In Chile, I do not say that I'm "American." Or rather, yes, of course I identify myself as being from the United States. I do, and proudly so. But the word I use to describe myself here is not the literal translation of "American" that exists in Spanish.
I think that to say I'm americana while I'm in Chile conflicts with the Latin American/South American concept of identity. In the U.S., we know that every inhabitant of the American continent is an "American." Objectively, we know this. But does it impact how we see the world, or how we live our lives? Judging from my experiences, not really. In South America, on the other hand, the concept that "we are Americans" - that we share a common identity that comes from living on the same continent, together - is an idea that actually lives and breathes. There is national pride - plenty of it - but there is also some sense of solidarity. So to say that I'm americana becomes inefficient - of course I'm American, but what country am I from within America?
And for me, using the word americana also begins to smack of arrogance. Even if it's only my intention to replicate how I'm used to self-identifying in the States, what right do I have to monopolize for myself a term that everybody else around me thinks is collective? And, of course, what I do individually can't help but resonate, can't help but situate itself in a wider context. Do I want to call to mind unpleasant memories (and very real realities) of foreign presumption, intervention, and monopolization? Do I want to be that foreigner, pretentious, proud and ignorant? I think not. And yes, I may be over-thinking this, or acting overly paranoid. But...
...the reality is that here in Chile, the formal and correct way to express that I am from the United States is to say "Soy estadounidense."
There's only one hang-up, really, and that's that estadounidense is a bit of a mouthful - for foreigners and native speakers alike. As such, the use of the word gringo is much more common. Gringo - or gringa, the feminine form - is a word used throughout Latin America, with varying connotations. In Chile, it's an informal, non-derogatory way of referring to people from the United States. It's efficient, casual, and widespread, and I have no problems being called a gringa, or using the word to describe myself or my American friends. (Although I've found that Chileans do find it funny when we adopt the term to refer to ourselves/use it among ourselves).
And of course, for me and my fellow gringos, it's more than just a word. Gringo sets the parameters of our identity; like the other extranjeros (foreigners) here, where we are from forms the essential label of who we are in Chilean society. It means that sometimes we make dumb mistakes, don't understand, and/or stick out like sore thumbs. Sometimes, it's all three at once :).
But I'd like to dig a little deeper on that last bit - about sticking out - because it brings up a part of my being gringa in Chile that's different, that other American friends of mine here do not experience. It has to do with physical appearance. In Chile, society is more or less homogenous, and there's a definite spectrum of "normal" physical characteristics. Some of my American friends can pass as Chilean (at least - and am not trying to rip on their speaking abilities, but it's the truth - before they start speaking Spanish they can). I, with my blonde hair, blue eyes, and very pale skin, do not fit into this spectrum. I can't blend in and I can't pass, no matter what clothes I buy or how I cut my hair. This has been a big deal for me, mainly because...
...first off, I'm not used to being in an environment where my physical appearance is non-majority or considered "not normal." And heck, even if I was used to it it'd still be tough. To study abroad - to immerse yourself in another culture - means to step outside your comfort zone and operate in a world where your human drive to belong, to blend in and "be normal," is constantly thwarted. It's a situation that stresses out your psyche, and the matter of how I look just compounds the issue.
Second, I live in a city of 6 million people. This means that just about every time I step onto the bus or a car in the metro, I am interacting with complete strangers that I have never met before and will in all likelihood never see again. People can't get to know me or get used to my habitual presence, because we're only going to spend about 10 minutes of our lives together. That endless process of first encounters, of having my appearance be a novelty, can get pretty tiring.
Third, staring at people is way more socially acceptable in Chile. If you're on a bus in the States and you make eye contact with a stranger, you have maybe half a second to look away before the other person starts to think you're seriously creepy. In fact, most people duck their heads immediately and pretend like they weren't even staring at you in the first place. In contrast: one day I was waiting to cross the street by my house here in Santiago, and when a car made a right turn in front of me an old man actually leaned out the passenger window to get a better look at me, maintaining eye contact the whole time. As an American, that kind of thing made (and can still make me) very uncomfortable.
