In addition to the power-point presentation on “the abroad experience” the Tufts in Chile pre-departure meeting included little chit chat session with some Tufts in Chile veterans. This session was quite helpful, as they gave us some cultural tips about Santiago. One student made a particularly memorable comment. He explained that we would witness many couples making out on park benches, in the streets, and pretty much any public space. He explained that this was because most Chileans live at home until they get married, and therefore need to find places other than their parents’ houses to make-out. I wouldn’t say that this is the only explanation for the PDA (public displays of affection) in Santiago. I believe that it is also more culturally acceptable to publicly express ones romantic emotions. Very Latin.
Exempli Gratia…
The other day I was riding the train (or the “metro”), and there was a couple making out about a foot and a half away from me. I don’t want to say it was disgusting, but it was disgusting. I could practically smell their breath. (In case it hasn’t been made clear yet, I am an immature pre-teen trapped in a bitter twenty-year-old's body. Though some people seem to think it’s the other way around). So, being the asshole that I am, I turned to them and said (in Spanish, of course), “I’ll give you 200 pesos if you stop making out.” They looked at me in utter disgust. Luckily I don’t have too much of an American accent, so they couldn’t call me a stupid Gringa. They quickly moved away from me as a nearby woman tried to restrain her laughter.
Okay, so that didn’t actually happen. Unfortunately, I’m not that audacious. And, luckily, I’m not that rude. Despite my prudish prejudices around where it is appropriate to make out, I often find the PDA endearing. As an advocate for peace, acceptance, unity, and all that other gushy stuff, I can certainly appreciate people expressing their love for each other. So go ahead, Chileans, make out all you want. Thank you for not fighting in public, or killing each other, or dropping bombs on foreign lands.
Another Kind of Kiss:
In my experience, Salutations around the world can be confusing. In Japan, bowing is customary. In Europe, one might shake hands, or kiss on the cheek two or three times depending on the country. Here in Chile, and in many other Latin American countries, the appropriate way to say ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’ is to kiss once on the cheek. This goes for meeting someone new, or for greeting an old friend. In the US, however, I find that just saying a friendly, “hi” or, “bye” will suffice to be considered polite. Some people even go for a hug if they’re feeling joyful. And when we meet someone, we generally shake hands, or do an apathetic wave.
In a country where kissing is customary, however, extending a hand is seen as a bit cold. So us Gringos have to adjust to the warm ways of Latin American culture. It can be a little awkward when you forget that you’re in Chile, and you go in for the handshake, and they go in for the cheek kiss (almost as awkward as when you go in for the cheek kiss and they go in for the real kiss). Either you have poked them in the stomach, forced them to back away from you, or ungracefully bumped into their face.
Some people are really good, and do the arms wide-open thing. That way they can go for a hug, kiss, or handshake while also appearing quite friendly. On the other hand, apathetic waves and bows don’t work so well after that.
I would say that the best thing to do in a foreign cultural salutation situation is to take a small step forward, and/or wait to see what the other person does. That way you can do an apathetic wave, bow, hug, kiss, or shake hands without making an arse out of yourself. The only problem is that they might be thinking the same thing. In that case, I just rock/paper/scissors my salutations and hope that they pick the same one.
Exempli Gratia…
Today, after Sociología Economica, whom do I run into at the bus stop? None other than the professor who’d just given the day’s lecture. !! Despite often feeling like a spastic cat on the inside, I’ve learned to keep a calm and collected composure on the outside. Today was no different. Though I was flipping out throughout the bus and train ride home with my professor, I managed to articulate short sentences, and keep up the small talk. He even told me that I spoke well and had a nice mix of Gringo (boo), Chilean (eh), and Colombian (yay) accents. On the train ride, he told me about his work as a musician, and his research with the United Nations on gender inequalities. As the train pulled into my stop, I began to worry. Ahh. How is this goodbye going to work?!, thought I. Professors often kiss their students of all ages, but this logic did not register as I stood there swooning. Luckily, he leaned in for the customary kiss on the cheek before I had to make any decisions (whew).
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Monday, August 24, 2009
Esquiando
I went skiing for the first time last weekend. What a privilege it was to ski in the Andes. The trip included a bus ride to the mountains, ski rentals, a ski lesson, and lunch. It was quite an unexpected treat (although I guess I did pay for it through my tuition).
Skiing was as thrilling as I imagine skateboarding or rollerblading would be, minus the danger of traffic, concrete, and a lack of coordination.
Katrina (another newbie) and I practiced together all day. For our last run, Alli, the semi-professional skier, took us to the big(ger) beginner slope. Both Katrina and I wiped out a couple of times, but it was quite enjoyable to be "dominated" - as Katrina put it - by the snow. And Alli got a good laugh out of the whole thing. I think there's even a video floating around somewhere...
Skiing was as thrilling as I imagine skateboarding or rollerblading would be, minus the danger of traffic, concrete, and a lack of coordination.
Katrina (another newbie) and I practiced together all day. For our last run, Alli, the semi-professional skier, took us to the big(ger) beginner slope. Both Katrina and I wiped out a couple of times, but it was quite enjoyable to be "dominated" - as Katrina put it - by the snow. And Alli got a good laugh out of the whole thing. I think there's even a video floating around somewhere...
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Studying?
Since I’m studying abroad, I suppose that I should post some information on my academic experiences now that my classes are finalized.
