º£½ÇÉçÇø

During my first week in Valparaiso, after months of backpacking around South America, I was eager to explore and fit as much of the city as I could.

My stomach had other plans. An unidentified source—maybe the tap water at my workaway, the eggs in the carbonara I’d so lovingly made as a departure meal, or the day-old empanada I’d eaten on the bus—kept me chained to my host family’s toilet for my first 48 hours in their house. Thanks for hosting me!  

Luckily, my impossibly attentive host parents, with their five children and nine grandchildren, were ready to care for me. Aldo drove us in the camioneta to the emergency room, where Lili pretended I was her sobrina norteamericana so she could come in with me. 

I spent my first week on antibiotics, consuming a strict diet of Jello and brothy soup, resting in my new bed with a view of the sea. The worst had happened. I had landed in the hospital and been bedridden upon arrival, nothing had gone according to my expectations. And it was totally fine. I had people in this new environment who already cared for me, and the luxury of time to explore at my leisure over the next four months. 

What did those months hold, in a time of so much growth and transformation? Despite it being just that—a semester packed with change and excitement—it has been defined by a glorious sense of calm that I had struggled to find throughout the hustle and bustle of university life in the States.  

I love to be busy, looking at the day as a puzzle of things to squeeze in, always rushing to the next activity. I struggle when plans change, when my expectations don’t come to fruition. Though I am leaving Valpo the same Kate, who loves activity and exploration, my perspective on what makes an active life has altered. I’ve learned to slow down, to move with the changing tide in a way I wasn’t expecting. 

Sometimes it’s a forced deceleration, climbing the 253 stairs carved into the hill leading to my homestay or flagging down a crowded micro when I’m already late for class. But as the semester progressed, taking my time became more self-elected. Those stairs became an opportunity to lean my back against the wall, take a deep breath of sea air, and enjoy the breathtaking view of ocean backdropped by mountains. Rush hour on the micro became a time I looked forward to, so many bodies heading about their days, craning their necks to get a glimpse of the coast as we hurtled toward Viña del Mar. (It helped that Chileans have different timeliness standards, running five minutes late to class often meant I was one of the first students there).  

Zooming 5,000 miles out from my life at school and moving with the pace of life as an intercambio student in this seaside town has been a gift, a treasured experience to bask in the luxury of time. 

On the phone, my girlfriend asks if it feels like yesterday that I was boarding my flight to Brazil all those months ago. I laugh and say no, this semester has been nice and slow. Yes, it’s been packed with so much learning—to communicate in Spanish, to surf and climb aerial silks, to sleep on an overnight bus, to pet a dog with my left hand and a cat with my right. But I’ve moved at my own pace, let myself linger in the present rather than rushing off to some undefined future.  

Though I’m leaving Valparaiso behind for now, I have a feeling I’ll find my way back here. Only time will tell. And I’m not planning on rushing it. 

Kate H. | Kenyon College | º£½ÇÉçÇø Chilean Universities Program, Valparaíso | Spring 2024