More weird things chilean:
- Supermarkets. I´ve aleady commented on the fact that everything related to food is ridiculous in Chile, but it all still amazes me. There are SO many supermarkets in Osorno. And they are all HUGE with ridiculously big ugly signs. They have weird english names: Bigger, Lider, Jumbo. I have many times walked into a supermarket to get food but gotten overwhelmed by all the aisles and kiosks and people and abandoned ship. The worst part about it, is that the tremendous size does not amount to any sort of variety. There are large quantities of everything, but only in one brand and one flavor. Por ejemplo there will literally be HUNDREDS of cans of coffee, but only Nestea instant coffee because it is the only kind of coffee that chileans drink. There is nothing whole grain, tons of alcohol, but only sugary concentrated juices. Renato has promised me that somewhere there is real OJ, but I´ve searched everytime I´ve gone into a supermarket and found nothing.
- Terms of endearment. Every woman is Negrita (litte dark skinned one) according to her husband and having dark skin is not a prerequisite for such a nick name. Every husband is referred to as Viejo (old man), except for Javier whose wife pretty much excusively calls him Guatón (refers to his tummy). Strangers are called Huevón (somewhere between buddy, and asshole) or Flaco. If you are every mildly chubby, almost everyone will call you Gordito. Other women call me Niñita (little girl), Fea (ugly, but with love) or Gringita. Mamita is a term that I have been called many times by men drivng by when I run in the afternoon, the guy I met in Valdivia, but also by friendly older women. Confusing?
- Facebook. According to the national newspaper, proportionally, more chileans are connected to facebook than anywhere else in the world. Facebook membership in chile has expanded 2000% since last year. This explains why I already have tons of chilean friends on facebook and have already been tagged in a variety of pictures. Weird.
- Mañosa. I eat every dish my Tía cooks, even if it involves meat. I always clear my plate of every crumb. I have finally given in and come to every meal, and always tell her that everything I eat is absoultely delicious. Still, not a meal goes by where I am not referred to as la gringa mañosa. Mañosa means finicky, and is one of chileans´ favorite words. Samantha tells me that its meant with cariño (affection), but it still drives me crazy. Last night I ate and enjoyed a ton of asado de cerdo (pork grilled over a fire). I don´t think it will sway their opinions on my title of mañosa.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Thursday, February 12, 2009
¿Cortaste tu pelo?
Sooo it was time for a haircut. Every shower I battled with my curls to get out all the knots and was consequently going through about a pound of conditioner a week. As I was explaining to my host mother, everything activity is an adventure for me here. Showering, buying food, getting around, making friends, and every other activity necesary for daily life. It always involves more maneuvering than I originally expect, and of course a whole lot of translation. Well my haircut was no different. On a rather bland tuesday, I decided I was up for the adventure.
I started my investigation at lunch. I inquired how much I should pay for a haircut. They told me about 5 or 6 lucas (1 luca = 1,000 chilean pesos, 6 lucas = about ten dollars). This seemed expensive for Chile. Well, we only pay like $1500 pesos, explained my host mom. I was getting a little worn out of stuff like this. I had been explaining the price differences from Chile to the US, and my family had started to get the picture. I could buy whatever I wanted. Well, I have never been one to pay top price for a haircut, in whatever currency. I informed my family I was not interested in a fancy haircut, I just wanted it a little shorter. 1500 pesos would do me just fine. Perhaps, this was my first mistake.
After work I walked towards Calle Patricia Lynch, where I was informed there are a variety of peluquerias. The first one looked just as good as any other. It looked pretty sketchy (or in spanish, flighter) but that somehow didn´t deter me. I was assigned a cross-dressing hairdresser and I was so excited about it. I told him to just cut it a little so it was less messy, and to put in layers. Exactly the instructions I always give when I got to Choices. Dominic and I get along great. When I was modest about my spanish skills, he assured me that at least he could understand me. Thanks, buddy. We chatted about how ugly Osorno is, how homosexuality doesn't bother either of us, and how he really prefers straight hair to curly hair. Fifteen minutes later, I realized that my hair had gone through a drastic change. Its pretty much just curls all around my head, none of which fall more than an inch away from my scalp. Im pretty much always in a delicate emotional state here, and the whole affair threw me for a bit of a loop. It was quite a dramatic change, that I was not anticipating. In my state of panic, I bought a variety of hair supplies on my way home.
Now all I wanted, was for someone to tell me that I looked great. Unfortunately, my host family usually takes the making fun of my route, so I was no hopeful. Just as I expected, they thought the whole situation was hysterical. They now refer to me as a little boy and keep asking me jokingly if I cut my hair. The people in the office also found the whole thing funny, and reprimanded me for chosing such a sketchy location. But in general, they were more encouraging. Three days later, its growing on me. Danielle helped me realize some of the benefits of short hair (less shampoo and generally less maintenance, feeling really badass, attracting lots of bisexuals, etc) and of course it will grow back soon anyway. I´m still in the process of purchasing lots of new acessories that I never before found useful, since a ponytail is out of the question. Im still generally pretty surprised everytime I look in the mirror. I just hope my mother doesn´t kill me when she arrives on Tuesday. Im sure that Moriah will hate it, but then again they are both very critical of every one of my fashion decisions (not that this was a concious decision...), so it shouldn´t get to me too much. Pictures to follow...
I started my investigation at lunch. I inquired how much I should pay for a haircut. They told me about 5 or 6 lucas (1 luca = 1,000 chilean pesos, 6 lucas = about ten dollars). This seemed expensive for Chile. Well, we only pay like $1500 pesos, explained my host mom. I was getting a little worn out of stuff like this. I had been explaining the price differences from Chile to the US, and my family had started to get the picture. I could buy whatever I wanted. Well, I have never been one to pay top price for a haircut, in whatever currency. I informed my family I was not interested in a fancy haircut, I just wanted it a little shorter. 1500 pesos would do me just fine. Perhaps, this was my first mistake.
