Leftovers

Every once in a while I look over my blog journal and pull out a theme that’s been running through my entries/notes but hasn’t quite made it into a blog post yet. Here’s what’s been lurking around lately.

What I’m doing right now at this moment. Warm brownie and melty banana caramel ice cream. Get at me.

Why and how does time fly by so fast? I’m looking at less than a month until I go back to the States. WHAT? WHEN did that happen? I’m not dealing with it right now. Nope. Not gonna.

I talked about it the other day with a coworker on the metro, and he said part of it has to do with the fact that we have such a long commute each day. It takes me on average an hour to get to and from work, from the moment I step out my door to the moment I walk in my office, and vice versa. That’s two hours a day. Then there are meal times. I lose about two hours a day just sitting at a table eating and talking, more or less. Okay, so there’s four hours gone. Then the eight, eight and a half hours I work. Then factor in six to seven hours of sleep. Then it takes me about an hour to get out the door from when I wake up in the morning. That leaves me with FOUR FREE HOURS each weekday. Granted, my weekends are entirely free. I have no homework. It’s amazing. But those days pass by in the blink of an eye! What gives?

(Side note 1: how do we feel about all caps? Is it an effective tool to add emphasis? Or is it cliché?)

I think it also goes by faster when you already know everything- when you’re not learning the culture, the customs, the language, the metro, the neighborhood. When you already know all of that, you cruise, and then it’s almost like living anywhere else.

So how do you let go of worrying about time? How do you really live in the present? Do you just ignore how quickly time is flying by, keep living your life the way you usually would, and then when it’s time to leave, besos, chau chau! Do you make an extra effort to take advantage of EVERYTHING to the point of exhaustion and remain hyperconscious of time? Or is it a zen vibe, where you just find the balance and somehow find yourself liberated of the pressures of deadlines and departure dates?

(Side note 2: can you tell how exhausting it can be to live in my head?)

Lots of rain and then lots of sun equals this.

I can already see that it’s going to be harder this time to leave. I still want to go home. I miss summer. I miss the festivals and the long days and the grilled food and the pool and running and shorts and so much more. I miss my family and my friends. But my roots got even deeper this time. It became a little bit more like real life. I built relationships here that will continue when I go home, but they won’t be the same. Don’t underestimate the importance of place to a relationship. I’m already trying to figure out when I can come back again. I wonder what a longer- as in, a year or more- stay would be like. And I ask myself what I would be willing to give up in order to make that happen.

No, dears, before anyone gets worried: I am not having a wild fling with a Chilean, I haven’t been offered a job, I have nothing to keep me here yet. But I think that these are questions that we ask ourselves when we live somewhere else, somewhere that is not “home,” for a long period of time.

This view impressed me for some reason. Doesn’t the sky just look big?

One big thought that I had today while outlining this post was this: people keep on living their lives when you’re not there with them. And you must keep living yours too.

The clouds started to move out of that last picture.

This whole concept of time and distance and growing up and what happens when they all mix together can be overwhelming for a highly analytic and hyperaware person like myself. Writing about it helps me. I truly appreciate how you all listen to my stories and stay interested in what’s happening in my life. Thank you.

Everything is great! If it weren’t, I don’t think I’d be so concerned with how quickly time is flying by. Let’s focus on the good little things to close this talk out, shall we?

The heating pad on my bed (you do not know what comfortable feels like until you rub your legs against warm sheets. It was a revelation.). Ponchos. Parkas (There’s a theme here.). Agua de hierbas. Carbonada and cazuela. Instant oatmeal (I’ve been cold, okay?). The buena onda of strangers and new acquaintances. Having neatly painted nails. Piscola. Scrambled eggs, Chilean style (I’ve almost got it down and I’m thrilled.). Warm, dry hands. New boots. Clean towels. Skype.

And THIS SKY.

As always, thanks for listening. I love hearing from you, so please do not hesitate to leave a comment or a question!

