Dear Reader,

It seems that it has been a while since my last post. Sorry.
Unfortunately, after spring break I was greeted with the task of completing a hefty paper for my Economic Sociology class so I spent most of last week whining about writing six pages in my non-dominant language. By the by, If anyone with a PhD in sociology is interested in clarifying some theories for me, it would be greatly appreciated. Anyhow, I am finally done with the paper, and in the process of getting my proverbial mierda together.

HIGHLIGHTS:
Two weeks ago was spring break down here in the Southern Hemisphere. Most of the Tufts in Chile group traveled up to Peru to see the famous Inca ruins as well as other quite lovely man made and natural attractions. Instead of going north, Aaron, Christy, Katrina, Frank, Ben and I headed east to Argentina. We made three stops. First in Mendoza, the city just over the Andes, known for Malbec wine. Appropriately, we rented some bikes and took a wine tour for our one day in Mendoza. The weather was perfect, and the wine, delicious.
That night, we took an overnight bus to Córdoba, a city north east of Mendoza in the middle of Argentina. In Córdoba, we spent the night at a gringo hostel (Ben and I both noticed that this hostel looked exactly like Prudence’s house from Across the Universe), enjoyed an outdoor barbeque with some backpacking Europeans, went to an art museum, and an artisan market – all in 1.5 days.
Another overnight bus later, we were in Buenos Aires (BA). Buenos Aires was a striking city. The arrogant New Yorker in me says that Buenos Aires is a “real” city as opposed to the large towns that some people like to call cities. We did lots of touring, so I didn’t spend much time absorbing the character of BA, but it felt good to be a part of the rhythm for a couple of days. I had the privilege of staying with my closest friend from Colombia in her cute BA apartment. I often refer to Carmen as my Colombian older sister, as I spent most of my yearly trips to Colombia with her. Despite seeing three Argentine cities, going salsa dancing, drinking great wine, and taking epic 17-hour bus rides, the best part of spring break was spending time with Carmen. Her accent, her presence, and her knowledge of my life experience in South America made me feel so at home.

Crossing the Andes:





Córdoba:


Buenos Aires:









After crossing the beautiful Andes, we arrived back home in Chile on the 18th, just in time for Chilean independence day.

As I made my way back home, I was reminded of the things I see everyday in Santiago. These are the things that I forget about when I travel – the tiny cultural differences that I quickly get accustomed to. Though I imagine I’ll notice more differences when I go back to New York, here are some of the little things that help define my daily life in Santiago:

1. Couples kissing. I see at least two of these per day.
2. Stray dogs. I’m pretty sure that Santiago has gained a serious reputation for stray dogs. I see at least three non-stray dogs per day because they live on my block. I see at least 5 stray dogs per day because they are actually everywhere. They are like the pigeons in New York City. But these dogs are way more interesting than pigeons. They are of all shapes, colors, breeds, and sizes. As my friend pointed out, they also act a lot like humans. They sleep on the street, curled up in little balls, or sprawled out as if they’re dead. I’ve also seen several male dogs try a little too hard to hump female (or male) dogs. It sometimes makes me uncomfortable. Especially when the victim clearly does not want to be humped, or when he/she is clearly sleeping – very human like.
3. People looking at me like I escaped from the circus. This was actually the first thing I noticed when I got back to Santiago.
4. Metro! The public transportation in Santiago works quite well. My only issues with it are that a) every stop looks exactly the same (what happens if you can’t read?!), b) there are TV’s at the stations and in the trains that show commercials (I’d rather not be bombarded with commercialism every minute of my life, thanks), c) it closes at 10:30pm, and d) there aren’t enough metro lines. But other than that, the system is great, and runs a lot more efficiently than the New York City subway.
5. Different pluming. This is common in several South American countries (and even in the US). You are not to put toilet paper in the toilet, or it will get clogged. It seems silly, but it really changes the whole going to the bathroom process when you’re putting toilet paper in a trash can instead of in the toilet.
6. Starch. Because of the peasant culture, lack of any influential immigrant culture (except maybe Peruvians), and American imperialism (or just the influence of the hot dog) most Chilean food is made up of meat and starch (and lots of avocado and mayonnaise). I wouldn’t call it bad, but I wouldn’t call it delicious either. Luckily, my Chilean mom is a good cook, so I’ve got some variety.

Until next time,
KT

P.S. Last weekend we took a field trip to the largest copper mine in the world: El Teniente. From the outside it looks like a giant mountain, but once inside, it's like a little mining city.