Class número uno: Historia Social de América Latina, a sociology class for first year sociology students. I think it’s known as a “gringo class,” or an easy class that Americans take, but, unlike other gringo courses, there are a lot of Chileans in the class as well. I wouldn’t say that it has been that easy so far. Taking notes in a sociology lecture in Spanish has its challenges. I’m sure that studying for the tests and writing the paper won’t be such a breeze either.
Class number two: Sociología Económica. This is NOT a gringo class. It is a class for third year sociology students. Perhaps I should explain the university education system here in South America. We Americans, have the option of prancing into college and taking a variety of classes in a variety of fields, and (sometimes) picking major to focus our education. Here, however, students are forced to pick their carrera (career) immediately after high school. They enter their university in a specific carrera (like sociology, for example) and take classes in that field for the next five years. Both systems certainly have their pros and cons, eh? So anyway, for me to take an Economic Sociology class with people who have been studying pure sociology for the last two or three years (compared with my five sociology classes) is a little daunting. But the topic is quite interesting, and the professors convinced me that I would be fine, especially since half of the reading is in English. We’ll see about this one….Actually, when the class met this past Wednesday, I went in feeling quite confident. I sat next to my Australian friend, Miriam, and her Chilean friend, Betsy. There were only a few setbacks, but they were all mainly due to surmountable distractions as opposed to a lack of sociological knowledge.
Distraction number one: Sociología Económica is taught by two young and, uh, not unattractive men. I thought they were students at first. Not, not, NOT students. Distraction number two: five minutes into the lecture, a dog walked into the classroom. There are stray dogs ALL OVER Santiago (I’ll talk more about this in the future), so it wasn’t too surprising, but it was a little funny. One student tried to shoo the dog out, but the professor told the student to let the dog stay. So the skinny Dalmatian curled up into a ball, and slept through the three-hour class. Distraction number three: Smell of stray dog sleeping two feet away from my desk. Distraction number four: My thoughts wandering after not understanding Parsons’ quadrants of social economics. Luckily, everyone else in class was lost as well, and the professor said he would clarify next time.
Class number three: Cerámica y Vidrio. This class is a lot of fun. It meets twice a week for four hours. The Chilean art students work on their amazing pieces while us gringos learn how to make clay and elementary projects out of glass. There are five students from the United States in the class. One is my friend Emily from Tufts, and the other four are from the University of California program. It’s really nice to have a designated time to work artistically and socialize with Americans and Chileans.
My final “class” will be my internship, in which I will teach English to high school students.
Class número uno: Historia Social de América Latina, a sociology class for first year sociology students. I think it’s known as a “gringo class,” or an easy class that Americans take, but, unlike other gringo courses, there are a lot of Chileans in the class as well. I wouldn’t say that it has been that easy so far. Taking notes in a sociology lecture in Spanish has its challenges. I’m sure that studying for the tests and writing the paper won’t be such a breeze either.
Class number two: Sociología Económica. This is NOT a gringo class. It is a class for third year sociology students. Perhaps I should explain the university education system here in South America. We Americans, have the option of prancing into college and taking a variety of classes in a variety of fields, and (sometimes) picking major to focus our education. Here, however, students are forced to pick their carrera (career) immediately after high school. They enter their university in a specific carrera (like sociology, for example) and take classes in that field for the next five years. Both systems certainly have their pros and cons, eh? So anyway, for me to take an Economic Sociology class with people who have been studying pure sociology for the last two or three years (compared with my five sociology classes) is a little daunting. But the topic is quite interesting, and the professors convinced me that I would be fine, especially since half of the reading is in English. We’ll see about this one….Actually, when the class met this past Wednesday, I went in feeling quite confident. I sat next to my Australian friend, Miriam, and her Chilean friend, Betsy. There were only a few setbacks, but they were all mainly due to surmountable distractions as opposed to a lack of sociological knowledge.
Distraction number one: Sociología Económica is taught by two young and, uh, not unattractive men. I thought they were students at first. Not, not, NOT students. Distraction number two: five minutes into the lecture, a dog walked into the classroom. There are stray dogs ALL OVER Santiago (I’ll talk more about this in the future), so it wasn’t too surprising, but it was a little funny. One student tried to shoo the dog out, but the professor told the student to let the dog stay. So the skinny Dalmatian curled up into a ball, and slept through the three-hour class. Distraction number three: Smell of stray dog sleeping two feet away from my desk. Distraction number four: My thoughts wandering after not understanding Parsons’ quadrants of social economics. Luckily, everyone else in class was lost as well, and the professor said he would clarify next time.
Class number three: Cerámica y Vidrio. This class is a lot of fun. It meets twice a week for four hours. The Chilean art students work on their amazing pieces while us gringos learn how to make clay and elementary projects out of glass. There are five students from the United States in the class. One is my friend Emily from Tufts, and the other four are from the University of California program. It’s really nice to have a designated time to work artistically and socialize with Americans and Chileans.
My final “class” will be my internship, in which I will teach English to high school students.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Cultural Differences: Staring
Before leaving for Chile, all 20 of us Tufts-in-Chile-ers were asked to attend a pre-departure meeting. In this meeting we were given information on a variety of topics such as classes, travel tips, and cultural differences abroad. During the “cultural differences” section, we were warned - I was warned - that black women are particularly sexualized in Chile. I had already heard rumors about the lack of black people and the sexualization of women in Chile, but I wasn’t expecting to get an official warning. I immediately cursed American media (damn you 50 Cent/VH1/industry producers/the man for putting naked black women in your videos and disseminating them abroad – yeah, I saw that video at a bar last weekend). Later, I was informed that the sexualization of black women may have also come from Brazil (I am not in the position to curse Brazil).