Besos,

Gaby

How to Tell a Foreigner from a Chilean

This country is not used to foreigners in general. There isn’t a lot of immigration between Chile and other countries. Only recently has Chile seen an influx of immigrants, largely from Peru, Bolivia, and Colombia. They can pick Colombians, Bolivians, and Peruvians out pretty easily, because they are physically distinct. Colombians have stronger African roots. Peruvians and Bolivians are, in general, far more indigenous than the typical Chilean. Chileans, like Argentinians, are quite European- Spanish, German, French, even Irish and English. (One of the men who led Chile to independence was named Bernardo O’Higgins. Not a joke.) There’s some indigenous blood in there of course, but not as much as you see in your typical Peruvian, Bolivian, Salvadoran, Mexican, etc. (*YES, I’m speaking in general terms. I am not accounting for every region of every country in Latin America. But you will see that there are stronger indigenous roots in some countries than in others.*)

As a result, in some parts of Santiago, an American can get on the metro and be hard-pressed to find someone who would clearly stand out in the States as Latino. A lot of Chileans are physically similar to Americans with European heritage. There aren’t a ton of blondes, but there’s a lot of light skin, lighter (if not quite blue) eyes, and lighter brown hair. You’d think, oh, they don’t look that different from me. I’m not going to stand out here. Right?

WRONG. Wrong wrong wrong. You will stand out in so many ways, even if you utter not one word of English and speak flawless Spanish. You are marked.

I spend about two hours each day on public transportation. I’ve been stared at quite a lot. But as I’ve lived here for longer and longer, I’ve started to do some staring of my own. I’ve been trying to figure out exactly what makes me stand out.

And yet recently, people have been asking me for directions. As in, does this bus stop by this street? Is this such-and-such street? How do I get to this place? Does this metro route go here? And so on. And it’s never like I’m the only person around that they can ask for directions. On the contrary- usually it’s in a big crowd of Chileans that someone taps me on the shoulder or gets in front of my face and asks how to get somewhere. The majority of the time, I actually know! But it makes me ask myself again, I thought I was marked. I thought everyone knew just by looking that I’m not from here. Why am I the person they ask for directions?

These questions have led me to compile a list of what makes foreigners stand out from Chileans, and vice versa. This list, like my Things I Know About Chileans posts, is in progress. I welcome comments, suggestions, and corrections!

1) English. Don’t think that you can speak English and no one will notice. EVERYONE will notice and EVERYONE will stare at you for it. If you’re not into that- work on your Spanish (which, frankly, will still make everyone stare, even if you’re using all the cachai and po in the world) or don’t talk.

2) A lot of it is based on your clothing and accessories.

3) Backpack: anyone carrying an Xtrem or Head backpack is very likely Chilean. North Face, Jansport, other brands? Foreigner bonus points, except in certain sectors of the city where they can afford North Face. (North Face jackets are not a giveaway. Look for other clues.) Rucksack type backpacks were quite in style when I studied here last year, and all of us American girls laughed at how small and impractical they seemed. You can’t even fit a laptop in there!

And then they came into fashion in the US. And we were all proven wrong.

4) Water bottles. A reusable water bottle is a ringer for an American. No arguments.

5) Shoes. Wedge boots point to a Chilean. Boots in general point to Chileans. They wear boots all year long. Yes, in 90 degree weather, 100 degrees in the metro, women will be dressed in jeans and wedge ankle boots. I don’t understand how they can suffer like that. Wear some shorts and sandals and free yourselves! Also, the boots will usually have a heel.

6) How appropriate are their clothes for the weather? This requires asking another question: is it warm or cold today? A Chilean will be overdressed for warm weather and a foreigner (often an American who is accustomed to the luxury of central heating) will be underdressed for the cold. May through probably August, whether it’s a high of 52 or 72, Chileans gear up for the winter- ponchos, hats, gloves, scarves, all kinds of sweaters and solid winter jackets. They are layered up. Gringos think their usual North Face and a sweater underneath, plus a pair of sneakers, will be sufficient. WRONG. A high of 50 in a country without central heating means that it is 50 degrees indoors, too! You will be cold. And you will understand why you’d be willing to sweat on the metro during rush hour if you can be slightly less freezing in your office during the day.

7) For girls: are they using a scrunchie? Or black butterfly-shaped hair clips? Chilean.

8) It’s easier to tell if a blonde is Chilean or not if you’re also blonde. First, judge by the criteria above. If you are still unsure, ask yourself: am I blonde? If so, is the blonde staring back at me? If yes, the blonde is a foreigner, doing the same thing you’re doing. Chilean blondes DO NOT STARE. They know that they’re Chilean and you’re not (because remember, the Chileans win at this game) and therefore have no need to stare at you.