So thanks to all the above stuff (plus taking into account my personality), it's taken me a pretty long time to come to the grips with the fact that here, in Chile, I will never be "normal." At first, I just noticed Chileans noticing me. Then I became self-conscious and felt like a freak, like everyone was staring at me all the time. Then I got a bit defiant, staring right back and almost daring people to call me out on how I looked. Nowadays, I cope a lot better and it's become more like water off a duck's back. I don't notice it as much, or I do notice but I decide it's not worth my time or energy to care. I make light of it. I try to embrace it. And jeez, the last thing I want is to give the impression that my life here is some sort of torture. It is most certainly not; in fact, there are several benefits that come with being me in Chile...
...starting with my name. While I adore the English language, it's a complete pain in the butt sometimes, and in the States there are several ways of writing and/or pronouncing the name "Tamara." Thus, most of the time I have to clarify how to pronounce or spell my name. It's Tamara, I've said in countless introductions. It rhymes with camera. However, Spanish is the sort of language where what you see is what you say. And Tamara just happens to be a fairly common female name in Chile! I'm very grateful that I can do things like order at Starbucks (which I've only done 2 or 3 times, to be fair) or be called on by a new teacher without having to repeat the correct pronunciation of my name or spell it out.
Another blessing of my situation is that I speak Spanish pretty well. I've studied it since middle school, and unlike a lot of my peers who slogged through Spanish class to fulfill their requirements, I liked what I was doing and tried my hardest to be good at it. I still love it, and Spanish is currently one of my majors. So while I'm far from perfect, I can communicate well. In fact, I've gotten many compliments on my speaking ability. And I don't have (what I call) the "gringo accent," so while people can usually tell that I'm foreign, they can't tell exactly where I'm from. Which is fun, especially because sometimes I make them guess and then they think I'm European :).
Third on the list is the fact that, while I've been blonde-haired and blue-eyed all my life, it's never been considered quite so special. I've gotten several compliments about my hair, even on days when I felt like a complete mess. I also get a lot more male attention in general - which can be good and bad, of course. My Aryan characteristics make me something of an "exotic beauty" here, which is definitely a new experience for me.
At the end of the day, Chileans will always be able to tell that I'm a foreigner, just from the way I look. At this point - about 5 months in - I've learned to cope with it. In fact, in some ways I'm grateful that it's a part of my experience here. It's something special, and it helps me relate to other foreigners - especially my Asiatic friends - who also stand out because of their appearance. There's only one thing I miss, really, and that's my ability to pass unnoticed, to be just another person on the street. My power of invisibilty, if you will. Which I will probably value all the more when I return to the U.S. :)
June 13, 2012
Apologies
My sincerest apologies for not having kept up with this blog. As my time in Chile is fast coming to a close (only little over a month left!) Í'll do my best to make up for lost time and post something - anything - new every few days.
Thanks for your understanding.
Thanks for your understanding.
March 6, 2012
Country Living
After having lived in Santiago with my new host family for a little over a week now, I can see more clearly than ever that - as several people warned me - the campo (country) and the ciudad (city) really are two different worlds. So before I delve into the habitat I'll call home in the coming months, I'd like to talk a bit about the country life I left behind.
In Rabones, all of us students in the pre-program (or gringos, as we've come to affectionately call ourselves) lived in a sort of retreat center in male/female dorms and took classes together. We learned about Chile, struggled to talk Spanish more often, went on trips, did activities, and generally got to know each other better. We had structured activities and mealtimes (a quick shout-out to Don Fernando and Doña Mariana, two amazing cooks) but classes were informal and our days were filled with conversation, games, and casual hanging-out. For me, it was sort of like going to summer camp again. Except going out to the "kickball pitch" at night to drink in the light of the moon - I definitely did not do that when I was ten :).