So I’m thinking that this sexualized-other thing is going to slightly influence my experience here in Chile. It may be too early to make real judgment, but so far, I have felt no more sexualized here than I do on the streets of Brooklyn. Obviously, in Brooklyn I am not one of 17 other Black women in the entire city, which I assure you, makes a difference. But it really hasn’t been that bad. I was once called “chocolate,” but that’s the only instance in which I’ve been singled out as a black woman.
Still, I’ve still been somewhat paranoid about being the alleged sexualized other here in Santiago. As a result, I have been particularly receptive to the way in which Chileans behave towards me.
Mainly I’ve noticed that people stare at me for longer than I find to be acceptable in a large city. As a New Yorker (and I won’t speak for all 9 million of us), I usually feel concerned, offended, violated, or threatened when a stranger deliberately looks at me for more than two seconds, and makes no attempts to hide the fact. See, it’s generally not a big deal if you catch someone staring at you, and then they quickly look away. So, naturally, my New York crazy (or just my own crazy) sets in, and I immediately feel violated (I am the sexualized other, right?) when people stare at me, and do not look away when I look back at them SEVERAL times. I’ve noticed that men, rather than women or children, like to look for longer periods of time.
I later spoke to my fellow New Yorker friend, Katy - who could probably pass for a Chilean - and she finds that people stare at her as well. I’m not so sure if she gets the curious stares, the mindless stares, or the “you’re pretty” stares. I mostly get curious stares. So maybe staring is just a little more socially acceptable here in Santiago. Or maybe it’s all a self-fulfilling prophecy. Either way, I figure I’ll just have to adjust to the culture and stare back.
I am, however, keeping my eyes open for neo-Nazis. Our program director told us that there is a group of about 50 neo-Nazis roaming the city. They aren’t huge fans of blacks, Asians, and probably a number of other social categories of people. There are probably A LOT more neo-Nazis in and around New York City, but I’m in Santiago where I stand out a little bit more. Since there are probably three more black folk than there are neo-Nazis, (and I’ve only seen about eight people that look like they might be of African descent) I shouldn’t be too worried about running into serious racial problems.
By the way, my demographic numbers are not accurate. I just find it hilarious that I chose to study abroad in one of the few South American countries that only has 12.5 black people. This phenotypic “minority” thing is not new for me, as I grew up surrounded by people who didn’t look like me. Hell, even the entire maternal side of my family doesn’t look like me. It’s not really a big deal. Not like it has contributed to any personal identity crisis or anything. ;) Oh, life. Ya gotta love it.
So I’m thinking that this sexualized-other thing is going to slightly influence my experience here in Chile. It may be too early to make real judgment, but so far, I have felt no more sexualized here than I do on the streets of Brooklyn. Obviously, in Brooklyn I am not one of 17 other Black women in the entire city, which I assure you, makes a difference. But it really hasn’t been that bad. I was once called “chocolate,” but that’s the only instance in which I’ve been singled out as a black woman.
Still, I’ve still been somewhat paranoid about being the alleged sexualized other here in Santiago. As a result, I have been particularly receptive to the way in which Chileans behave towards me.
Mainly I’ve noticed that people stare at me for longer than I find to be acceptable in a large city. As a New Yorker (and I won’t speak for all 9 million of us), I usually feel concerned, offended, violated, or threatened when a stranger deliberately looks at me for more than two seconds, and makes no attempts to hide the fact. See, it’s generally not a big deal if you catch someone staring at you, and then they quickly look away. So, naturally, my New York crazy (or just my own crazy) sets in, and I immediately feel violated (I am the sexualized other, right?) when people stare at me, and do not look away when I look back at them SEVERAL times. I’ve noticed that men, rather than women or children, like to look for longer periods of time.
I later spoke to my fellow New Yorker friend, Katy - who could probably pass for a Chilean - and she finds that people stare at her as well. I’m not so sure if she gets the curious stares, the mindless stares, or the “you’re pretty” stares. I mostly get curious stares. So maybe staring is just a little more socially acceptable here in Santiago. Or maybe it’s all a self-fulfilling prophecy. Either way, I figure I’ll just have to adjust to the culture and stare back.
I am, however, keeping my eyes open for neo-Nazis. Our program director told us that there is a group of about 50 neo-Nazis roaming the city. They aren’t huge fans of blacks, Asians, and probably a number of other social categories of people. There are probably A LOT more neo-Nazis in and around New York City, but I’m in Santiago where I stand out a little bit more. Since there are probably three more black folk than there are neo-Nazis, (and I’ve only seen about eight people that look like they might be of African descent) I shouldn’t be too worried about running into serious racial problems.