So how do you try and fit in? Hide the things that make you obviously a foreigner. Put away the water bottle. If you have to talk, make an effort to speak in Spanish and speak quietly (Americans- what makes us so loud?). Buy clothes and shoes here, and wear them. Not even kidding- when I bought a bunch of clothes here last year and started wearing them out, I got stared at a whole lot less. They might not even seem like clothes that are that different from what you’d wear at home, but I’m telling you, it works. Do your hair like they do it. And whatever you do, don’t stare back, and look like you know where you’re going.

As I said, I welcome all kinds of comments and suggestions!

Happy weekend, friends!

Much love,

Gaby

Things I’ve Learned About Chile/Chileans, Part 2

I’ve just been working. My mood/patience have improved since I last wrote, for anyone who was worried. It has been sunny and warm here, which means basically nothing for the temperature of my office, and has made the smog worse. I spent all day Friday out in the streets- yes, like walking between cars and trucks- collecting money for my office. And when I came home, I had a headache, probably from inhaling exhaust all day.

But, any faith that I had lost in Chileans (which really wasn’t that much) was restored that day. They are givers, those Chileans. They may have only contributed a little individually, but they were actually really receptive to us walking around and asking for change. I would even dare to say that I had a better experience collecting money from Chileans than I’ve seen with Americans. And I include myself in that! It’s really not that often that I give to the Salvation Army at Christmas. I fail at the whole rice bowl thing for Lent. So to see all the people who had change ready to go, who rolled down their windows and waved me over if I didn’t see them, or who were wearing stickers telling us that they’d already given, was quite encouraging.

Last year I wrote this post, which was inspired by this post. (Side note: if you are traveling or living abroad, you MUST read that blog! Ms. Liv is a great writer and has a lot of wisdom to share about what it’s like to live in other languages and other cultures.) Considering that I have no earth-shattering revelations about life or work this week, I figured I’d have a little fun adding to my own list about what I know about living here in Chile:

The dairy products are not as good. Yeah, I’m biased because I live in Wisconsin. But it all just tastes funny, and anything “light” is loaded up with very strong artificial sweeteners. I would love a big, cold glass of Wisconsin skim milk right now. I’m confused as to how more pasteurization makes their milk and butter smell more like the cow. Also, I can’t get behind the idea of milk sitting in boxes, unrefrigerated. Which is how they sell it and store it here.

You can buy things in individual units here. You know how we usually buy yogurts in packs of six or whatever, and the price is for that many yogurts? Not here. They price yogurt per unit. You can do the same thing with juice boxes, chocolate milk boxes, all kinds of things that Americans usually buy in multiples.

Child rearing is a little different. Okay, I’m obviously not saying that Americans have one way of disciplining and forming their children, and Chileans have another way. What I want to say is that overall, children stay younger, for longer. I’m usually referred to as a niña. Which, when I learned Spanish, meant “little” or “young” girl. I thought that by now I’d at least be a muchacha, if not a full-fledged mujer. Not here. I wonder if that’s a cultural-linguistic thing. Language and culture are very closely linked. Could the fact that they’re still referring to girls my age as “niñitas” or “chiquillas” reflect how young they think we are, or how young they should treat us? Then again, people wonder why a girl of my age- aka, marriageable and child-bearing- is not pololeando (in a relationship).

But seriously. Americans, if you don’t like the idea of dating people who still live with their parents, good luck avoiding that in Santiago. If the person is from Santiago and unmarried, chances are, he or she lives at home, even well into their twenties or thirties. Sometimes there’s a push to get married, but there is no rush for people to get out of the house and start living independently while they’re single. None at all.

The taxi drivers almost never talk to you. This is the opposite of the New York cabbie stereotype, where they want to tell you everything about themselves and want to learn everything about you. They are silent here. Which is why I was shocked a couple of weeks ago when my cab driver complimented me on my Spanish and proceeded to talk to me over the course of a twenty minute cab ride. He was also probably the only cab driver who didn’t overcharge me!

