Happy Easter from the Land of the Old

Sorry for the big vomitous mass of blogs, but we’ve been without internet for awhile.

Chris and I arrived in Santiago yesterday after a 13 hour bus ride (including a stopover in Mendoza). We were tired and stinky but decided to take the Metro line (subway) to our new host family’s home. We are here to study Spanish for the next two weeks.

We found the place without too much trouble (it’s in a nice suburban neighborhood called Providencia), and waited at the door for our host family to answer. And waited. And waited. Finally, a little teeny tiny old man answered the door and let us into an apartment that was covered in photos of the Pope (the dead one). He explained he was napping and didn’t hear the door bell. He really doesn’t speak much English and smokes more than anyone I’ve ever seen. His name is Jose, but his nickname is Pepe… I like to call him Señor Pepe. After twenty or so minutes of awkward Spanish small talk, Señor Pepe’s wife Angelica came out to greet us. She’s pretty much deaf so she didn’t hear us for awhile. She speaks a little English but is also scatterbrained and has lots of Senior Moments, to put it in a nice way. They are both SUPER nice but holy cow, I can’t do this for two weeks.

They forget what they tell us repeatedly and Chris and I both know that their one son is in New York in a play called Dark Continent, they have 10 children, they are approximately 81 years old (each), they’ve visited New York and Miami, Angelica loves the country and is seriously upset they moved to Santiago (this happened about 30 or 40 years ago) but they had to because of the children and their education, she loves horses, Señor Pepe grew up in a winery, and it’s really a shame that Chris and I aren’t Catholic, married, or with children because really, our lives would be much happier if we were… especially if we were Catholic. We know all of this because this is what we were told, over and over, for about three hours yesterday. I guess repetition is a good way to learn Spanish, or to be converted to Catholicism.

This morning at breakfast we were brought out milk for our tea three times (even though we kept saying we didn’t want any), Angelica and Señor Pepe fought over who was supposed to bring us bread, I was told not to eat my eggs until the bread came because it was better that way, Chris had to open the milk container we didn’t want, Señor Pepe had some several smoke induced coughing fits, we were asked if we wanted scrambled eggs or fried, then asked again, then asked again for good measure, told to eat some fruit, and then the hot water for the tea was taken away and they disappeared, only to reappear later to take away some sugar. It’s so weird. Combine that with the fact that Chris accidentally walked in on Angelica in the bathroom that was supposed to be for our use, and cold boiled chicken, eggs, and potatoes for dinner on plates with crusted on food. And I honestly feel bad even talking about this, like I’m making fun of them or something, but this how it is and it’s really funny.

What’s not funny is that the house is really filthy and the smoking is seriously out of control. When we signed up for this program, we specified we didn’t want a house with cats because we are both allergic, we like to go out, and we don’t smoke. I don’t think the screening process is all that thorough. And it costs a lot more to stay here than it would to stay in a hostel so when I finally get around to meeting someone at this school, I think we’re going to put in for a transfer. Chris wants to sneak out in the middle of the night because he’s pretty sure when Angelica and Señor Pepe wake up the next morning, they’ll either forget we were ever here, or just think the two weeks are up. I told him he was a coward; he says that’s how the Colts got out of Baltimore.