Barrio Lastarria

Life is not an emergency... You can only hear your life sing - when you still. - Ann Voskamp

Street Art in Barrio Lastarria 

Sometimes, you wake up unable to breathe through a stuffy nose, and the first thing you see when you open your eyes is the poster of a gigantic, scary-looking animated soccer player on your bedroom wall and the first thing you think is, I am not home. 

And that just sucks. But it happens. This particular morning fell near the end of the nearly week-long vacation from classes in honor of Fiestas Patrias (Independence day, although literally, country parties.) There was food and fairs and family and all in all a pleasant time, but the fact remains that relaxing in a country you've lived in for less than a month can be exhausting. Suddenly all the time that had been filled up by seminars and school visits and homework loomed before me and the morning I was greeted by the soccer player, the prospect of filling all that time was terrifying.    

So I got up. I got myself some breakfast, I opened my devotional and I read Ann Voskamp's invitation to still. Still, as a transitive verb: an action. Stilling and resting, I realized, is not a waste of my time in Chile. It is as much a worthwhile action as anything I do here. And (had I forgotten?) rest is an ultimate divine promise (Isaiah 11:10), so probably a good thing to do every day. 

So I'm thankful for all the things here that force me to rest. Like the cup of tea I drink with almost every meal, so I have to stay still long enough to finish it. And the hour-long commute which begins my day, a peaceful time for thought even pressed up against all the bodies on the metro. And the dense articles packed with unfamiliar Spanish vocabulary, so I have to read slow. 

After my morning of rest, I succeeded in filling my day. I met some friends and headed to the centro for some planned spontaneity, which happens to be one of my favorite things. On the top of our list was Barrio Lastarria, described as a "bohemian neighborhood." We slipped off the main streets full of loud busses and rushing city-dwellers, (which constantly remind me that I am so not a city-dweller) into an enclave of quiet corners with strange street art and black table umbrellas outside quaint restaurants. 

We lingered over a splurge dinner of fancy pizza and cheesecake, and I was grateful for the chance to get to know a new and lovely part of the city. It felt a little more like home. And it definitely felt like a nice rest.

We also got ice cream. Really. Good. Ice Cream.

Thanks for the photos, Katherine Congleton.