After ten days in Rabones, we packed up our stuff and rode the bus to San Dionisio to live with individual campesino host families. Not surprisingly, this provided a whole new set of challenges: comprehending the Spanish spoken to us and around us, making ourselves understood in return, and navigating our way through the (often unspoken) norms of Chilean culture. It was definitely a tough transition for me, for several reasons. First, it was legitimately scary to have all my supports of the first ten days taken away from me. Second, I'm a perfectionist and I understand Spanish pretty well, so it was difficult for me to accept that I was not going to understand everything my host family said to me (and definitely not everything they said to each other). Third, well...sometimes I have trouble adjusting to new things. As my mom told me over the phone that week (and I think she's right on this one), I've always been the type of person who likes to observe first, be cautious, feel things out, and then join in. That's just how I operate, so the first few days were difficult because I was taking in all this new information and trying to piece it together, trying to figure things out. For example, during the first days I was trying to figure out how I was going to occupy myself during the afternoons. In the morning us gringos went to class at the local elementary school, but we had every afternoon (and most evenings) free to "spend time with our families." My host mom and dad were farmers, and I learned quickly that, as it's harvest time in Chile right now, both of them spent most of the day out harvesting the various fruits and vegetables they grow. So, in an attempt to both be like a "normal" member of the family and be generally helpful, I suggested to my host mom that I could help her harvest raspberries in the afternoon. She laughed and said no, I should be going out, having fun and getting to know other young people. And I know she thought it was particularly comic, because I heard this story repeated several times to neighbors and relatives. At first, I felt discouraged. I wanted to be treated like a normal daughter of the household, not a special guest. But I couldn't change their expectations. And what is there to negotiate, really, when your relationship is only going to last ten days? Using the fake-it-'til-you-make-it strategy, I told myself that their attitude was actually generous. Soon enough, I saw that my attempt at positivity was, in fact, the truth. Not only was my family putting up with me, feeding me, housing me - they were giving me the freedom to be a young person. They were giving me a life free of responsibilities. So I let them treat me like a guest. I didn't wash dishes or do laundry. I tried to please my mom - I took a snack to school every day, and tried to eat everything she put in front of me (although I still got comments about "how little I ate"). I went out at night to spend time with gringos and chilenos and didn't return 'til the wee hours of the morning (another cultural note: Chileans party late). And you know what? As I accepted things, as I got comfortable and let go a little bit, I started having a lot more fun.
Other (less introspective) aspects of my country life in Chile:
- Lots of chickens. Everywhere.
- Walking to school - and everywhere else - via roads of dirt, dust, and stones.
- Walking underneath the power lines, which made noise and generally made us gringos nervous. Several chilenos said that if you walk underneath the power lines in winter, their energy creates a zone of warmth.
- Biking to school in a giant posse of gringos.
- Incredibly tasty and fresh food. In the mornings, my host mom could step outside the house for five minutes and collect enough raspberries to fill my entire water bottle (which is over 20 oz.) with fresh raspberry juice. And at least one of those aforementioned chickens went into making some delicious cazuela (stew).
-There's no light pollution out in the campo. Which means that I could see a plethora of stars and the Milky Way every night, with amazing clarity. On the other hand: no street lights. So I did a lot of walking home late with a few friends and a flashlight, trying not to walk past my house on accident.
- Being able to openly discuss drinking, partying, offensive Chilean words, and everything else with Juan Pablo and Ricardo (two of my pre-program professors). I'm going to miss them, and I'm going to miss being able to have that kind of relationship with my teachers.
- People in the country are closely connected to one another. Although my family was relatively small, it was common for relatives, friends, and neighbors to stop by for a meal or just to pass the time. Also, having such extended adopted "families" and such a small community meant that often times, if we were walking somewhere, passing pickup trucks would pull over to offer us rides. The driver would turn out to be somebody's uncle's cousin, and we could all pile into the back.
- Cultural exchange with Chileans. One of our gringo-chileno parties involved the mutual teaching of drinking games (although I didn't participate), and I had a great moment one night where, in response to a chileno's question, I explained that "puchyourhandzup" meant "put your hands up" which meant "manos arriba." Or the time that my host dad asked me if we had honey in the United States. It just reminds you that there's so much out there to learn about the way other people live!
