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For those who may care, here is a brief update as to what has been going down in the last 4 weeks (Yes one month has passed since I entered Chile).
I have decided, after much consideration to not give you direct quotes from my diary as this correspondence would read thus.
´April 24th
Things i have to do: learn spanish (necissito). Sleep (when?). Read Harry Potter (mucho). Plan Lesson (bugger) Poo (inevitable).´
You are spared. The edited version is as follows . . .
Left England in rather a battered state having spent a week dismantling a pirate ship and manically photocopying documents. I entered Gatwick trussed up with numerous address labels so each of my body parts could be safely courierd back to British shores in case of a hostage situation. Hells and Brucey held it together remarkably well. Mother mildly gagging on her first ever ´spoons´ English breakfast as she gulped down sobs and rubber-egg. Fulls marks to alll three of us - remaining truly British until the departures gate, where mother´s final salute to her departing daughter was an almighty snort.
Delta (an American airline) provides food every 2 hours, trolly dolly fitted as standard and end-of-the-line stepford wife cabin crew. Atlanta was 4 emotional hours in which fells asleep with face in bag only to wake up resembling the phantom of the opera (the child who cried at the airport was only an omen of things to come).
Looking round Chile´s departrues lounge I saw no tell-tale happy havana flipflopped traveller feet - only weary hispanic faces all avoiding the eye of the whistling man. Didn´t realise the public transport lune had taken to the skies, but the weirdos now have wings. beware. don´t whistle back.
Slept for duration of flight and awoke to teh sun glancing off the jagged Chilean coast line´. The woman in front filmed the whole thing. She was wise.
Santiago airport is recommended by most of the guidebooks as an ideal place to begin travelling and I certainly couldn´t fault it. People kindly carried my bags (not in an attmept to steal mother) and when I arrived at the exit a kindly man appeared with a walkie-talkie and tried to telephone the Durans who were to collect me. . . all very muy bien.
About 20 minutes after my arrival at the nursery (After a pleasant drive about Santiago to pick up some plastic cars and a John Dear toy truck) I realised that I was an idiot. (22 years of life and only 20 minutes into my "experience¨this is clarifyed). If you are going to work at a nursery in a foreign country learn the native lingo for the following phrase;
"Hello Children". because standing in front of a bunch of 4 year olds, in your dad´s smelly jumped and 3 pound Diadora joggers from gunners, spluttering "Hola . . . enfants?" is not the way to begin a new job.
Next weeks Blog Read about my doomed love for a mormon missionary, mamma uno y mamma dos and marching through the centre of town to celebrate cement making.
Besos always xx x x x x
children in spanish is ´Niños
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Lisa
non-member comment
Yes Andrex
Haha, i love reading your stories. I remember the first piece of writing of yours i ever read and it was the nudist magazine i believe, bloody hilarious. Glad it is all going well, and glad you can now say children, always a bonus you donut! Take it easy. love nuts xx p.s. TITS