Once again, Chile has forgotten that it’s supposed to be springtime here. Brrr. I trooped, icicle-esque, to class, where we studied prepositions in painful detail. Luckily, avocado-and-chicken sandwiches, from the nice sandwich man in Plaza Sotomayor, do help with the prepositional process.
For classmate-lunchtime today, we went for pizza. Don’t you automatically think “Chile” when you hear “pizza”? I know I do. It was surprisingly good, even given my lackluster cheese experiences here so far. We ordered a rough approximation of a Hawaiian pizza: pineapple and ham. The ham turned out to be ground ham, scattered in little curlicues over the pizza, with exactly one speck of pineapple per slice. But it was crisp and flavorful.
All the honey locust trees have just passed the peak of their bloom. Whenever I walk up my hill, it snows: wilting white blossoms drift down at me from every tree. I shed flowers for hours after I’ve returned home.