Snoozled in today, having stayed up late chatting with Californian friends on Skype. (Glorious beings that they are, they set up a computer so that I could stop by their party from Chile, via video chat. Ah technology!)
I had a handful of errands that needed doing, so I strode purposefully off down the hill to achieve those. The moral of the story for today is: Don’t try to do errands in Chile on a Sunday. Everything is closed, so I managed to do absolutely nothing useful. Oh well.
Here is a visual example of how ridiculous and vibrant Valpo is:
Sundays seem rather pleasant here. Families and friends meander outdoors to enjoy the afternoon, and form countless circles of people chatting on porches and balconies. I also passed a couple who were cooking a stir-fry, on a sort of hotplate rigged onto the top of a barrel-fire, out on the sidewalk. On the walk home, I was asked by a passing stranger if I was French (the second time someone has assumed that from appearance alone). Huh! There are certainly worse things to be, but do I really look French? I had never heard that before I came here.
In the evening, I walked about 45 minutes to go visit M. at the hostel where she works. Along with her friend R., we chatted, had chips and guacamole, watched a few silly videos, and had a pleasantly relaxing evening. Fun fact of the moment: according to M., the favored curseword in Swiss German translates as “whore.” So it might be used, for example, as “I am so whoring tired” or “The whore bus was late today.”
Oh, did I share my friend from last night? I found him sitting on the drying rack in the kitchen, legs dangling like a swimmer at a beach resort. I thought, “Oh, how interesting.” (And then later in the evening, another one landed on my pillow, at which point I was a little less scientifically detached.)