This country is low on immigration in general, although more and more immigrants are arriving from Colombia, Bolivia, and Peru. Because there are so few immigrants, they are easy to spot, and the Chileans are the best at knowing who’s a Chilean and who’s not. They can also probably pick out the person’s nationality. I’m working on another post about how to spot a Chilean versus a foreigner. How could you mix them up, you ask? Because Chileans, especially in certain parts of Santiago, are really quite European compared to other Latin Americans. When I get on the metro in the morning, most of my fellow passengers would fit right in in the States, and we would never guess that they don’t speak English. Stay tuned! It’s actually a pretty fun game.

A favorite pastime of young Chilean couples is to make out on public transportation. And when I say make out, I am not exaggerating. In the US, we tend to groan if people even sneak a kiss or hold hands on the sidewalk. I would be grateful if I could see a couple limit themselves to that. Nary a day goes by where I don’t see a couple making out so hard that they’re not even coming up for air. The other day, I was standing in one end of the car, and all the way at the other end, I could see a guy basically digging for clams in his girlfriend’s mouth. Yes, I am modest, but seriously! No one wants to see that! Not even the other Chileans! (Until they’re the ones doing it…)

They’re really into brushing their teeth. Which is good considering all of the tea and soda they drink.

Girls have a thing about washing their hair. Like, it’s gotta be washed and clean before they can go out, even if they’ve already showered that day. I don’t understand it.

The cookies are really not that good. Which is why when my host mom asked if I wanted to grab a bag of Betty Crocker chocolate chip cookie mix, I absolutely said yes.

Proof that there is a God who loves us.

I can make better ones from scratch. But they were still delicious, and this was cheaper than buying chocolate chips.

Carbs and wine make for a good, chill Saturday night.

My NGO constructs houses. So for our fundraising campaign, we collected money in little houses!

We had black bananas. Of course I made muffins. With cinnamon sugar topping.

That’s life right now, guys! Keep an eye out for another post soon. Oh, and if anyone would like to contribute to the “Things I Know About Chileans” list, please comment!

With love,

Gaby

I am not on vacation

I think the honeymoon is over.

There are several phases to culture shock. The same phases apply during a return trip. The first phase is the honeymoon. You’re thrilled to be back, everything is awesome, you only see all of the good things that you missed so much while you were gone. The past couple of weeks, I was up to my ears in palta and tea and I still loved the metro and I was pretty much euphoric to be back.

Then it rained and got cold. And I was like, okay, this is kind of a bummer. But it’s winter. What did I expect? I knew that was coming. And I dealt with it.

Then I wasn’t sleeping great. And when I don’t sleep well, I lack the energy to exert myself and keep talking and thinking in Spanish. It’s also more difficult for me to understand Spanish. In general, lack of sleep makes my life here even more difficult than it does at home.

Then the little things started to get to me. Like how the metro station only had ONE cashier available to reload metro cards…during rush hour. And then the self-service machine wouldn’t work for me. So then I had to get back in the long line AGAIN. And then I got stuck behind slow people when I got off the metro, and I was already running late. That lack of efficiency is actually pretty standard. I don’t meant for that to be an indictment of this country or its culture. But on that morning in particular, it was infuriating. In my head I was yelling, Come on, people! It’s Monday morning! We’ve got places to be and things to do! Let’s GO! Yup. I was one of those gringas that day. I was not proud of it. And so I entered the second stage of culture shock: irritability and hostility.

Lessons learned that morning: 1) Gringas stand out on their own. A gringa on a tear, like I was that day, stands out even more. 2) This is real life. This is not vacation. And not every day is going to be wonderful and perfect and easy.

I knew this day was coming, of course. I tried to prepare myself for it. No place is perfect, and there are always bad days and good days. It’s important to acknowledge that when you go abroad, and even more important if you’re returning somewhere that you really loved, and maybe idealized a little bit while you were away.

I’m still enjoying being back, though. That was just a rough couple of days, like any I would have at home in the States. My job is great and keeping me very busy. I’ve seen plenty of my friends recently and am ready for quieter, more restful weekend. It’s hard when you have so little time and feel pushed to take advantage of absolutely everything and say no to nothing…but I’ve learned that I can’t really enjoy it if I’m beat, and I know how to respect my limits.

