Before we left the States, Tim and I didn’t really know what we were getting into or what to expect from our volunteer experience. The morning of our flight, we were still getting information from the English Opens Doors coordinator about what we were supposed to do once we arrived in Santiago. When we walked through the gate in the airport, a shuttle agency had our names (or some semblance thereof, but it was good enough for them), and we were whisked away to a hostel in Santiago. 
Someone from the Ministry of Education we had never heard of showed up at our hostel in Santiago a few mornings later, the hour unbeknownst to us, and put us on a bus to Villa Alemana, a sleepy suburb about 40 minutes away from Valparaíso. Our surroundings are arid and dry with avocado, lemon, orange, and other fruit trees accenting the roadside and the yards. Despite the cold winter I have been pleasantly surprised that these fruits are still growing and accompanying me on my way to school and back each morning.
Picture Above: Tim, Eva (our delightful Swedish accomplice, and I) at La Gatita in Concon
Our Family
When we first heard that our host family was made up of four children, the youngest being 4 months old, we weren’t sure what to expect. However, they are most definitely the highlight of our sojourn. We have our own room with a door to the patio, and share an occasional outing and all the meals with the family. They have truly made us feel welcome. Most Chileans are very proud of their national dishes. 
The mom, Lizzy, has been trying to make sure we try all sorts traditional Chilean food, even those foods that aren’t in season: humitas (ground up corn seasoned with either salt or sugar and contained within a corn husk), empanadas (a bread dough similar to a calzone that has typically been stuffed and cooked with a cheese or a meat filling), mote con huesillos (a juice made of a dried fruit similar to an apricot served with bulgur), bean soup with noodles, etc. Most of the food is good, but I miss spices and strong flavors. The traditional clay ovens some rural bakeries use to cook empanadas and bread are fascinating and it leaves the bread tasting absolutely scrumptious.
The Schools
I am teaching the equivalent of a high school/vocational school, and Tim in an elementary school/middle school. There are three types of schools in Chile: private, subsidized (government pays for part and parents pay for the other part), and public. We’re both in public schools, and mine has quite the reputation in the area. Most people in town describe it as the armpit of the region, but from what I’ve seen, I don’t think that is fair. While it is true that most of my students like urban culture, drugs, sex, and all the signs associated with them, many are good students, but simply don’t have the same family support as kids who go subsidized or private schools. I think I have better luck than many of the other teachers, because I’m still different and exotic for the moment. We have been here for four weeks, and we still have not been able to get a straight answer on what the objectives of most classes are, much less what the long-term objectives of the grade level. From what I have been told the Ministry of Education dictates the teaching material and objectives at the high-school level, but the books the teachers have to use are far beyond the students’ level. This is extremely frustrating, because it is easy to understand why the students have become apathetic to learning English: most can’t understand the most basic sentences in their text books and many of their activities are exercises in translation, not in language. I try to simplify activities as much as possible and make them fun, but I wish we could start from the beginning. It would make more sense to give many of these students a base in the language rather than pushing them through texts that are far beyond their level.
Suburban Distractions
So here we are in the Fifth Region of Chile on the threshold between city and country, and as is common in such suburban environments, there is not a lot for youth to do. As early as Santiago we began noticing neo-Nazi and Skinhead graffiti, but here in Villa Alemana I have been uncomfortably surprised with the presence of these urban groups in my classes. With lack of family infrastructure, many young students seem to look for ways to belong and create a family or identity that they associate with some sort of imagined power to the extreme. Despite their school uniforms you can clearly identify their group identity based on their hair cuts and piercings: Punks, Fascist Skinheads, Skinheads SHARK (anti-Fascist Skinheads), neo-Nazis, Emos (they listen to regetón here), Pokemon (admirers of anime and other forms of Japanese culture), Hardcore (I think it’s a movement, but Tim thinks it’s just a haircut), etc. Although I realize that many of these signs are empty and are simply a form of group identification, it has been difficult finding ways for me to effectively deal with kids coming to class with swastikas. I’ve been trying to talk to some of the kids that identify with these disturbing symbols in my classes, and many are well-meaning kids, but they either ignore or dismiss the historical significance. It doesn’t seem that many people in the community are too concerned with these forms of identification, and they tend to dismiss it as ignorance or stupidity: “The kids don’t know what it stands for.” While the kids certainly don’t know its history, they openly admit their attraction to the power, the violence and the patriotism they associate with the sign.
The cueca accompanied us two weekends ago on our micro trip through small, colorful, beachfront towns along the Pacific coast. An empanada vendor selling seafood empanadas boarded the micro. The smell was so tempting that Eva and I indulged ourselves in the best empanada we have tried thus far, but unfortunately, the smell of crab and seafood didn’t complement Tim’s motion sickness well.
close as it gets, but you can still see the birds quite well. We got off the bus on the main road and followed a dusty dirt road to a beautiful beach. Unfortunately, we did not have any binoculars, and we were only able to positively identify one Humboldt penguin: it had been swept ashore, dead. The penguin was quite small, measuring approximately a foot and a half in length.