By the way, my demographic numbers are not accurate. I just find it hilarious that I chose to study abroad in one of the few South American countries that only has 12.5 black people. This phenotypic “minority” thing is not new for me, as I grew up surrounded by people who didn’t look like me. Hell, even the entire maternal side of my family doesn’t look like me. It’s not really a big deal. Not like it has contributed to any personal identity crisis or anything. ;) Oh, life. Ya gotta love it.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
On Being American
It is likely that I will write several posts that comment on my country of origin. Perhaps, I have already conveyed a distaste for the United States and for Americans in general. (Even the word “American” bothers me. Why do we decide to call ourselves “American” as if to ignore the two full continents of people who are also from America?) I blame my dislike for the U.S. on my parents (thank you, parents), for they have always been critical of the United States and American culture. I must emphasize that I do not hate Americans – that would be a silly generalization. In fact, my best friends are American, my father is American, and I consider myself to be more than half American. But, as Tim Wise (timwise.org) claims to hate Whiteness, as opposed to hating White people, I just hate American-ness. But what is American-ness? It’s a bit difficult to define, but I’ll give it a shot. In my opinion, American-ness is an unquestioned ignorance about the foreign cultures that are exploited in order to support our lifestyle, an apathetic comfort with imperialism, a sense of entitlement to anything and everything around the world, a desire for power and a lack of responsibility, always viewing ones self as heroic, material indulgence, insensitivity to people of other nations and cultures, Hollywood, and probably a lot of other things. I can’t really blame American-ness on any one person, or even on Americans themselves. Like whiteness, it is something that us Americans are taught to not see, or question, or destroy. After all, how could (and why would) such powerful society breed self-destruction?
So why am I so critical of the U.S. if this American-ness is not even an innate quality of ours? One: because I like to analyze society - if it’s all a social construction than it can be changed, right? Two: I believe that whenever there is a social power imbalance, the group with the most power should be criticized in order to resist the forces of a destructive hegemony. Three: because I am American, and believe that I have the responsibility to be self-critical.
As noted in my previous post, I slept all day today. Now I can’t fall asleep. So I decided to go to one of my favorite news sources, Frontline on PBS.org. I could watch Frontline documentaries all day, for they are truly fascinating. This time, I clicked on a short video clip about illegal immigrant workers from Guatemala. My internet connection was slow, so I read through the comments before watching the short clip. And there it was. American-ness. To be fair, some people made constructive points. But the, “If you don’t have money, don’t have kids” comment was pretty insulting. I think that fits into, “insensitivity to people of other nations and cultures.”
But then again, what do I know? Seriously. I come from a set of prejudices, and so does he. Why should I get to say who's being "insensitive"?
Here’s the clip: http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/story/2009/08/that-summer-barbecue.html
To relate all of this to my current country of residence (and my other nationality), Chile “nuanced criticism” of Colombia’s decision to host U.S. army bases. There we go again, exercising our sense of entitlement and imperialism around the world. Though Chile was not as critical as Venezuela or Bolivia, I appreciate the slap on the hand.
The article: http://www.theepochtimes.com/n2/content/view/20783/
So why am I so critical of the U.S. if this American-ness is not even an innate quality of ours? One: because I like to analyze society - if it’s all a social construction than it can be changed, right? Two: I believe that whenever there is a social power imbalance, the group with the most power should be criticized in order to resist the forces of a destructive hegemony. Three: because I am American, and believe that I have the responsibility to be self-critical.
As noted in my previous post, I slept all day today. Now I can’t fall asleep. So I decided to go to one of my favorite news sources, Frontline on PBS.org. I could watch Frontline documentaries all day, for they are truly fascinating. This time, I clicked on a short video clip about illegal immigrant workers from Guatemala. My internet connection was slow, so I read through the comments before watching the short clip. And there it was. American-ness. To be fair, some people made constructive points. But the, “If you don’t have money, don’t have kids” comment was pretty insulting. I think that fits into, “insensitivity to people of other nations and cultures.”
But then again, what do I know? Seriously. I come from a set of prejudices, and so does he. Why should I get to say who's being "insensitive"?
Here’s the clip: http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/story/2009/08/that-summer-barbecue.html
To relate all of this to my current country of residence (and my other nationality), Chile “nuanced criticism” of Colombia’s decision to host U.S. army bases. There we go again, exercising our sense of entitlement and imperialism around the world. Though Chile was not as critical as Venezuela or Bolivia, I appreciate the slap on the hand.
The article: http://www.theepochtimes.com/n2/content/view/20783/
Friday, August 14, 2009
Being Sick Isn't So Bad
Despite having no academic work (or any work at all) since leaving Tufts in early May, I feel as though I’ve been going non-stop all summer. Two weeks after school ended, I packed a small suitcase and flew to Basel, Switzerland, where I would begin a semi-independent trip through Europe. I saw five countries in five weeks. Thankfully, I had the comfort of staying with my godmother and my parents’ friends for most of the trip. However, I always had the excited discomfort (is that some kind of anxiety?) of not knowing where I was, of not knowing the language, of not feeling integrated in the culture, and of not really traveling with any friends, aside from the five days that I crossed paths with Lily. On the other hand, Western European cultures are not that difficult to adapt to, especially since they are equally – if not more – luxurious than American culture. In addition, so many people speak English that any important transactions can be done fairly smoothly. Ten days after arriving in the United States, I packed three seasons worth of clothes, and flew to Chile. I can’t say I’m not living the good life. Still, the luxury of so much travel can be a bit tiring. Tiring in a good way - but tiring. Or, perhaps, what I mean to say is that I’ve been kept on my toes this summer.