Things I’ve noticed, or maybe have just remembered:

I need to read, talk, think, and listen more in Spanish. I have to be better immersed. It’s difficult because my work day usually involves some time spent reading and writing in English. But three weeks in now (well that was fast), I need  to do a lot more reading and listening besides emails and work stuff, and besides the occasional Spanish-language song that pops up on the radio station I listen to at work all day. That’s the thing with a second language- it’s your second language, so it’s not permanently ingrained into your brain, and it takes work to activate it and keep it activated. You do lose it if you don’t use it!

I will say, though, that my Salvadoran coworker asked me why I talk like a Chilean. And a taxi driver complemented me on my Spanish and asked how I got so good.

There is a significant and noticeable demographic shift between my home metro station and where I get off for work. I am largely surrounded by professionals and upper-middle, upper-class students when I get on the train. When I change trains halfway, the station is packed with a mix of the entire city- suits, school uniforms, university students, push-up jeans and big earrings, moms in sweatpants carrying their babies wrapped up in blankets. When I get off my second train and get on the bus, it’s largely a working and lower-middle class crowd. It’s a population that obviously has stronger indigenous roots than the people who got on the train with me at the beginning. At the top of the trip, there really aren’t that many people you can look at and identify as “Latino,” as we think of it in the US. At the end of it, chances are much higher that anyone with light hair and light eyes is a foreigner. Very few people from my part of town work out where I do, and vice versa. This is a cosmopolitan city in certain parts, but anyone who tells you that it’s well-integrated is flat out lying.

You can’t put a limit on Chileans’ time. In the States we apologize for taking up too much of someone’s time. I have still not figured out how to translate that correctly in Spanish. Probably because the concept really doesn’t exist. This is not to say that they don’t value your time. On the contrary- I think they value it so much that they will take up as much of it as they can! Besides, there isn’t too much of a schedule here. Work starts out pretty slowly. Most everyone arrives by 9:30, and even then people will drop off their things and go to the supermarket to get breakfast and snacks. Lunch starts at 1, and most people aren’t really working again until about 3. This isn’t to say that they don’t work hard- the Chilean economy wouldn’t be what it is if they were lazy!- but it’s certainly more relaxed.

Also, their cookies aren’t as good. Toddy brand cookies are all right. But the other ones…they’re kind of just crunchy things are vaguely reminiscent of chocolate and other flavors. That’s really irrelevant. But it does mean that I think it’s finally time for me to introduce real, homemade chocolate chip cookies to my host family and my Chilean friends.

Santiago looks like:

Las Condes from above on a Saturday night.

Bellas Artes on a Sunday night.

Santiago Centro on a Monday morning.

Breakfast in bed on a Saturday morning. This is the usual. Yeah, I’m spoiled.

Life is real. Thanks for listening.

Love,

Gaby

Allá al fondo

The title doesn’t really have anything to do with this post. I don’t think. It is, however, one of my favorite phrases, because it is so typically Chilean. Ask a Chilean where something is, and they will likely point you in that direction by saying “allá al fondo,” which means “over there and a little further down.” It is probably the least helpful direction, but I love it anyways.

Language reacquisition continues. My team at work consists of two Spaniards and two French girls. I have more trouble understanding their Spanish sometimes than Chilean Spanish- that’s not a joke! I realized that I became so used to Chilean Spanish that it’s actually the accent I understand the most easily. Which is funny, considering that anyone who has traveled anywhere else in the Spanish speaking world will tell you that Chilean Spanish is possibly the worst pronounced and most slang-filled of all of the dialects. I’m also learning a lot of new vocabulary, and various Chilean phrases are coming back to me in bits and pieces.

Most of the people working in my office are from other countries in Latin America- Argentina, El Salvador, Ecuador, and Mexico, for example. It’s been interesting listening to all of the different accents and realizing just how particular the Chilean accent is. I have never traveled anywhere else in Latin America, so I have a very narrow and specific language experience. The other Latin Americans all think it’s hilarious that I say things like, “¿Cómo estai?” instead of “¿Cómo estás?”, or “¿Cachai?” or “bakán.” And I try to explain to them that this is where I learned to speak Spanish! This is the Spanish I know!

