thumbs. I've also been waiting to write about my adventures because I wanted them to be more than a recounting of the days. I wanted to find a common thread among them that I could weave into an interesting story that would be more than a retelling of my day. I wanted to be able to wow my readers with complex and explanatory prose that left them wanting more. Well, that plan's not working out, so  I decided to just tell you some fun stories about my adventures thus far. So, here it goes.

The 1st week that I arrived in Punta Arenas I had a week off. This turned out to be a blessing and a curse. I had time to sit and think, a lot. Which quite frankly sucked. But, I also had the opportunity to do some traveling. My 1st adventure was when I went to go see the King Penguins in Tierra del Fuego. My host dad, Leo, asked if I wanted to go, I of course said yes. I had heard of penguins being in the area so I was thinking that it would be a rather short day trip. A 4:30am wake up call and 3 hours in the car, and we were half way there…. Nonetheless, it was much better than sitting at home on my ass. Looking at social media. Thinking about how I missed summer and friends. The car ride went something like this.

The sunrise view

The pampa

The lighthouse at the ferry crossing to Tierra del Fuego

The penguin reserve and Bahia Inútil 

Sole and Leo (mom and dad)

The culprits for this exceedingly long road trip aka the King Penguins

The way back was much of the same. Lots of pampa (the type of grass that grows in the plains of Patagonia), lots of guanacos (basically wild llamas, and yes wild llamas exist), and some more pampa. All in all it was a great trip, nothing went wrong, all was smooth sailing. Or in our case, smooth driving. As smooth as driving can get on miles and miles of dirt roads in the winter…

The next adventure took place in Torres del Paine, which is gorgeous. Same early morning. Same long drive. But this time the views were much better and the company spoke english, which at this point was very welcome. I'll let these pictures do the talking, because lets be honest, you're already tired of reading this and looking at them will be much more fun than reading anything I can write about them. 

1st stop was the The Mylodon cave, just outside of Puerto Natales

Me and the Mylodon, I think we're related

The "I don't remember its name" Waterfall

Then, through the mist, appeared the mountains, and we were treated to this spectacular view

And this one

(Los Cuernos)

And then this one

(Lago Grey and some glacial fragments)

And then this one

(Lago Pehoe)

And lastly, this one

(Lago Pehoe, again)

This trip was spectacular and made me want to work in the park for the summer, which might possibly be the next stop for this train of a journey. The views were stunning, the company was good, and again, it was smooth back road bumpy sailing. 

My most recent travels occurred much closer to home. They were this past weekend with Alex, the only other volunteer in my area, and 3 chileans. Alex is visiting from Puerto Natales and one of the teachers that I work with offered to take us on a hike. We coordinated to leave by 10am, which realistically means anywhere from 10:30-11:30 Chilean time. So we gave them the benefit of the doubt, and were ready by 10:30, not to be picked up until 11:15. Then, we had to run and grab a few more supplies because, unlike us, they had not yet boughten their lunch stuff. So after about 20 more minutes of that, we were finally on the road. We arrived to the dirt road that leads to the trail about 1.5 hours later than we wanted to, but we were there and thinking everything would be fine. Well, we were wrong.

The road was so muddy and torn up that we couldn't go more than 2km of the 15 we needed to go to get to the trail. And even if we wanted to try it, well we couldn't. There was a rather large truck carrying a load of wood stuck in the mud. After some investigation and misunderstood spanish, we drove up the hill a ways, parked, and everyone started to get out. Alex and I looked at each other and said, "Welp, here we go".

We donned on our back packs and jackets and headed out. We had about 25km to hike, each way, 2 hours of day light to make up, gusts of wind up to 40mph, but at least it was sunny… for now.

The beginning of our long road

The calm before the storm

Not so calm any more

The storm

After the storm passed, we stopped for lunch at about the half way point (where we should have started the hike) because another storm was coming and we didn't have the hours we needed to make the round trip before dark. So, we took a selfie. And then turned around.

The crew

Light at the end of the tunnel

 After making it about a quarter of the way back, this little red truck passed by and offered us a ride. We eagerly accepted his offer.

The little red truck that could

We made it

This trip was full of ups, downs, and surprises, but all in all it was an absolute success. We got in our hike, survived some rain and wind, enjoyed some sun, and successfully hitchhiked our way back to the car. This one definitely qualified as an adventure, because most things that could have gone wrong, well, they did. But not all was lost, new friends and stories were made, physical and mental toughness were tested, and optimism was found in all the challenges our very bumpy and muddy road presented. 