The sore throat and runny nose that crept up on me two days ago hasn’t gotten my spirits down as sickness often does. In fact, it has taken me off my toes, forcing me to slow down, and let go of feeling unsettled in my environment. It didn’t start off too well. Sitting through my Historia Social de América Latina was a little miserable. Nasal congestion and sore throats make it difficult to listen to lectures and take notes in ones non-dominant language. Later, In my ceramics class, my friend (Yes!! I have a Chilean friend! Her name is Mariluz. She’s friends with all of the gringos. She even invited us to her birthday party!!) suggested that I take “Tapsin,” which, I assume, is similar to NyQuil. When I got home, I told my host mom, Alejandra, that I wasn’t feeling so hot. She checked if I had a fever. No fever. She asked if I was going to take any medicine. Yes - Tapsin! She then immediately refilled my hot water bottle (called a Guatero, a.k.a my personal heater and best friend), and told me to get some rest. Later, she brought my dinner to my room so that I wouldn’t have to get out of bed to eat. And she’s been attending me ever since. I don’t think I’ve ever spent so much time in bed. I’ve had all three meals (plus once) in my room. I watched some Chilean television, I tried doing some reading for class, I talked to my real mom, and I sent some emails. Most importantly, I slept. Plus, I’m getting better.
The sore throat and runny nose that crept up on me two days ago hasn’t gotten my spirits down as sickness often does. In fact, it has taken me off my toes, forcing me to slow down, and let go of feeling unsettled in my environment. It didn’t start off too well. Sitting through my Historia Social de América Latina was a little miserable. Nasal congestion and sore throats make it difficult to listen to lectures and take notes in ones non-dominant language. Later, In my ceramics class, my friend (Yes!! I have a Chilean friend! Her name is Mariluz. She’s friends with all of the gringos. She even invited us to her birthday party!!) suggested that I take “Tapsin,” which, I assume, is similar to NyQuil. When I got home, I told my host mom, Alejandra, that I wasn’t feeling so hot. She checked if I had a fever. No fever. She asked if I was going to take any medicine. Yes - Tapsin! She then immediately refilled my hot water bottle (called a Guatero, a.k.a my personal heater and best friend), and told me to get some rest. Later, she brought my dinner to my room so that I wouldn’t have to get out of bed to eat. And she’s been attending me ever since. I don’t think I’ve ever spent so much time in bed. I’ve had all three meals (plus once) in my room. I watched some Chilean television, I tried doing some reading for class, I talked to my real mom, and I sent some emails. Most importantly, I slept. Plus, I’m getting better.
Monday, August 10, 2009
As Promised
Pictures!!
Last weekend we went on a day trip to Pomaire, a small town known for its hand made pottery. We got to see the whole pottery-making process, and we later had the opportunity to use the pottery wheel. The potter who did the demonstration made it look all look so easy...
We began with a delicious breakfast. Later, we walked to the Potter's house.
The earth ditch where the clay comes from.
Potter puts clay in the earth-pounding-clay-making machine.
Kneading the clay.
The potter at the wheel.
Pot!!
And then we all got a turn to make a pot. With the help of the professional potter, we made some pretty mediocre -as opposed to terrible- pieces.
Last weekend we went on a day trip to Pomaire, a small town known for its hand made pottery. We got to see the whole pottery-making process, and we later had the opportunity to use the pottery wheel. The potter who did the demonstration made it look all look so easy...
We began with a delicious breakfast. Later, we walked to the Potter's house.
The earth ditch where the clay comes from.
Potter puts clay in the earth-pounding-clay-making machine.
Kneading the clay.
The potter at the wheel.
Pot!!
And then we all got a turn to make a pot. With the help of the professional potter, we made some pretty mediocre -as opposed to terrible- pieces.
A Day in the Life
This is what my walk to the train looks like. It's truly amazing use the Andes as geographic orientation in the city. In New York, I use the Empire State Building to orient myself, which isn't exactly on the North/South axis, but it's close enough. Here, however, the mountains are a huge topographical marker that stretch across the continent. It's an epic view. When I look towards the mountains, I am reminded that on the other side is Argentina, that my ancestors may have gazed at this same body of land, and that nature - something so terrifyingly beautiful - must be respected.
Where else does one see palm trees, bare trees, snow-capped mountains, and highways in one setting?
A Day in the Life...(woke up, got out of bed, dragged a comb across my head...)
Note: The following is not really what most days here are like. I just felt like writing. It's in question and answer style, which is appropriate because most of this dialogue actually occurred in my head.
9:45am: Why is it freezing? Because there is no central heating in this city.
10:00am: Why am I still in the shower? Because it is the first time it has been this hot for this long in days.
11:30am: Why am I still at home studying my astrological chart when I meant to leave two hours ago? Because the only thing I really have to do today is buy school supplies and pick up my stipend from the Tufts office. Relax.
12:00pm: Is Home Center the Latin American version of Home Depot? I'm going to say, yes.
12:10pm: Is my Spanish advanced enough to find the materials for my ceramics class in this Home Depot look alike? No. Must find help.
12:20pm: Why is this Home Center worker asking for my phone number? Because he has no Chilean friends that are his age. Great, that makes two of us.
1:00 pm: How much do I enjoy going to the Tufts office and finding people from the program sitting around eating lunch? A lot. Meera, Tilly, Katrina and I had a nice chat about thesis writing.
3:15 pm: Why don't I get to go to Spanish class and socialize with the rest of the Tufts in Chile group? Because the teacher said it would be a waste of my time. Instead I should take three classes at UChile that are going to take up tons of my time.
3:30pm: Am I going to survive Sociology of Economics, the class with a 7 page syllabus, in SPANISH? Hopefully.
