Hobbling down to Horcón

So I find myself peering down a decidedly endless 75% grade of a make-shift "staircase," clutching the worn wooden rail with both hands as I pick my way from eroded patch of ground to fallen limb to exposed root, trying to figure out the best way to position my boot so as not to fall the three feet down to the next eroded enscarpment of beach stairs. Twenty minutes later, safely within reach of the beach, I'm greeted by a playfully-drawn sign telling me I'm not allowed to bring fire.

After trekking haphazardly up and down the highly-inclined streets and paths of the small hippie beach town of Horcón, Amanda, Emma, Ariel, and I finally found our way to the picturesque beach of Cau Cau. The rocky cliffs give way on either side of the sizeable cove to light sandy shore, neat lines of breaking surf covered in a metallic-blue color that sets it apart from the bright sky, and steep expanses of very green grass (plus the occassional condo or two--but situated in such a way that you can almost pretend they're not there). After an hour-long bus ride and some token getting lost, we were ready to stretch out in the sun with our seriously over-priced sunscreen, a bit of history reading, and a chilly beach breeze. Emma surprised us all and actually ventured full-speed into the icy Humboldt water and splashed around for a bit. I chose to curl up and sleep after a page-and-a-half of contemporary Latin American history. My relaxing napping later gave way to a search for empanadas (once we'd successfully made it back up the staircase of erosion-filled death), which was oddly more difficult than we'd expected, though tastey and marisco-y. It was an odd town that gave me more the impression of a tiny, brightly-painted tourist corner uncomfortably awaiting the return of the tourists than a hippie community. Life seemed oddly suspended and unreal as we found ourselves walking into a series of completely empty restaurants that overlooked a small stretch of harbor in which all the boats sat onshore. Strange men offered us chocolate and then beer, but we decided the empanadas and Emma's boiling caldron of marisco stew, with varying degrees of chewiness, were probably sufficient. Winding back along the coast and through the hills toward Viña, we passed a series of refineries which, according to Amanda's host brother, look like futuristic cities at night. And the fact that for some reason I couldn't get Che Guevara out of my mind made it all seem even more surreal and dreamlike.

It's been a great last couple of days, filled with showing off my newly adopted town, and my newly adopted Chilean friends, to Emma and Ariel. We carreteared with my friend Cristian and his friends on Friday and then hung out with Graciela and Hugo and his friends on Saturday. In between there were empanadas and more beach to go along with the six cakes my host mom made. It was really cathartic to have some outside perspective on my host family situation, and to be able to have my feelings articulated back to me by someone else. I'm glad to know that it's not just me being a horrible, nit-picky person; that I haven't been making up the fact that it's perhaps impossible to have a normal relationship with my host mom. And I think it helped me better understand my own feelings and values, and to figure out a way to live happily where I am. Plus there's lots of cake.

So despite the fact that I'm beginning to feel my stress levels rise as I watch the homework levels pile up, things are quite good here. I'm finally starting to sense myself breaking from my tendency toward comparing everything to Mexico--I'm hearing myself replacing my once-common apostrophe of "Oh, Mexico" with one slightly more Chilean-oriented. I really like it here. And now I'm feeling the pressure of making sure I don't waste time. The realization has hit that my allotted amount of time here is nowhere near enough to do what I want to do, especially given the outlook of my physical therapists. I guess it's better this way--despite all the heartache it invariably causes. I'd rather raise my blood pressure as I run around for a semester trying to live as Chilean as possible, worrying about my eternal lack of time, than be wishing I were somewhere else. Or perhaps I'll just have to extend my stay.