Move to the city centre
The next day I sat in on Rebecca’s class as she used some of the resources from the department’s library. At first glance it seemed amazingly well-stocked. However I was to realise later that a lot of the books were the same ones in a series and a lot of them appeared to have been given as part of a “deal” with a particular publisher.
The kids were duly quiet and listened to Rebecca as she started the video but her lack of familiarity with the material was woefully apparent not too far into the lesson.
There followed another observation of Miss Paola’s class. Slightly better quality teaching in terms of engagement with the class however if I had any hopes of seeing her calling her pupils by their names they were soon dashed.
I got a lift with one of the other teachers back to Yolanda’s where I napped then headed in on the long journey into town to buy stationery and try and maintain some contact with civilisation as I knew it. On these journeys I got to know more of Chilean culture. On one of the trips I tried to practice my Spanish and engaged in conversation with a chap sat next to me. He became more interested when I mentioned I was from ”Irlanda”. Turning to me with a face flushed with passion as only a South American face can be he growled,”And what about the revolution, eh??!” There was no answer to that.
On this occasion the fellow passengers weren’t so ready to trumpet their (ill-informed) views. I got my messages done and was sitting in a McDonald’s eating when I looked at my watch - 7.25pm. I realised with horror I’d said to Jorge I’d meet him back at Yolanda’s at 7.30!! In a mild panic I ran to the Metro, burger and coke in hand, caught the train then got the bus and arrived, panting, at 8pm (a new record!)
Jorge had just arrived back from the school with Yolanda and they were both giggling.He informed me I had 2 minutes to leave. ”Oh, don’t worry, is good for you, no?” were the words he offered me. He had however noticed my predicament regarding living with Yolanda and Pedro and had kindly arranged for me to be transferred to an acquaintance’s flat in the city centre.
On the way back into the centre he stopped at Plaza des Armas and said he was “going to shop”, and returned back with a huge bag of KFC. I managed to down some of it on top of my Big Mac, as we went back to his flat then on to the “new” flat. It was at the junction of Santa Rosa and Alhumeda. Up several flights of stairs. Quite a small room but large living room/dining area. Terracota floor that was covered in lots of loose tiles, banging together when you walk over them. Still it was with an old guy on his own and in that respect quieter, more central and better. Best of all he had his own internet connection which I was free to use! Jorge sat and chatted amicable with my new “landlord”, asking about his pictures (one of Allende), complimenting him on them and enquiring what price they were. Outside Jorge told me he’d no intention of buying them:”I hate pictures like that!”. However the guy seemed a thousand times more reasonable than Pedro the cowboy. Until I saw the toilet…