4:00pm: Why does Chile not have normal sized papayas that I can replicate for my ceramics project? Perhaps because Santiago is too far south to have plump and delicious fruit (not that I think papaya is delicious - yuck).
4:05pm: Why did that girl look at me like I forced her to trip over my bags? I still don't know.
4:07pm: Why do old ladies think it's okay to weigh their banana(or "platano" as they call it in Chile) ahead of you when you were obviously waiting there for the man to weigh your mini papayas? Okay, maybe she was waiting too, and I just didn't see her...
4:18pm: How did you manage to say your phone number incorrectly and put 5000 pesos on SOMEONE ELSE'S phone? Because you clearly don't know the difference between the numbers 44 and 45 in Spanish. See, I do need that Spanish class.
4:25pm: Why didn't I ask Carmen Gloria about picking up my Chilean ID card at the Registro Civil when I was in the Tufts office? Forgetfulness. Typical.
4:40pm: Why have I been sweating profusely for the last four hours? Because it's about 21 degrees centigrade, and I'm wearing a NorthFace coat. Plus social anxiety doesn't help.
4:45pm: These directions are not difficult, so why can't I find the Registro Civil? Because there's a sauna inside my coat, my feet hurt, these school supplies and groceries are getting heavy, oh and I'm in a foreign city.
4:50pm: Why didn't Carmen Gloria tell me that the Registro Civil would be CLOSED? Murphy. Or she thought that I knew that it wouldn't be open after 14:00 hours. Blast.
5:00pm: Should I sit and rest in this unpopulated area under the bridge? No - must avoid robbery, especially after picking up weekly stipend. Must keep walking.
5:15pm: When did I leave this 1000 pesos in my pocket? Don't know, but I'll give it to this homeless woman begging by the metro station.
5:20pm: How badly do I have to pee, and how much do I regret buying a huge bottle of water that would weigh my arms and my bladder down this much? Have to pee very badly. Resent the water even though it kept me from eating fried street food and sugary snacks.
5:40pm: Why do groups of 8 year-old-boys look at me like I'm the Ice Cream truck, and yell at me from their soccer bus windows? Maybe because I look like a 10-year-old girl? Probably not.
5:42pm: Why do 40 year old men look at me like I owe them some kind of sexual favor, or stare at me like I'll do a dance/turn into a wild animal/give them magical powers if they look at me for long enough? Maybe because I often feel like a 40-year-old woman? Probably not.
5:47pm: Will coming home to once (once, is like tea time at 6:00pm. It's meant to be a snack between lunch and dinner), and my host mom watching Chilean talk shows about teen relationships make my day? Yes.
7:49pm: After writing this entry, does this day seem as cruddy as it felt? No.
Where else does one see palm trees, bare trees, snow-capped mountains, and highways in one setting?
A Day in the Life...(woke up, got out of bed, dragged a comb across my head...)
Note: The following is not really what most days here are like. I just felt like writing. It's in question and answer style, which is appropriate because most of this dialogue actually occurred in my head.
9:45am: Why is it freezing? Because there is no central heating in this city.
10:00am: Why am I still in the shower? Because it is the first time it has been this hot for this long in days.
11:30am: Why am I still at home studying my astrological chart when I meant to leave two hours ago? Because the only thing I really have to do today is buy school supplies and pick up my stipend from the Tufts office. Relax.
12:00pm: Is Home Center the Latin American version of Home Depot? I'm going to say, yes.
12:10pm: Is my Spanish advanced enough to find the materials for my ceramics class in this Home Depot look alike? No. Must find help.
12:20pm: Why is this Home Center worker asking for my phone number? Because he has no Chilean friends that are his age. Great, that makes two of us.
1:00 pm: How much do I enjoy going to the Tufts office and finding people from the program sitting around eating lunch? A lot. Meera, Tilly, Katrina and I had a nice chat about thesis writing.
3:15 pm: Why don't I get to go to Spanish class and socialize with the rest of the Tufts in Chile group? Because the teacher said it would be a waste of my time. Instead I should take three classes at UChile that are going to take up tons of my time.
3:30pm: Am I going to survive Sociology of Economics, the class with a 7 page syllabus, in SPANISH? Hopefully.
4:00pm: Why does Chile not have normal sized papayas that I can replicate for my ceramics project? Perhaps because Santiago is too far south to have plump and delicious fruit (not that I think papaya is delicious - yuck).
4:05pm: Why did that girl look at me like I forced her to trip over my bags? I still don't know.
4:07pm: Why do old ladies think it's okay to weigh their banana(or "platano" as they call it in Chile) ahead of you when you were obviously waiting there for the man to weigh your mini papayas? Okay, maybe she was waiting too, and I just didn't see her...
4:18pm: How did you manage to say your phone number incorrectly and put 5000 pesos on SOMEONE ELSE'S phone? Because you clearly don't know the difference between the numbers 44 and 45 in Spanish. See, I do need that Spanish class.
4:25pm: Why didn't I ask Carmen Gloria about picking up my Chilean ID card at the Registro Civil when I was in the Tufts office? Forgetfulness. Typical.
4:40pm: Why have I been sweating profusely for the last four hours? Because it's about 21 degrees centigrade, and I'm wearing a NorthFace coat. Plus social anxiety doesn't help.