Working life is fun. My dad asked me the other day which I like more, work or class…and I think I like work more. Granted, rush hour on the metro and bus is not my favorite thing. Going to work isn’t too crowded. Going home from work is absolutely packed until about the last ten minutes on the metro. It really helps to have people riding with you, at least part way. But the nice thing about work is that I can leave it at the office, and I can do whatever I’d like and go to bed early when I get home. Not like at school, where I have class all day, and then homework all night. There’s something freeing about letting home just be home and not a workspace. But like my dad said, work is for the rest of your life. So I should be careful before I get too excited about it.

As I’ve said before, winter is for real. Last week was especially rough. We had very heavy rain for two days solid last week, and the city flooded. All of the schools in Santiago were closed for a day. For rain. They had a rain day, guys. You would think that in a mountainous area the streets would run off water, but nope. For whatever reason, maybe poor engineering, it rains heavily for about an hour and the streets flood. You inevitably get wet. Combine that with temperatures around 50 and no central heating, and that means you get cold. Very cold. Have I felt colder in my life? I guess in absolute terms, yes. But this is a kind of cold you can’t shake off. One day I drank about five or six cups of tea- regular, caffeinated black tea- just to keep myself warm. I have now taken to bringing my own herbal teas with me to substitute for normal tea, since I just can’t consume that much caffeine and sugar every day. I’m also getting pretty good at layering, and I even brought a small blanket with me to work. I bought a poncho this weekend, and maybe with a couple more turtlenecks, I’ll be set!

This was my bus stop for two days last week.

It was so cold outside that our windows steamed up.

As a side note: you know you’ve been spoiled with central heat when the revelation that people actually use hot water bottles to keep themselves warm is a huge deal.

I have been enjoying my weekend days with my family, hanging around, relaxing, going to the mall. And I have been living up my weekend nights with my friends, going out dancing and enjoying the fact that I never have homework to look forward to on Sundays. The first weekend, my friend N. invited me out with another girl from our school and a Chilean classmate of theirs from their salsa class. We ended up at a small club separated from all of the extranjero craziness of Bellavista, packed with just Chileans and playing only cumbia (the second national dance of Chile, after la cueca). It was an excellent time. We were lucky to have the Chilean with us, because otherwise we never would have gone to this place. Having a Chilean guy with you also decreases the likelihood that men will jotear you- jotear basically means “to creep on” or “to hit on” in English. Going to a place that has a dearth of foreigners also decreases the number of jotes (literally, buzzard…colloquially, creep) present. Why? Because the jotes want the gringas! Jotes know not to go to places like this cumbia club, because their “prey” isn’t there. All in all, it was a good choice.

A mural inside the cumbia club.

Speaking of extranjeros (foreigners), I’ve had a lot of time to reflect on being a foreigner since I’ve come here. As I mentioned, my office is mostly made up of non-Chilean Latin Americans, and a couple of Europeans. I am the only gringa. What we all have in common is that we are foreigners here. We are different. We’re all making the same language adjustments- yes, even those who are native Spanish speakers! We are all living in a culture that is not our own. And the thing is, Chileans notice. They do. Chileans can spot a foreigner like that, with wicked accuracy. You don’t even have to be blonde. I confuse the heck out of them once I start talking, but it only takes a look to know that I’m not from here. My Spanish coworker says it’s because of the way the rest of us dress. It’s not that there’s anything particular strange or different about our clothes, or even about their clothes, but they just know it. It’s little things, like your backpack or your shoes or if you carry a water bottle (a reusable water bottle in the side of a backpack is a dead ringer for Americans!). It’s probably in the way we react to staring. We’re highly aware of our differentness, and therefore extra-sensitive to when people recognize it. Staring back at them gives you away. The Chileans don’t look back. Even the blonde ones.

One last quirk about being blonde and foreign: if you’re blonde, and you catch yourself and another blonde on the metro staring at each other, trying to figure out who’s Chilean and who’s not, trust me. Neither of you are. Chilean blondes don’t stare at other blondes trying to figure out their nationality. Only the foreigners do.

This is what life looks like lately:

This is the reward for two days of rain: beautiful, snowy, powerful mountains.

“It’s not enough to get mad. You have to mobilize.”

I went to Pomaire for a day. Pretty spectacular for winter, and a 180 from a few days before.

That’s all I’ve got, friends! Hope you are enjoying good weather, whatever season you’re in.

With love,

Gaby