Complaints: International Mail Infrastructure

Yesterday Nike and I went to inquire after packages we had been expecting for some time. My mother told me the USPS records show a delivery attempt was made on the 23rd. The gentleman working told us there was absolutely nothing he could do and that only a postman could answer delivery questions. It seems like the postman is individually responsible for all mail items. It makes me wonder what qualifies someone for such tremendous responsibilities. People send really important things in the mail. Like contracts and birth certificates and tax returns and bridesmaid dresses (I'm working on it Leila!). My postman is available for inquires between 8 and 10 am.

So this morning I woke up bright and early to see him. I went with the tracking number for the package and the information listed on the USPS website. According to them, two attempts were made, at 2:50pm and 11:16pm. The idea that someone in any country would deliver mail so late at night is suspect. But everyone at the post office assured me it was absolutely impossible in Chile. There must be some mistake. Furthermore, there is no record of a package with that tracking number ever arriving in the Chilean mail system. A gentleman carefully explained that as soon as customs clears a package it is scanned into the system. So if they had it, the computer would show it. He very kindly told me that anything so important to me was important to them too. And then he gave me his phone number, you know, in case I had any questions. Or whatever.

So I went home feeling reassured that at least thieves and villains weren't absconding with my mail. And then I dialed the customer service number for the USPS. After ten minutes of muzak (which is not improved by the poor sound quality of Skype, btw) I finally got through to a person. She proceeded to read me the information from the website. When I asked if they might have used another service, she said it is the US Postal Service policy to use local post offices. Her computer said the delivery attempts were made and so the package must be here. Nothing more to be done.

I'm sure that computerizing systems has made mail delivery exceptionally more reliable, fast and inexpensive. But I do feel that this experience highlights a shortcoming of automated services. The computer is always right. Even if there are two computer systems and they don't say the same thing. Obviously one computer is wrong. But policy does not allow for such a possibility. And all I can do is sit in South America and wait. But when it comes, I'm totally going to bake my mailman a cake. And I'll tell him not to share it with the lady at USPS.

Film Festival Fail

So I led you all on. I told you there would be theater and film reviews all week and all I gave you was silence. I'm so sorry. But, in my defense, I have had some pretty bad luck with the Film Festival. Infrastructure seems to be an issue for festival facilities as well. Every single thing I have tried to see has been thwarted in some way. There have been bad tapes, bad projections, cancellation due to electricity issues (that would be the container festival) and tonight just a lame, unspecific explanation that they didn't have the film. The gentleman who explained the film's absence (at length without saying anything exactly) kindly showed his own film instead. I do not exaggerate when I say that it was the worst film of all time. Aesthetically on par with films from the Fast Forward Teen Program I was in during tenth grade. The sound of each fork scraping a plate rang out like a bell, but the dialogue might as well have been delivered through a pillow. And the plot. Well it was about a family and business and probably lots of things. But mostly the director seemed interested in the incest aspects of the story. The plot line seemed to surface without any particular explanation and was so graphically depicted that I think it would be more accurate to just call it sister fucking. Pardon. We stayed for about thirty minutes and then just had to leave. In an effort to make sure that the director knew how awful his work was, my friend tried to make as much noise leaving as possible.

Complaints: Plumbing Infrastructure

All things considered I am feeling pretty good about where I am so far with this crazy project. I am learning tons of Spanish. I have an apartment. I'm making friends. There are some things that just drive me insane about life here. Plumbing is very high on that list.

1) It is unheard of, as far as I can tell, to have hot water in bathroom sinks. Public restrooms and private homes alike. Not to be a typical American germophobe, but they do serve a purpose. My wasteful expectations of boundless hot water aside, it seems a fairly simple pleasure: splashing warm water on one's face, rinsing off the grime of the city. In terms of hand washing, I rely much more on soap, which is drying out my skin. Because I'm a pampered princess, basically.

2) The hot water that is available in my apartment (in the kitchen and the shower) is extremely limited. If I were the kind of person who used Gilbert and Sullivan patter songs as measuring units for her life, I would say that the Lord Chancellor would not reach the description of his dream in the duration of a hot shower here. 90 seconds. Max. It's deeply demoralizing.

3) This is going to come as a shock to all of you, but you are cannot flush toilet paper here. At all. There are small wastebaskets next to each toilet for used tissues. For the first week it was distressing and vaguely mortifying. I am mostly used to it now, but each time the basket is full and I have to bring it down to the street I experience a wave of physical revulsion. It adds dimension of desperation to the sanitation worker's strike which has been ongoing for the last two weeks.

4) My toilet might be older than my father. The age of the plumbing is apparently responsible for the above mentioned general infrastructure problem, but my particular device is truly a relic. Water never completely stops running into the tank. In order to avoid exorbitant water bills and quite a bit of noise I have to turn the water on and off waiting for the tank to fill each time I want to flush. It's really only a problem when I need to be somewhere and can't take the two minutes. I often find myself using the bathroom immediately upon arriving at places.

7:30 is an inhuman hour at which to wake. Damn test.

Welcome Home, Indeed!

Yesterday, as our plane was taxi-ing into the gate at JFK the pilot announced that it was 15 degrees Farenheit outside with winds of up to 25 miles per hour. If it were relevant or customary, upon take-off earlier that day he would have announced that the outside temperature was hovering between 78 and 80 degrees farenheit with nary a cloud in the blue, smog-streaked California sky. Yes, I am home. California was just about perfect. The weather, sights, friends all wonderful. Like an early Spring now cruely plucked from my too easily fooled finger tips.

When I finally ventured out of my apartment this evening to buy some lentils (friend to the broke and irregular) I wore the following clothing:

(underwear and bra, given)
1. tights
2. boxer shorts
3. jeans (in that order, yes)
4. wool knee socks
5. other wool socks
6. hiking boots
7. t-shirt
8. hoodie
9. wool sweater
10. wool coat w/ lining
11. wool hat (under pulled up hood)
12. wool scarf
13. glittens