4:45pm: These directions are not difficult, so why can't I find the Registro Civil? Because there's a sauna inside my coat, my feet hurt, these school supplies and groceries are getting heavy, oh and I'm in a foreign city.
4:50pm: Why didn't Carmen Gloria tell me that the Registro Civil would be CLOSED? Murphy. Or she thought that I knew that it wouldn't be open after 14:00 hours. Blast.
5:00pm: Should I sit and rest in this unpopulated area under the bridge? No - must avoid robbery, especially after picking up weekly stipend. Must keep walking.
5:15pm: When did I leave this 1000 pesos in my pocket? Don't know, but I'll give it to this homeless woman begging by the metro station.
5:20pm: How badly do I have to pee, and how much do I regret buying a huge bottle of water that would weigh my arms and my bladder down this much? Have to pee very badly. Resent the water even though it kept me from eating fried street food and sugary snacks.
5:40pm: Why do groups of 8 year-old-boys look at me like I'm the Ice Cream truck, and yell at me from their soccer bus windows? Maybe because I look like a 10-year-old girl? Probably not.
5:42pm: Why do 40 year old men look at me like I owe them some kind of sexual favor, or stare at me like I'll do a dance/turn into a wild animal/give them magical powers if they look at me for long enough? Maybe because I often feel like a 40-year-old woman? Probably not.
5:47pm: Will coming home to once (once, is like tea time at 6:00pm. It's meant to be a snack between lunch and dinner), and my host mom watching Chilean talk shows about teen relationships make my day? Yes.
7:49pm: After writing this entry, does this day seem as cruddy as it felt? No.
Yum Yum
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Fried
Yesterday, as I trotted from La Historia de la Expansión Europea en Latino América to Cerámica, I was quite deceived by a snack along the way...
You see, had eaten lunch at around noon, and entered Historia de la Exponsión Europea en Latino América at 2:30. This class, or "ramo" as they call them here in Chile, was filled with about 30 first year history students. The class felt a bit like the public high school, or the "standard" American high school that I never went to. And I mean that in an uncertain, as opposed to a condescending, manner (I was told by one of my fellow Tufts students that her host family called la Universidad de Chile a "ghetto public school" as an insult. Oh, how I love the bourgeoisie. But that's a different conversation). Anyway, I got a real high school vibe that I never really felt growing up. Students giggled with their groups of friends, the professor had to ask the everyone to stop talking several times, a few students were reprimanded for having cell phones, two girls left the class holding hands and looking very concerned. They never came back. Surprisingly, the classroom dynamics were a lot more interesting than the class itself.
But back to the story. When this class ended, I had to run to ceramics, where I would be for the next two hours. By this time, however, it was about 4pm, and my small lunch was not holding me up too well. So, on the way to "la facultad de artes" I stopped at one of the food/snack vendors on campus. In front of me was a plate of "berliners" - fist-sized balls of bread with a slice down the middle that were filled with "manjar" (manjar is a light brown, creamy paste made of cooked milk and sugar). They were 250 pesos each (1 dollar = about 500 pesos), so I bought one to scarf down as I walked to my next class. As I bit down into my nutritious ball of dough, I realized that not only was this a chunk of bread stuffed with milk and sugar, but it was a fried chunk of bread stuffed with milk and sugar. Fantastic. So much for trying to stay healthy. It was like eating three deep fried doughnuts and seven tablespoons of warm caramel. It was delicious. Still, I thought I might have a heart attack from running to class and eating this thing at the same time. Needless to say, the berliner held me over until dinner and beyond. I think it's still sitting in my stomach, which is why I wrote this post.
You see, had eaten lunch at around noon, and entered Historia de la Exponsión Europea en Latino América at 2:30. This class, or "ramo" as they call them here in Chile, was filled with about 30 first year history students. The class felt a bit like the public high school, or the "standard" American high school that I never went to. And I mean that in an uncertain, as opposed to a condescending, manner (I was told by one of my fellow Tufts students that her host family called la Universidad de Chile a "ghetto public school" as an insult. Oh, how I love the bourgeoisie. But that's a different conversation). Anyway, I got a real high school vibe that I never really felt growing up. Students giggled with their groups of friends, the professor had to ask the everyone to stop talking several times, a few students were reprimanded for having cell phones, two girls left the class holding hands and looking very concerned. They never came back. Surprisingly, the classroom dynamics were a lot more interesting than the class itself.
But back to the story. When this class ended, I had to run to ceramics, where I would be for the next two hours. By this time, however, it was about 4pm, and my small lunch was not holding me up too well. So, on the way to "la facultad de artes" I stopped at one of the food/snack vendors on campus. In front of me was a plate of "berliners" - fist-sized balls of bread with a slice down the middle that were filled with "manjar" (manjar is a light brown, creamy paste made of cooked milk and sugar). They were 250 pesos each (1 dollar = about 500 pesos), so I bought one to scarf down as I walked to my next class. As I bit down into my nutritious ball of dough, I realized that not only was this a chunk of bread stuffed with milk and sugar, but it was a fried chunk of bread stuffed with milk and sugar. Fantastic. So much for trying to stay healthy. It was like eating three deep fried doughnuts and seven tablespoons of warm caramel. It was delicious. Still, I thought I might have a heart attack from running to class and eating this thing at the same time. Needless to say, the berliner held me over until dinner and beyond. I think it's still sitting in my stomach, which is why I wrote this post.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Pieces
Oh boy. I’m finding it difficult to sum up this week. Each time I begin to describe it, I then begin to contradict myself. It was the first week of classes, the first week in my new home, and the first week that I was responsible for getting places on my own. It was exciting, yet uneventful and relaxed. It was slightly stressful, yet not at all difficult. It was a new culture, yet my feelings of uneasiness and intrigue were quite familiar. The only consistency was that my mind, as usual, was filled with ideas, criticisms, comparisons, and general thoughts on my experiences.