And that, my friends, is a brief look at my time in the campo. It wasn't perfect (nothing is!), but it was an interesting, different and ultimately very rewarding adventure. I am deeply, deeply grateful that I had the opportunity to participate in the pre-program, and I am sure that, without it, my experience here in Chile would have meant much less. And I haven't made any promises (to anyone, including myself), but if I have the opportunity to do so I'd really like to visit San Dionisio again before I leave.
Oh, and did I mention that I also met a very nice Chilean boy in San Dionisio? That's my private life - so I'm not going to cover it in future posts - but it makes me happy to think about it, and I believe that happiness is meant to be shared ;).
In Rabones, all of us students in the pre-program (or gringos, as we've come to affectionately call ourselves) lived in a sort of retreat center in male/female dorms and took classes together. We learned about Chile, struggled to talk Spanish more often, went on trips, did activities, and generally got to know each other better. We had structured activities and mealtimes (a quick shout-out to Don Fernando and Doña Mariana, two amazing cooks) but classes were informal and our days were filled with conversation, games, and casual hanging-out. For me, it was sort of like going to summer camp again. Except going out to the "kickball pitch" at night to drink in the light of the moon - I definitely did not do that when I was ten :).
After ten days in Rabones, we packed up our stuff and rode the bus to San Dionisio to live with individual campesino host families. Not surprisingly, this provided a whole new set of challenges: comprehending the Spanish spoken to us and around us, making ourselves understood in return, and navigating our way through the (often unspoken) norms of Chilean culture. It was definitely a tough transition for me, for several reasons. First, it was legitimately scary to have all my supports of the first ten days taken away from me. Second, I'm a perfectionist and I understand Spanish pretty well, so it was difficult for me to accept that I was not going to understand everything my host family said to me (and definitely not everything they said to each other). Third, well...sometimes I have trouble adjusting to new things. As my mom told me over the phone that week (and I think she's right on this one), I've always been the type of person who likes to observe first, be cautious, feel things out, and then join in. That's just how I operate, so the first few days were difficult because I was taking in all this new information and trying to piece it together, trying to figure things out. For example, during the first days I was trying to figure out how I was going to occupy myself during the afternoons. In the morning us gringos went to class at the local elementary school, but we had every afternoon (and most evenings) free to "spend time with our families." My host mom and dad were farmers, and I learned quickly that, as it's harvest time in Chile right now, both of them spent most of the day out harvesting the various fruits and vegetables they grow. So, in an attempt to both be like a "normal" member of the family and be generally helpful, I suggested to my host mom that I could help her harvest raspberries in the afternoon. She laughed and said no, I should be going out, having fun and getting to know other young people. And I know she thought it was particularly comic, because I heard this story repeated several times to neighbors and relatives. At first, I felt discouraged. I wanted to be treated like a normal daughter of the household, not a special guest. But I couldn't change their expectations. And what is there to negotiate, really, when your relationship is only going to last ten days? Using the fake-it-'til-you-make-it strategy, I told myself that their attitude was actually generous. Soon enough, I saw that my attempt at positivity was, in fact, the truth. Not only was my family putting up with me, feeding me, housing me - they were giving me the freedom to be a young person. They were giving me a life free of responsibilities. So I let them treat me like a guest. I didn't wash dishes or do laundry. I tried to please my mom - I took a snack to school every day, and tried to eat everything she put in front of me (although I still got comments about "how little I ate"). I went out at night to spend time with gringos and chilenos and didn't return 'til the wee hours of the morning (another cultural note: Chileans party late). And you know what? As I accepted things, as I got comfortable and let go a little bit, I started having a lot more fun.
Other (less introspective) aspects of my country life in Chile:
- Lots of chickens. Everywhere.
- Walking to school - and everywhere else - via roads of dirt, dust, and stones.
- Walking underneath the power lines, which made noise and generally made us gringos nervous. Several chilenos said that if you walk underneath the power lines in winter, their energy creates a zone of warmth.
