New Things in Santiago de Chile

1. An entire section of the city where tall, blonde (I mean blonde in the Chilean sense, which means anyone whose hair is light brown or lighter) people congregate:
This area is the San Juaquin campus of the Catholic University of Chile. A large percentage of the students at San Juaquin come from private schools and live in the more affluent areas in the city. For the most part, the people in Santiago tend to be shorter (as compared with people in, say, New York City), have dark, nearly black hair, and look as if they are Mestizo; descendents both white Europeans and Mapuches. Tall blondes are not what one expects to see very often. In fact, many foreign, tall, blonde, blue or green eyed men and women who come to Santiago get a lot of attention because they are considered to be very beautiful. I could write an entire essay on why this is, and how it is a reflection of Latin America's subordination to the needs and cultural imperialism of the United States and Europe... but I won't. I will save my fervent criticism of the world's exploitative super powers for another occasion. I'll just let it be known that the tall, blondes hang out at the wealthy, prestigious, and very American looking (as far as clothing style and campus layout) Catholic University.

2. Women curling their eyelashes with a spoon:
Last week I saw at least five women doing their make-up on the subway. The shocking part was seeing about two of them use a small spoon to curl their eye lashes the way that one might curl a ribbon with a pair of scissors. I cringed as I stood just above one women put a spoon so close to her eyelid that I thought I might start tearing. She, on the other hand, didn't flinch or seem to be in any pain at all. Part of me became bothered at the thought of all the waxing, perming, shaving, coloring, covering, enhancing, plucking, and thinking that women (and men) go through to live up to socially amplified (biologically influenced) aesthetic standards. The other part of me was completely fascinated, and convinced that I should try this eyelash curling technique. Well, I tried it out the other day, and it didn't work out so well. I ended up pulling out some of my eyelashes (I have very few to spare), and realized that they are too short for curling anyway. So I'm sticking with the mascara.

3. A Bakery:
Most supermarkets and "delis" in Chile sell three types of white bread, which are basically made up of white flour and water. The bread is good because it's fresh - but other than that, it's pretty bland. Today, however, I took an alternate route home from the subway, and found a lovely little bakery. They carry several types of Italian bread, and even some varieties whose flour look like it might have at some point been a part of a whole grain. It's all very exciting, mostly because I'm discovering new things in my neighborhood.

4. Live music:
Last weekend I went to see a friend play at a jazz bar in the nightlife neighborhood, Bellavista. This was the first night out that I spent just enjoying some live music. Though I had the most unusual of encounters with two older American men and two older Venezuelan men, I had a great time. I sat at the bar and conversed with these lonely travelers, and enjoyed the funk jam session that was taking place on stage. I even knew the bar tender, and talked briefly with him.
It has been a long time since I've heard live music in that small jazz bar setting. It almost reminded me of the days when I'd go see my dad's gigs in the city. The bar tender would make me a Shirley Temple with extra maraschino cherries, and I'd talk to the band between sets. For a small child, the bar felt something like a special playland filled with sweets, instruments, lights, and smoke. Today, I see that it is the same playland where passion and vices meet.

Las Replicas

Approximately 20 minutes ago, as I sat on my bed shamelessly watching Youtube videos before calling it a night, I felt a strong jerk that shook my room. Another replica.
Since arriving in Santiago (about a week after the big 8.3 earthquake), I have felt about five small tremors and one big one. The first few tremors that I experienced did not worry me at all. As I've mentioned, they felt as though I was in an old NYC apartment as the subway passed by.
But after hearing story after story, of people being on the 12th floor and feeling the entire building rock from side to side while the still moon moves in and out of view; or having my professor come in to class saying he didn't sleep at all the night before because of the tremor that awoke him in the night (which then leads him to make constant humorous, relevant, and therapeutical references to earthquakes and his lecture); or being told by several people that another earthquake is bound to happen; or sitting in the Tufts office thinking of how terrifying it would be to experience an earthquake from the 16th floor.
When I first arrived, I was ignorant of all the worry that seismic cultures experience. The idea of another earthquake didn't scare me because it wasn't a fully constructed reality. But now, after speaking with so many nervous people, and living on the unpredictable joints of our planet's body, even my heart began to race when this short and forceful tremor rattled my room's windows.