Salsa class never fails me. Tonight, of course, was no exception. The frenetic footwork, the interminable struggle against gringo shoulders, the mastery of hip swishing and ass shaking while still managing to look sexy... I must say those hours in the tiny studio (hidden inside the basement of an internet cafe) are some of the best I have spent in Chile.

There are two advanced classes that I attend: Colombian and Cuban. My Puerto Rican roots have magically carried me through the rough spots in both, but I definitely favor the Cuban style of dance. Tonight, I learned Colombian Salsa for the first time. It has an additional "marca" -- a tiny clip of the toe against the floor on the off beat. As if that was not enough to remember, I was paired with the smallest man in the class to practice. This tiny varon, who came up to my shoulders at best, certainly added a new level of challenge to my special salsa time. I won't even talk about the turns...

Thursdays are always best. My favorite memory will always be of dancing with a large, large man named Manuel. I cannot erase the image of this surprisingly agile hombre, dancing ever so suavecito on feet that could not have belonged to his body. He moved his immense self with such speed that even his fat did not have time to follow.

Other highlights of recent days and weeks...

1. I cooked dinner for the fam on Friday night with none other than the fabulous Jill Wehner. The menu was as follows:

first course -- curried lentil soup, topped with yogurt, coconut and raisins
second course -- ginger lemon stir fry of mushrooms and zucchini over couscous
third course -- asparagus and spinach salad, drizzled with an orange rind dressing
dessert -- an ever-so gluttonous molten brownie cake, topped with vanilla ice cream and raspberries

I trekked to the mercado central with my friend, Jenny, to collect the necessary ingredients. Though we gained the vauable experience of bargaining and selecting the most savory fresh produce with a 100% chilean crowd, it was not the most pleasant experience. It was a pure hour of being verbally harrassed, whistled at and thoroughly frightened. The Lider around the corner suits me much better. I think I will try wearing a large garbage bag next time and see what happens.

2. I spent the weekend in Valparaiso. There is an eerie breath of fog that sits between the brilliantly colored houses. The city is built around the port there. It is a tangled disaster of crooked streets and ascensores (cable drawn elevators) that tow tourists and locals alike up the impossibly steep hills.

I arrived with the group and received a thorough lecture on Valpo's history. I stayed the night with my friend, Melina, to dabble in the coastal nightlife... a midnight seafood extravaganza where we were joined by a nostalgic, tipsy old man who bought us wine and called us his daughters, a field trip to a club called Stockholmo (Dar, Lenny was there and he says hello), follow up at several other enjoyable locales, and a nice hearty breakfast of kuchen (german cake) and coffee.

3. I am preparing to trek to Pucon this Thursday with Jill. It is about two hours south, by plane, and is one of the adventure capitals of the world. The plan, so far, includes: climbing Volan Villarica with crampons, ice picks and heavy wind gear; bike riding or horseback riding around the rainforest and plentiful lakes; steaming in volcanic mineral termas (hot springs)... More to come upon my return.

¡Ay! Thursday marks the one month anniversary of my being here in Chile. Time passes on a different continuum here. And what a glorious way to live. Besos y abrazos a todos... les echo de menos.

Summer is lingering. It's been a good year. But fall is nearly upon us, and with that turn in season arrives a (slightly) more somber air in the city of Santiago: school has begun. Fewer bare, browned shoulders. More pleated skirts and leg warmers over black Mary Janes. Luckily, for an estudiante de intercambio, like myself, the start to a new school year is nothing short of joyous.

For example, my first class this week took place at the Macul campus of la Universidad de Chile. Known for its frequent protests, tear gassings and Che-inspired activity, it is the place to be. (Most students know to carry potatoes -- ready to be sliced open and placed over the eyes -- to counteract the burning effect of the gas) The course: "Historia del Rock." Most classes that day were canceled, since the teachers didn't show, and the lawns were blanketed with lounging students, throwing back a few beers, sleeping or discussing life. Of course, my class was one of the few actually in session, but as it turned out, the class was painfully easy and the flustered, sweaty teacher didn't quite fulfill my image of the Chilean educational excellence I had imagined.

I spent the rest of the week dabbling in various courses on Mapuche culture and art, the poetry of Pablo Neruda and Gabriela Mistral, and poverty in the news. I have created quite the dreamy schedule. My weekend begins at 1:30 pm on Thursdays.

Food has been another primary topic of interest. I can't say Chilean food is my favorite cuisine, but it certainly has some interesting dishes. My breakfasts usually consist of cheese or meat hidden in a thick layering of mayonnaise and butter on white bread or a thick roll. It's a small step from the South Beach diet that lost Mr. Dick Strayer almost 15 pounds, but I haven't become a gordita... yet. I can always expect a slab of meat or fish for dinner, and sometimes an omelette or vegetable medley. But the foods I've enjoyed most have been the fruits.

I experienced my first pepino on Sunday. It is a fruit I've only seen here, in the mercado central. It looks rather like a cream colored persimmon, with purple markings like the stripes on a tiger. Inside, it has a thick, melon like flesh that leaves the most indescribable aftertaste. One which I cannot decide if I loathe or actually enjoy. That was the first of many new fruits (not to mention strange sausages with stretchy skin and somewhat questionable mayonnaise dishes)... another new experience was the tuna, what I always called a prickly pear or cactus fruit. It is exactly like a honeydew melon with a dense smattering of crunchy brown seeds inside. Sort of like gravel enmeshed in what would be a refreshing, light snack.

In any event, life in Chile is most enjoyable. Things seem to be structured around recreation and quality of life, putting work much below play on the list of priorities. Any feelings of stress have been gently washed away by the coordinators of my program. They tell me to go eat some ice cream and plan my classes some other day. So far, it's not working out too badly. I am going to Viña and Valparaiso for the weekend to bake my half-anglo whiteness into proper chilean piel. Two beautiful beach town perched on the rocky coast should do the trick.

Pues, chao for the moment. ¡Que les vaya muy bien este fin de semana!