On Classes:
I went to five classes this week. I am only going to take three classes (plus an internship teaching English), but it is “shopping period” where students go to several classes before making a final decision. Of the three sociology classes I went to, only one – Sociology of Gender – was interesting enough to face the challenge of a high level seminar in Spanish. After class, I spoke with some of the students who had been in class with me. They expressed mild interest in the North Americans, but were very generous when I needed help finding the “fotocopiadora” where everyone copies their course materials (copyright laws here are pretty lax). Later that week, I went to The Social History of Latin America, which is known to be a class for “gringos.” Unfortunately, it was cancelled. Finally, my ceramics class was hands on, and quite enjoyable. I spent most of the time making clay with four other American students from California. This was not helping me make any Chilean friends, so I went around chatted with some of the art students whose projects were quite impressive.
On Campus:
The Universidad de Chile is a large university that has several campuses all over Santiago. Fortunately, I am taking all of my classes at one campus, which houses the departments of social sciences, visual arts, humanities, journalism, and philosophy. This campus looks like a mix between a public high school, the east village, and Wesleyan University. The students, who mostly still live at home, pack their lunches or eat at the various cafeterias on campus. They sit in their groups of four to 12, converse, eat, drink and study. I felt like the new kid in 12th grade as I walked through the campus sans amigos. Although I have never been the new kid, the feeling of apprehension and a need to fit in and make friends was familiar, perhaps, just from years of being in the social world. Anyway, most of the students rock a trendy/indigenous/rasta/punk look. And the political graffiti on all the buildings adds an appropriate sense of protest to the whole atmosphere. I am comforted by the normality of the mood of resistance, as it is in line with my own politics.
On Homelife:
Things are going well at home. My host mom, Alejandra, is still cooking great meals, and giving me hot water bottles to keep my feet, warm at night. She’s also given me some pointers about surviving in Santiago: make sure that taxi drivers don’t over charge you, and don’t tip them; only use your cell phone in stores, so you don’t get robbed; don’t carry too much money; make Chilean friends so you can have fun Chilean style.
I’ll try to put up some pictures soon. I’m a little sick of the semi-exploitative-touristy-picture thing I’ve been doing all summer, but what are Americans for anyway?
Fun Activity:
Today, two of my Tufts friends and I did some Bikram Yoga, aka Fire Yoga. It was HOT. The room was heated to about 40 degrees centigrade, which was a nice change from the 13 degrees I've been feeling all day. Lots of profuse sweating in the class, but it felt really good.
On Classes:
I went to five classes this week. I am only going to take three classes (plus an internship teaching English), but it is “shopping period” where students go to several classes before making a final decision. Of the three sociology classes I went to, only one – Sociology of Gender – was interesting enough to face the challenge of a high level seminar in Spanish. After class, I spoke with some of the students who had been in class with me. They expressed mild interest in the North Americans, but were very generous when I needed help finding the “fotocopiadora” where everyone copies their course materials (copyright laws here are pretty lax). Later that week, I went to The Social History of Latin America, which is known to be a class for “gringos.” Unfortunately, it was cancelled. Finally, my ceramics class was hands on, and quite enjoyable. I spent most of the time making clay with four other American students from California. This was not helping me make any Chilean friends, so I went around chatted with some of the art students whose projects were quite impressive.
On Campus:
The Universidad de Chile is a large university that has several campuses all over Santiago. Fortunately, I am taking all of my classes at one campus, which houses the departments of social sciences, visual arts, humanities, journalism, and philosophy. This campus looks like a mix between a public high school, the east village, and Wesleyan University. The students, who mostly still live at home, pack their lunches or eat at the various cafeterias on campus. They sit in their groups of four to 12, converse, eat, drink and study. I felt like the new kid in 12th grade as I walked through the campus sans amigos. Although I have never been the new kid, the feeling of apprehension and a need to fit in and make friends was familiar, perhaps, just from years of being in the social world. Anyway, most of the students rock a trendy/indigenous/rasta/punk look. And the political graffiti on all the buildings adds an appropriate sense of protest to the whole atmosphere. I am comforted by the normality of the mood of resistance, as it is in line with my own politics.
On Homelife:
Things are going well at home. My host mom, Alejandra, is still cooking great meals, and giving me hot water bottles to keep my feet, warm at night. She’s also given me some pointers about surviving in Santiago: make sure that taxi drivers don’t over charge you, and don’t tip them; only use your cell phone in stores, so you don’t get robbed; don’t carry too much money; make Chilean friends so you can have fun Chilean style.
I’ll try to put up some pictures soon. I’m a little sick of the semi-exploitative-touristy-picture thing I’ve been doing all summer, but what are Americans for anyway?
Fun Activity:
Today, two of my Tufts friends and I did some Bikram Yoga, aka Fire Yoga. It was HOT. The room was heated to about 40 degrees centigrade, which was a nice change from the 13 degrees I've been feeling all day. Lots of profuse sweating in the class, but it felt really good.
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