Outside the Mine:


Inside!:

Reasons to Shave My Head

Last weekend, I put my trust in my fellow human being. These things happen when you are not a part of the dominant culture…

About a year ago I decided to commit an act of symbolic violence (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Symbolic_violence) and chemically – and permanently -straighten my hair. I’d like to say that I did it for a change in my look, or to experiment with something new. However, I can’t ignore that I am exposed to - and conditioned by -the societal preferences for Eurocentric beauty. So despite my political beliefs, despite my closest friends and families’ political beliefs (and objections), and despite my knowledge of how unhealthy and dangerous hair relaxer is for the body, I decided to give in to The Man and do the white girl thing…as if I’m not “white” enough already.

So here I am now, in Santiago, where there are very few Afro-Americans, and very few people who look qualified to put such harsh chemicals on and around my scalp. Luckily, I brought the horrible and dangerous hair-straightening products with me to Chile, so the only challenge was finding someone who could help me fry the roots of my hair when they’d grown long enough (about every 6-8 weeks). I considered asking my host mother to help me out. She dyes her own hair, which is a similar process, but not quite as dangerous. I considered doing it myself, but I don’t trust myself to correctly apply relaxer, especially to the back of my head. Finally, I considered asking a random black woman on the street. And so I did.

A few weeks ago, as I walked through the Santiago streets, I saw a young black woman with long braided hair. I got up the courage to ask her who’d done her braids and if that person could relax her as well. She was very nice and gave me both her own number and the number of the woman who’d done her hair. She said that if her hairdresser, Cruz, couldn’t do it for me, that she would do her best to help me out. I was also quite excited when I found out that Mode is from the same city that my grandmother lives in back in Colombia.

That night, I called Cruz and made an appointment.

Last weekend, Cruz met me at the subway stop near her apartment and greeted me with a big hug and kiss. I could tell that she was Colombian by her warmth and her accent. When we arrived at her house, I met her children, and two friends who were also from Colombia. As Cruz combed my hair, I sat in her small living room with her and her family. Although they spoke a fast and vulgar Spanish that I never heard my mom speak, the Colombian accent made me feel at home. When I asked if they liked Chile, they told me that they appreciate Chile for the work and living opportunities, but that they much prefer their own country. I then began to remember the unbearable poverty that I only had to witness on my short trips to Colombia.
It was fascinating to see Chile from a black immigrant perspective, to see Colombia from a working poor perspective, to see the mystified look on their faces when I said I was from the US, and to see myself somewhere in the middle of all of these “identities,” unable to reconcile exactly why they separated us, and why they brought us together. And on top of all that, chemicals were burning through my hair and scalp. For a student of culture, the whole experience was a bit of beautiful chaos.
We continued the rest of the day talking about the great food is in Colombia, American music lyrics, Afro-Colombian and Peruvian immigrants in Chile, family, and more. Mostly, they talked among themselves as I tried to follow. By the end, I’d had lunch with Cruz and her daughters, and I had given Cruz’s daughter some of my hair products (though I cringed to see a little black girl get so excited about putting chemicals in her hair, I certainly understood her desire to “soften” her thick texture. I also had to wonder how her own psyche has been affected by Eurocentric ideals of beauty, for I don’t have the experience to make that judgment). I’d also been officially invited back whenever I wanted.
I think I’ll be back. If not to fry my hair, to be comforted by the loving voices of a people that I’ve never been enough a part of.

So Much Sand

So much happens in a week. The weather went from about 27 degrees centigrade to about 13 degrees centigrade...what?! Yes, it was quite deceiving. I can't wait for it to really warm up down here.

Some scattered news:

1. I started my internship! I am assistant teaching in 11th and 12th grade English classes at an all boys semi-private school. It's really a lot of fun. The boys are very cordial and generally well behaved. I mostly help them with pronunciation and grammar. Our interactions range from questions about their work, questions about America’s Next Top Model, singing American songs for their classes (I’ve heard ‘We Are the World’ about ten times today), and questions about my personal life.

2. Went to Valparaiso, a small port city about two hours away from Santiago. It was just a day trip for the Tufts program, but a few of us decided to stay over. We stayed in the most amazing hostel I’ve ever seen. It was basically a house with giant beds and acrobatics. My upper body still hurts from climbing that stretchy cloth thing. At night, the six of us went to a giant club called “Huevo.” Lots of floors, lots of Chileans, lots of dancing. It was a good time. The next day we took a short bus ride to the sand dunes, where we spent most of the time taking TONS of silly pictures.












3. Earlier last week (when it was warm) A cat crawled into my lap while I was writing in my journal. Supposedly there are two cats that hang out between by the science building (where I was sitting) and cuddle with/steal food from students. The cat that sat in my lap was the cuddle cat. The food-stealing cat came later, and literally meowed on my lap and in my face until I generously allowed it to drink some of my yogurt.

Cultural Differences: Kissing

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).

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...

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.

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.