So, I guess what I'm getting at is that after 2 months in this wild Patagonian landscape, I can finally call it an adventure. And as corny as it sounds, I've really learned that its not about the destination, its all about the journey and making the most of it. So while I'm down here, not knowing where I'm going or what I'm doing half the time, at least at the end I can say that it was about the journey…. and the rain… and the cold… and the wind… but I mean hey, who's counting? All I know is that there is plenty more journeying to be done. 

The Learning Curve

Every dog has his day, and every teacher has theirs. This is one of the many things that I have learned in my first month as an English as a second language teacher. I work with girls from 7th to 11th grades, so the maturity levels vary greatly as do the enthusiasm levels. In other words, I can't get the 7th graders to shut up and I can't get the Jrs. to stop being "cool" for long enough to finish an entire activity without giving me the "this is so boring and you're so lame just let me do my make-up and text boys on Whatsapp" look.

Ok ok, so maybe not all classes go quite like that. Some classes are actually really good. Some days the 7th graders decide to pay attention for longer than their gold fish like attention spans usually allow and they are really enthusiastic about the games, activities, and so on. And some days, even the Jrs. take off their cool coats long enough to act as ridiculous as I do and have some fun. On those days, we take class GoPro selfies.

Silly faces obviously encouraged. 

As for the bad classes, well, my post class notes about my lesson plan look like this…

No caption needed.

And as for my favorite class, well they look like this.

This is course 7A. 

And no, there's no picture. 

I haven't actually had class with them yet.

And that's exactly why they're my favorite.

Juuuusssttttt kidding. Well, I actually haven't had class with them yet, but the whole "they're my favorite because I haven't had them yet" was just for kicks. While bad classes do suck, I think I learn the most from them. The moment when I realize that what I planned isn't going to work like I planned, well thats an "oh shit" moment. But often "oh shit" moments are closely followed by "ah ha" moments. These are the times when I have to improvise on the spot, and come up with something interesting and fun so I can put the train back on the tracks. And these are the moments that I think I learn more than the girls.

They have taught me that no matter what goes wrong, no matter what doesn't work, and no matter what doesn't go like I planned, as long as I smile, act silly, and make the most of the situation, everything will be just fine. Teaching has a funny way of teaching me all those lessons I never learned when I was the student. Its wonderfully ironic, and has given the phrase "life lessons" a whole new meaning.

Planning classes is becoming easier, and I'm starting to learn what works for certain courses and how to motivate them all in their own way. Some of the pressure is alleviated every time I realize that my sole purpose as a teacher is to make English fun, and that as long as fun is at the core of every lesson, its all going to be alright. And as for my metaphorical German car of a lesson, well its a 1976 VW bug that wouldn't pass a Florida smog check, but it runs and gets me where I need to go, even when this bumpy road of mine gets rough. For now, we'll just call it a work in progress.

Entering the Lion's Den: teaching in a Chilean classroom

The way the volunteer teaching program works is that you arrive at your school and observe classes for a week. Then, after this week of sitting in the back of classrooms in bewilderment, you go into teaching your own classes.  During my observation week I learned a few things.

1. Chilean school days are long. Like really long. Like start at 7:50 and end at 5:15 long.
2. That we get an hour and a half lunch. So suddenly, the time in school each day isn't as long.
3. And that most of our class hours are cut short by masses, celebrations, assemblies, or religious holidays. None of which I am complaining about.
4. But, the days are still long.
5. Its called a "classroom"for a reason.
6. That being surrounded by 1,000 girls from grades 1 to 12 is exhausting.
7. Yupp, thats right. They put the gringo kid from California in an all girls Catholic school.
8. That everything I did would be put under a microscope. Cuz lets face it, I'm three feet too tall, my hair is three shades too light, and I'm the wrong gender to do any sort of blending in.
9. And finally, that my days at Maria Auxiliadora would be filled with selflies and lovely notes like this one.

If only there were such a thing as lean-dough,

then I could eat as much bread as Chileans do, no problem. 

Let me tell you what, in Chile, the word "classroom" is much more accurate than in the states. The "classroom" is actually the class's room, not the teacher's place to teach a class. Here, the students rule the classroom and the teacher is merely entering their domain. The students do not switch classes at the ring of the bell, the teachers do. Entering a classroom that is owned by the students is like stepping on to an opposing team's home turf, under the bright Friday night lights, with the championship on the line, 5 times a day. Luckily for me, I have my own classroom, but this doesn't change the mindset of these bloodthirsty students. Oh, and did I mention that I work at an all girls Catholic school? Talk about claws…

Being 1 of 6 male teachers and the only foreigner at the school definitely comes with its own set of perks and challenges. 1st, the perks. My school is well endowed. Anything that I need, I need only ask for and it is as good as done. The staff is incredibly friendly and looks to include me and help me become a part of the school community. I have my own classroom that is rather spacious as far as a lot of volunteers' classrooms go. And for the most part, the girls listen to most of what I say. Which is a blessing and a curse all in its own. The challenges are a plenty as well. First and foremost, I've got big shoes to fill. The volunteer before me was just short of Mother Maria herself, judging by the praise of the faculty and students. And the only reason she left was to work for the organization that runs the volunteer program. Talk about having a big act to follow up. And, not to mention, I've never taught an actual class a day in my life. So there's that whole learning how to be a teacher in two weeks thing. But I mean hey, if Jack Black can fake it and make a killer rock band while he's at it, I think I'll do just fine.

