Fans after the World Cup win.

2.  I experienced my first Chilean World Cup win last Wednesday. They beat Honduras one to nil. I thought people in the States were obnoxious when it came to rooting for their home teams, however, I humbly concede that Chilean celebrations far exceed any celebration of a sporting event I have ever witnessed or heard of in the States. It is not even in the same ball park. The festivities commence the night before the game and increasingly anarchy and chaos ensue, resulting in tear gas, water cannons, flares and mass destruction. I was awoken several times to honking horns, beating drums, yelling and clapping. In my sleepy haze, I thought a high school band decided to hold their practice on my head board. Work and school is either canceled or dismissed temporarily. Immediately following the game, the streets below my apartment filled with crazed fans, pooling in from every bar, house and establishment that housed a television. The crowds swelled so much that the roads had to be closed. Riot police lined the sidewalks to prevent looting and violent mob mentality.  However, the crazed celebrations simply cannot be effectively controlled and violence was sure to ensue. Eventually the riot police resorted to specially equipped vehicles that released tear gas and sprayed 50 meter streams of water.  Loco, right?

3.  What Chileans refer to as hills, I refer to as mountains. This week I ran up my first mountain, Cerro San Cristobal, which stands at 880 meters above sea level. The elevation kicked my butt, coming from an elevation of 240 meters in the planes of Cedar Rapids, Iowa, but I’ve never been on  a run with a better view. It is so amazing to look out onto a big beautiful city with the enormous snow covered Andes in the background. Photographs do nothing for something so spectacular.

Lindsey Chapman is currently a volunteer with VE Global, at Colegio Anakena. For more about her experiences, check out her blog.

One of the strangest (and sometimes dangerous) things that happens to me when I travel is that, as soon as I overcome the fear of releasing the comforts of home and board the plane, I magically lose all inhibitions.   On my first volunteer trip, to East Africa in 2007, I was newly engaged to be married and about to go to Uganda and Tanzania – alone – for nearly three months.  It was not easy at all, and trust me, I’m no tougher than the next girl.  In fact, I still remember very vividly saying goodbye to my now-husband Matt, at LAX, in tears as an unimaginable aura of anxiety consumed the both of us.  If you had told me in that moment that four weeks later, I would step foot in the most volatile and war-torn part of the D.R. Congo, a region called North Kivu, to go see the endangered mountain gorillas at Virungas National Park, I would have frozen with disbelief.  But being so far removed, living in southwestern Uganda, it didn’t seem like a big deal at the time.  A week after my quick trip in and out of the DRC, the BBC ran a cover story on several gorillas that were killed by rebels in that very same national park.  The killings had taken place the day after I left.

To get to Ayacucho, Peru, in the Central Andes, is a nine-hour nauseating bus ride from Lima that is absolutely not for the faint of heart.  It can be done overnight, which is what most people do.  I myself have made the trip six times now.  But if you told me I had to get on a nine-hour windy bus from San Diego six times in two months, I would be on Expedia searching for flight alternatives faster than you could say ‘let go of comfort.’

These two stories illustrate what I treasure the most about living abroad.  Something happens to my mind where I just let go of any premonitions or habits I was in, and roll with it.  I think that’s when you see personal transformations start to happen.  You really don’t have to go sky-diving or eat guinea pig.  If you break your norms in any way, you are transforming the way in which you see things, sometimes without even being aware of it.  And it’s an addiction to that learning which keeps me stepping on planes, pushing myself further, even as I’m scared senseless about taking the leap and letting go of home.

The image encapsulated my experience as a Kiva Fellow in Ayacucho; I am in a culture so incredibly foreign from my own, but with a people more beautiful and hardworking than I could have imagined. As I interview women at FINCA Peru, Kiva’s partner microfinance institution in Ayacucho, they are often breastfeeding and tending to their children. It is a classic image of the perpetual struggle women around the world face as they try to balance it all.

Interviewing a few of FINCA Peru’s Kiva borrowers in Ayacucho.

What a beautiful thing it is to live in a part of our world where its people have been succeeding in the battle to preserve their culture while climbing out of poverty. What extraordinary proof that the Kiva Fellows Program, and volunteering in general, is just as much about personal development as it is about growing the communities we work with.

I am thrilled to be blogging with Idealist.org and look forward to comments from readers as well as posts from other contributors. Viva la Vida Idealist!