- Biking to school in a giant posse of gringos.
- Incredibly tasty and fresh food. In the mornings, my host mom could step outside the house for five minutes and collect enough raspberries to fill my entire water bottle (which is over 20 oz.) with fresh raspberry juice. And at least one of those aforementioned chickens went into making some delicious cazuela (stew).
-There's no light pollution out in the campo. Which means that I could see a plethora of stars and the Milky Way every night, with amazing clarity. On the other hand: no street lights. So I did a lot of walking home late with a few friends and a flashlight, trying not to walk past my house on accident.
- Being able to openly discuss drinking, partying, offensive Chilean words, and everything else with Juan Pablo and Ricardo (two of my pre-program professors). I'm going to miss them, and I'm going to miss being able to have that kind of relationship with my teachers.
- People in the country are closely connected to one another. Although my family was relatively small, it was common for relatives, friends, and neighbors to stop by for a meal or just to pass the time. Also, having such extended adopted "families" and such a small community meant that often times, if we were walking somewhere, passing pickup trucks would pull over to offer us rides. The driver would turn out to be somebody's uncle's cousin, and we could all pile into the back.
- Cultural exchange with Chileans. One of our gringo-chileno parties involved the mutual teaching of drinking games (although I didn't participate), and I had a great moment one night where, in response to a chileno's question, I explained that "puchyourhandzup" meant "put your hands up" which meant "manos arriba." Or the time that my host dad asked me if we had honey in the United States. It just reminds you that there's so much out there to learn about the way other people live!
And that, my friends, is a brief look at my time in the campo. It wasn't perfect (nothing is!), but it was an interesting, different and ultimately very rewarding adventure. I am deeply, deeply grateful that I had the opportunity to participate in the pre-program, and I am sure that, without it, my experience here in Chile would have meant much less. And I haven't made any promises (to anyone, including myself), but if I have the opportunity to do so I'd really like to visit San Dionisio again before I leave.
Oh, and did I mention that I also met a very nice Chilean boy in San Dionisio? That's my private life - so I'm not going to cover it in future posts - but it makes me happy to think about it, and I believe that happiness is meant to be shared ;).
February 17, 2012
First Impressions
Hola from Chile! It's been about ten days now, and this is my third day with internet access. From now on I should have daily access to the web, so I'll try to make my posts regular (and entertaining, of course).
Since I've started to dip my toes into the pool, so to speak, I'd like to share some of the first things I found noteworthy here:
1) Coming from grey, dreary O'Hare and an already-dark Atlanta, I was blown away by the vibrant colors of the landscape here. We had a four-hour drive south pretty much immediately after arriving, and despite my exhaustion (I am awful at sleeping on planes and the Atlanta-Santiago flight was no exception) I simply could not stop looking out the window. The sky was a deep, practically cloudless blue, the plants and grasses were brilliant greens, I could see wildflowers everywhere, and even the dirt seemed lovely with its varied shades of orange, yellow, and brown. I've become used to the colors by now, but it's a good reminder of the natural richness of the area. Right now I'm in the 7th Region of Maule, a rural, heavily agricultural zone that produces corn, beans, tomatoes, melons, raspberries, blackberries, peaches, apples, pears, grapes, and wine. Not surprisingly, fresh fruits and vegetables are available, cheap, and very delicious (but more on that later).
2) The dirt and dust. Here they call it tierra (dirt, earth) or polvo (dust), and it is everywhere. Given the Mediterranean climate - warm, dry summers - it's very easy for the soil to dry out and become dusty. And here in the campo (the countryside), where most of the roads are simple dirt and stones, dust is ever-present. It coats the trees and plants that live on the side of the road, because all the passing cars kick it up. And if you're walking on the side of the road and a car or truck passes you, it's best to turn away your head or cover your face unless you want an eyeful, mouthful, and/or lungful of dust. Despite my best efforts, I get dust all over my clothes and have to wash off my feet at least 2-3 times a day. When one of my fellow students talked about black boogers I didn't believe them...well, now let's just say that I do.
