Mom Dirt

So my job has come and gone and I am living in Santiago. I know, that's a really lame update, but it is the truth. As with many of the jobs I have had in my life, my first employment experience in Chile taught me several valuable things about what I don't want to do for work. For example, I don't want to work in other people's homes. I don't want to work with nine year old children. I don't want a job with complete personal freedom. (As in: "Here are the books. Teach.") At a certain point I realized that the dread of going to work dominated my mood even when I wasn't working. And that is not why I came to Chile. But it was a valuable experience. And it motivated me to move to Santiago, which I am really enjoying.

Generally things feel like they're going really well. I get along great with my new roommates. In fact my roommate luck in Chile thus far has been exceptionally good. I have even stayed in touch with some of the people I decided not to live with in Santiago and I'm going to a barbecue at one of their houses tonight. I had a really encouraging job interview this morning with a company that wants to put me through a whole week of training and help me straighten out my visa. And my parents are coming this weekend.

Which brings us to this:



Although my new apartment is comfortable and my room has lots of light and a private bathroom, it is an old building. This provides for even more exciting plumbing arrangements (think an inch of water on the floor first thing in the morning my first week here...) Additionally, there is some very old stubborn dirt around. Generally things are quite clean, but certain corners are a bit scary. And one of those corners is my shower. To give you an idea, I thought the shower was clean after the cursory bleach-based cleaner and sponge treatment I gave it before moving in. But yesterday while showering, I absentmindedly nudged the dark grout between the wall tiles with my finger. And it moved in one large brown chunk. This dirt is so hard, so thorough, that I thought someone had regrouted the shower using another color cement.

My parents aren't staying in my apartment (available accommodations here include sharing my twin bed and my yoga mat on the floor) but my mom and I are going to be traveling a bit (Patagonia!) after my dad leaves and it seems possible that she might need to use my shower at some point. While I can blissfully ignore gunky-grout, I have far too much pride to allow my mother to witness such filth. So after kicking off my interview-best, I spent the afternoon scrubbing the walls of my shower. As I write this my right arm aches from the exertion. It is certainly improved, but not perfect. I'll give it a bit more elbow grease tomorrow.

You can all look forward to non-computer photos, since my parents are bringing me a real camera to replace my stolen one. You can also look forward to the tale of my capturing and domesticating a penguin family (but really they'll domesticate me, teaching me to fall down with grace and the value of mating for life). And- I swear- more frequent posts.

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.

S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y!

The life of a waitress has little room for Saturday night fun. It's almost always Sunday morning when work gets out. And taking Saturdays off is financially risky. When faced with hanging out with friends or making a significant portion of a month's rent in a few hours, practicality almost always wins out. But not tonight. I took a chance and worked Friday instead. So here I am, faced with an expanse of time in which to relax. After four twelve-plus hour days it sure feels good. I stayed in bed till noon, had a nice long shower, made some tea. Josh and I will set out for a leisurely brunch soon. I feel like I'm one of those hardworking moms taking a "me day." It's ridiculous.

Things I Will Miss: My Shower

This is the first installment of a new, questionably-regular feature called Things I Will Miss. In all liklihood it won't last much longer than the process of writing the paper I am currently not writing. Which is to say, Tuesday. Hopefully. But I just wanted to commemorate in words and images some of the finer things in my life here in Amsterdam. And the first object of praise is my shower.
Having showered regularly in six different places in 2006, I would like to state without reservation that the shower at Meer en Vaart 442 is by far the best I have experienced. Maybe even ever. I, like most people, I imagine, look for lots of water pressure and inexhaustible amounts of hot water when evaluating "shower awesomeness levels." This shower, my friends, has both to spare. If you aren't accustomed to the positioning of the faucets you might even burn yourself or bruise your skin with the pressure (probably hyperbolic). The room billows with steam. The water on my back is like a thousand little cat tongues insistently massaging away my stress. Or whatever.
It is not merely the superior heat and pressure which make this particular showering experience perfect. It is the design of the shower itself. It is just a shower head in the corner of the bathroom, unseparated from the toilet or sink by a curtain or a tub. At first, I admit this was difficult. The toilet seat gets wet and the toilet paper can get a little damp from the condensation sometimes. But then, I began to realize the benefits. As I have mentioned before, the ability to position a coffee cup within reach but outside the spray of the water has exponentially improved my mornings. And afterwards I just brush my teeth. And not with hot shower water (hot water brushing is gross). I use the cold faucet of the sink. Without the chill of leaving the shower.

It's also really great to have the mirror right there over the sink. I have to swipe away the fog with my hands a couple times, but plucking my eyebrows has never been less painful. My skin is so soft and open from the warm water. Additionally the mirror can provide a great deal of amusement when I enjoy a small joint before showering in the evenings. I play a game called Scary Mermaid which basically involves smearing the mascara that is running down my face and making viscious, come-hither looks at myself in the mirror.
After the cleansing, plucking, caffinating, tooth-brushing ordeal I am relaxed and ready to start the day: