Butt pinchers, escaped prisoners and silver linings

So I signed up for a class to learn ‘cueca,’ the Chilean national dance. The woman told me it was on Friday night at 8 and I was really psyched to go and meet some Chileans and stumble over my words trying to make myself understood. On the way to the U, the micro gets passed by a couple of slow moving but nonetheless siren blaring fire trucks and I don’t think about it too much. I show up at the DAE, the building where the class is supposed to be held and all doors are locked and not a light to be seen. Obviously, I didn’t get the memo. I wander around a little, thinking that since it is 8 already, I might be early. I wander back over to the DAE and run into a pair of women who inform me that there was a class at 6.30 but that they suspended the 7.30 class (Maddy has a confused look on her face at this point). Typical Chileans. I thank them, turn to leave when they tell me that some prisoners escaped from the local jail and that I must get myself into a micro quick and then pressure me into sharing a cab with them. Being the miserly college student that I am, I decline, not wanting to spend potentially 5 times as much as I would on a micro ride. Not really believing the women and thinking that they must be silly old bats, despite the fact that I can hear a number of sirens going off, I brush off the idea of escapees and wait by the micro stop. After a solid 25 minute wait without a single micro showing up and the number of students around me slowly declining I decide that now would be a good time to cross over the river into town to get a micro home before they stop running at 9. On my way out, sure enough, they have closed off the poplar-lined (laurel-lined, possibly?) avenue leading to the U and are turning micros away. Continuing on my way into town, I am passed by a few more emergency vehicles and eventually get home. I asked my “brother” if he knew anything about it, but he said he didn’t.
Later, Matt informs me that there was indeed a fire at the jail and that a number of prisoners escaped, making national headlines. Silly me, I guess that is what sirens are for, to alert people.

I get up early this morning, ready to head out to an “early” 8.30 crew “practice” (read, me sitting in a single on a dock, moving the oars through the water while the trainer holds on to the stern deck). Dressed in appropriately tight clothing, I waltz out of the yard, lock up the gate and distractedly put my keys away in my bag and immediately hear the sound of a bike really close behind me, it sounds too near for safey, but I figure that the bike should move out of the way, I am not THAT inconspicuous in a bright yellow jacket and a red schoolbag. I soon feel a hand take a nice firm hold of my bottom, and my first thought was “hey, now who could that be?” expecting to turn around to find a cheeky friend. Under normal circumstances (and by normal I mean in my regular role as Bowdoin College student), I might expect a few friends to grab my butt. Like Tavel or, um...or, ok maybe just Tavel. But, as my bike bound assailant moved into the distance and I did not recognize the greasy haired, dark skinned schoolboy, I realized that I don’t know anyone well enough here to expect butt pinches and the Middlebury boys certainly wouldn’t treat me so crassly. It seems that rather than the friendly love tap I was hoping for, I actually experienced some of the sexual harassment I was told to expect here. (I feel you Erin Dukeshire, believe me).
In my ongoing quests to remain clean and also not develop hypothermia, I have discovered some silver linings. You know when you wake up and you are all warm and after showering and getting dressed, you are still pretty warm because of that stuff we call “insulation” and “central heating,” and then you go outside and get assaulted by the cruelly cold air. Well, I have found that I don’t have that problem. When I get up, I have the benefit of knowing exactly how cold it is because there are only a few degrees difference between the temperature of my room and the temperature of the outside air. It is like having your very own weatherman in you room! Except not, because it is just you, sitting on your bed shivering, wishing you could crawl back into bed rather than go to class.
The other silver lining I found is that if you take a cold shower in a cold bathroom, when you get out of the shower, there is no temperature difference (Thanks, Maddy, for explaining the blatantly obvious). No, but seriously, when you get out of a warm shower, you inevitably feel cold because the air is colder and you might shiver a little and get goosebumps until you get to your nice warm room and get some clothes on. Last night, I discovered that when you take a cold shower and step into a cold room, you actually feel warm, and not only that, but you feel warm for a long time afterwards and can even prance around your cold bedroom stark naked because you can’t feel anything! (Sorry, no prancing actually took place, I just like the word prance.) Ok, maybe not a sterling silver lining, maybe not even German silver, but it made my cold shower experience a little sweeter.