3) I know the topic's a little intimate, but going to the bathroom is such a basic human experience (like eating) that you can't avoid noting the cultural changes. In my first Chilean bathroom, which was in a gas station by the side of the highway, you were expected to supply your own toilet paper. I had read about this in guidebooks, but honestly I had completely forgot. Now I take a little bit with me in my purse everywhere. So for all future Chile travelers, be warned: it's a good idea to bring along a some TP, just in case the bathroom you're patronizing doesn't have any. I also can't avoid mentioning that, at least here in the campo, a person is expected to throw their used toilet paper in the trash so as not to strain the plumbing. It took me awhile to remember to do that, but now I think I'm fairly used to it. It just, you know, smells sometimes. But that's what air freshener is for, right?
Since I've started to dip my toes into the pool, so to speak, I'd like to share some of the first things I found noteworthy here:
1) Coming from grey, dreary O'Hare and an already-dark Atlanta, I was blown away by the vibrant colors of the landscape here. We had a four-hour drive south pretty much immediately after arriving, and despite my exhaustion (I am awful at sleeping on planes and the Atlanta-Santiago flight was no exception) I simply could not stop looking out the window. The sky was a deep, practically cloudless blue, the plants and grasses were brilliant greens, I could see wildflowers everywhere, and even the dirt seemed lovely with its varied shades of orange, yellow, and brown. I've become used to the colors by now, but it's a good reminder of the natural richness of the area. Right now I'm in the 7th Region of Maule, a rural, heavily agricultural zone that produces corn, beans, tomatoes, melons, raspberries, blackberries, peaches, apples, pears, grapes, and wine. Not surprisingly, fresh fruits and vegetables are available, cheap, and very delicious (but more on that later).
2) The dirt and dust. Here they call it tierra (dirt, earth) or polvo (dust), and it is everywhere. Given the Mediterranean climate - warm, dry summers - it's very easy for the soil to dry out and become dusty. And here in the campo (the countryside), where most of the roads are simple dirt and stones, dust is ever-present. It coats the trees and plants that live on the side of the road, because all the passing cars kick it up. And if you're walking on the side of the road and a car or truck passes you, it's best to turn away your head or cover your face unless you want an eyeful, mouthful, and/or lungful of dust. Despite my best efforts, I get dust all over my clothes and have to wash off my feet at least 2-3 times a day. When one of my fellow students talked about black boogers I didn't believe them...well, now let's just say that I do.
3) I know the topic's a little intimate, but going to the bathroom is such a basic human experience (like eating) that you can't avoid noting the cultural changes. In my first Chilean bathroom, which was in a gas station by the side of the highway, you were expected to supply your own toilet paper. I had read about this in guidebooks, but honestly I had completely forgot. Now I take a little bit with me in my purse everywhere. So for all future Chile travelers, be warned: it's a good idea to bring along a some TP, just in case the bathroom you're patronizing doesn't have any. I also can't avoid mentioning that, at least here in the campo, a person is expected to throw their used toilet paper in the trash so as not to strain the plumbing. It took me awhile to remember to do that, but now I think I'm fairly used to it. It just, you know, smells sometimes. But that's what air freshener is for, right?
February 3, 2012
Countdown
It's been building up for weeks, months. The anticipation, the excitement, the out-and-out terror...it's all about to come to a head, because tomorrow I board a plane that will take me to Chile.
Other than that, there's not much left to say at this point. Although I deeply appreciate everyone's kind well-wishing, I don't want to talk about it any more. I don't want to think or anticipate. I just want to go, and start replacing all my half-formed visions with glorious, concrete experiences. I'm ready to live the adventure that awaits.
Let's do this :)
Other than that, there's not much left to say at this point. Although I deeply appreciate everyone's kind well-wishing, I don't want to talk about it any more. I don't want to think or anticipate. I just want to go, and start replacing all my half-formed visions with glorious, concrete experiences. I'm ready to live the adventure that awaits.
Let's do this :)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)