I taught my first English class yesterday and I survived and the student didn’t call me out for being a total hack, so I’d say things were an overall success. I also have the kind people of Chile to thank for this, as no fewer than five strangers were involved in my ability to navigate both to and from the office building out by the the old airport where the lesson was held. While my school sent me armed with specific directions and a map, I still thought it made perfect sense to board a bus called “I09” rather than “109”. Notice the subtle difference? The “I” as in “I have no Idea where I am goIng” vs. “1” as in the number I should have been paying attention to? 

Okay, so I’m being a little hard on myself. Still, thank goodness I was trying to get a bus that was at the end of it’s line (and completely empty), which allowed the bus driver to take pity on me, look over my map, and help me find my way to another bus-lined corner (there were three in plain sight). There, I waited for the ONE-0-9, boarded, beeped my Bip card, and kept my eye out for the one and only high-rise building on the highway, the one I was told would clue me in that I’d need to request my stop.

Yet, even when I saw said high-rise, there was still that city-dwelling part of me that was convinced I hadn’t been on the bus long enough and surely that six-story glob of concrete couldn’t be what I would call a “high-rise.” So I sauntered up to the bus driver and tried to pronounce my target street name with the least amount of gringa-ness possible, an effort I’ve known for some time is impossible given my California accent and giant North Face backpack, which I’ve learned to wear around my front, which really completes the look. Miraculously, the bus driver understood me and I, in turn, comprehended that my stop was up ahead. 

I exited, rounded the corner of a street with one-story buildings as far as the eye could see, dodged new rain, and walked into the warm lobby of the office building a full hour early. But I was there. I wasn’t late. Eventually, a woman opened the glass doors, looked my way, and said “Teacher?” And she meant me! I was shown to the room where I found a white board and a desk to set up my materials for a private lesson. I met my student, a VP of sales/marketing for the Latin American division of the company. The lesson started and the next thing I knew 90 minutes had gone by. We had made our introductions, reviewed her previous test, and started our first of three lessons on giving presentations at work. By the end of it, I was assigning homework and bidding her well and knowing I’d be doing this all again on Thursday.

At least by then, I’ll know which bus to get on, where to wait for it, and that on the way back, the bus will NOT drop us off at the same corner where we waited for it, but rather a few blocks down. So, I’ll ask another nice bus-rider where the metro station is, dicipher that it’s up ahead, stop again to ask the newsstand lady where the metro is, dicipher that it’s up ahead, and soon round the corner where the grand station carousel is lit up (yes, it has a real carousel) between palm trees and commuters buzzing past my shoulders. I’ll be one of them, officially on my way home to my family after an honest day’s work. 

I have some shots of the bus station, the highway, that high-rise, as well as the sparkling station, but try as I may, I can’t get them off my new cellphone in a way that allows me to re-upload them here. But maybe that’s for the best. Because this day wasn’t about trying to frame segments of my experience to look at later. It was all about paying attention in each moment, looking at those around me, knowing I can find my way with limited Spanish and the help of non-judgemental strangers. It all makes the whole teaching English thing sound like the easy part.

But I don’t want to leave you completely empty-handed, so here at least is a pic of a real high-rise going up in Santiago (plus a bus and a palm tree):