I got home from the competition, got a call from Jeannette, a friend of Eva's family and now a friend of mine, that the meat was ready to be picked up and that we had to do it NOW, and so Juan Pablo and I hopped in the car, drove the 6 blocks through the light rain, and picked up a plastic bag full of bloody meat from the butcher. That butcher explained that he didn't have any "posta" and therefore added a couple of "chuletas" to the bag, and also that it was a "vaquita," freshly killed so nice and soft, as if in reassurance. Nice. We dropped it off at Jeannette's house, because it's for Eva's surprise birthday party tomorrow and we couldn't bring it home, and when we went in little Belén, who is in my kinder class, greeted us and then started stroking my arm like a cat. It was strange.
Last week I was in Valdivia, Eva's hometown and where her four children (adults now) live. I stayed there for the week whilst Eva was in Santiago for a course, and got to see some of the city. They call it Val"lluvia," because it's so rainy. It's like the Seattle of Chile.
I'm learning a lot of little puns and poems and riddles and tongue-twisters. I love it.
"Papalapapidicoipi," or "Esmedílemelo," which is what one would hypothetically say to ask someone in a formal way to sharpen something with a whetstone. But they wouldn't say it in reality, because it's too hard. Try this on for size (but not if you've read my Facebook status): "Oro no es, plata no es..." Qué es?