I officially survived my first week of teaching in Chile. Just barely. My first week went by without any major hiccups. I gave my introductory lessons and in each of them was incorporated a small presentation about where I came from, so my students could know a little bit more about me. The top two questions I got each time after I presented were "Mister, how old are you?" and "Do you have a girlfriend?", to which I answered with, "I am 26 and have a serious novia back at home." So now, not only am I a pretend teacher, but I also have a fake age and a pretend girlfriend. Might as well call me an international man of mystery because by the time this is over, I won't even know what's real or not.

Through all that has been my 2 weeks as a teacher, I have learned a lot. Mainly that in order to keep these girls from talking you have to keep them entertained, otherwise they turn right around to their girlfriends and all of a sudden you don't even exist. In order to do that, my lesson plans will have to be intriguing, fun, and engineered better than a German car.

Well, here's to building that German car of a lesson and using it to safely drive myself out of this lion's den they call a classroom.

Upon Arrival: Initial challenges and impressions of moving to Chile

I started this journey with nothing but an 80L backpack, an airline ticket, and an open mind to what obstacles this teaching adventure might bring. Well, those obstacles made themselves apparent very, very early.

My journey started from San Francisco, made a pitstop in Houston, where we were delayed, and was eventually held up by a missed flight in Panama, where I would spend one night, but my backpack would spend two. Upon arrival in Santiago the next morning, I made it safe and sound but my backpack was no where to be found. This situation promptly fed doubt to my brain and and my brain ate it up like shrimp fried rice. It begged the question "what the hell am I doing here?".  Well the truth is that I really didn't know, but luckily my backpack showed up the next day, and along with it my confidence in what I was doing in Chile teaching English. They both looked like something the cat drug in, but at least they were both there.

The first week was a lot of learning at orientation in Santiago. There was a lot of "do this", "don't do this", and "this is how it works in Chile", and it all would have been rather dry, but luckily our presenters were great and so was the company of the other volunteers. All people somewhat similar to myself. Either doing some soul searching, or just doing it because they could. Together we did a lot of exploring, a good amount of drinking, and and ate an absurd amount of bread and cheese.

The "Hotel" where we stayed in Santiago

 View from the top of Cerro San Cristobal

 Some sweet graffiti outside of Pablo Neruda's house

 Post hike photo with some of the volunteer homies atop San Cristobal

The Virgin

When the day came to leave, there were a lot of mixed emotions. I was excited to meet my host family and start practicing Spanish, but it was also slightly scary leaving the comfort of being with 50 english speaking people from all over the world with a good deal of similar interests. It was like, well, living in a foreign country, for real. And I soon found out exactly what that felt like.

First of all, I do speak a good amount of Spanish, and understand a great deal more. But I swear, Chile should have its own language because it is not Spanish. They have so many different words for things than the rest of the Spanish speaking world, and all of their words run together because they drop the S's and a good amount of syllables. Po and Caxai are some of these words, and I now know that "po" means nothing, they just add it on the ends of words, and that caxai means "ya know?". But, when I first got here, some one would say "Caxai" at the end of some long, quickly said statement that all sounded like one word, and a pretty small but bigger than your average size piece of me wanted to say "No, I don't f#$*ing caxai". But of course I didn't, and instead felt like I was in a fish bowl, where I couldn't understand anything being said to me, and clearly couldn't say anything back.

Luckily, this only lasted a few days in my new home. I got settled, felt more comfortable and stopped caring about sounding like an idiot when I spoke Spanish and just said what I thought was right. So far, no one's punched or slapped me so I think that I'm doing alright.

Well, I suppose that I'm just rambling now, but at least the 3 people that read this will know that if they plan on moving to Chile they better 1) study chilean and not Spanish 2) be prepared to eat lots of bread, with a side of some more bread and 3) know that caxai means "ya know?" and that "po" means nothing, absolutely nothing, they just throw it on the end of words for fun, or to confuse foreigners, whichever you want to believe.

So far Patagonia has been very pedagogical. I've learned a lot. Hopefully my students will learn a lot. And hopefully I'll learn some more. Until next time. Chao (and yes, that's how they spell it here).