After work I walked towards Calle Patricia Lynch, where I was informed there are a variety of peluquerias. The first one looked just as good as any other. It looked pretty sketchy (or in spanish, flighter) but that somehow didn´t deter me. I was assigned a cross-dressing hairdresser and I was so excited about it. I told him to just cut it a little so it was less messy, and to put in layers. Exactly the instructions I always give when I got to Choices. Dominic and I get along great. When I was modest about my spanish skills, he assured me that at least he could understand me. Thanks, buddy. We chatted about how ugly Osorno is, how homosexuality doesn't bother either of us, and how he really prefers straight hair to curly hair. Fifteen minutes later, I realized that my hair had gone through a drastic change. Its pretty much just curls all around my head, none of which fall more than an inch away from my scalp. Im pretty much always in a delicate emotional state here, and the whole affair threw me for a bit of a loop. It was quite a dramatic change, that I was not anticipating. In my state of panic, I bought a variety of hair supplies on my way home.
Now all I wanted, was for someone to tell me that I looked great. Unfortunately, my host family usually takes the making fun of my route, so I was no hopeful. Just as I expected, they thought the whole situation was hysterical. They now refer to me as a little boy and keep asking me jokingly if I cut my hair. The people in the office also found the whole thing funny, and reprimanded me for chosing such a sketchy location. But in general, they were more encouraging. Three days later, its growing on me. Danielle helped me realize some of the benefits of short hair (less shampoo and generally less maintenance, feeling really badass, attracting lots of bisexuals, etc) and of course it will grow back soon anyway. I´m still in the process of purchasing lots of new acessories that I never before found useful, since a ponytail is out of the question. Im still generally pretty surprised everytime I look in the mirror. I just hope my mother doesn´t kill me when she arrives on Tuesday. Im sure that Moriah will hate it, but then again they are both very critical of every one of my fashion decisions (not that this was a concious decision...), so it shouldn´t get to me too much. Pictures to follow...
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
el alemán y su mapa
I haven`t written in a few days because I´ve been staring at my computer a lot at work this week, but that doesn`t mean I didn`t have a traveling weekend full of ridiculous stories. Anyway I´m actually at work now, but kind of pissed at the office so I´m going to start being productive after I write about my weekend.
After plans to go hiking with a friend fell through, I decided at the last minute to hop on a bus to Puerto Varas. Puerto Varas is the Lake George that I thought I was visiting when I went to Puerto Octay (the one with the empty hostel). Its on the same lake but on the other side, and LOADED with tourists. All I wanted to do this weekend was to do a little hiking. My plan was to arrive in Puerto Varas on saturday afternoon and find a hiking activity for Sunday. As predicted, there was an extensive tourist info center (they have on in every city in Chile) that was full of books of guided adventure tours. After a frustrating 45 minutes looking through books to find that no one was answering the phone, and all the tours were foolishly expensive, I decided to find my hostel. The hostel was the answer to all my prayers. It was cute and colorful and the woman at the desk talked to me in spanish even though I know she spoke english. Little did I know that it would also be the source of all of my entertainment for the weekend. After settling down in my colorful bed, I asked the woman at the desk for advice for a day of hiking. She informed me there was a German guy named Marcos who used to be a guide, and he would know exactly what to do.
She pointed me outside where there was a punkish looking guy (think Teddy Lyttle, circa 7th grade) dressed in all black with a bandana around his neck, drinking a beer. You used to be a guide? I asked. What? It was quite common for people to not understand me and my accent sometimes, so I continued on to the next question. Do you have any ideas of what I should do tomorrow? Sure, he told me. Canyoning. Canyoning is some silly outdoor adventure thing where you pay a company a lot of money and then you put on a wet suit and slide down waterfalls. OR something like that. I was not interested in this activity, but it seemed to be all he could offer. Instead of useful information, he offered me a beer and I obviously accepted. One beer and a half hour later, we were buddies. Him and his friends seem to have just graduated from college, and had bumming around Puerto Varas for over a month. He said I spoke spanish well, and I understood him without a problem (this always makes me like someone). After we finished out beers, he invited me to spend the afternoon with his friends.
Hey, do you want to hang out with us for the afternoon?
Uhhh what are you going to do?
SKATEBOARD.
Uhhh, I totally would, but unfortunately I didn´t bring mine.
Oh well we have extras.
Yeah but I don`t know how.
But we´ll teach you!
Uhh, I think I´m going to go lay on the beach.
Hahaha. I thanked him for the beer, and went to do some more research about where to find a nice walking trail. I found a map and some information on where to hike and spent the afternoon laying on the beach and bumming around town. I ran into my friend who had picked up some more skateboarding buddies. We picked up some supplies at the supermarket (more beer) and went back to the hostel. As I was hanging out and enjoying their company, I considered why I had been told that he was a german tour guide, when he seemed to be neither german, nor have any information about the area. As I was considering this, I heard my friend say that Marcos was on his way back to the hostel. Marcos? ¿Cómo te llamas tú? I asked him. Javier. Hahha. I lost myself in my typical bought of giggles and they all looked at my like I was insane. I explained the mix up and they joined me in my laughter. You can´t complain, he argued, I offered you a beer!
Later, a tall germanic look man named Marcos showed up, and was the answer to my dreams. He immidiately took control of my handy red notebook and drew me a serious of maps with options for trails to take (wonderfull reminiscint of a map a man from Alabama drew me to help me and Jacob and Seth find a castle in the golan heights-- informative, but not to scale). He gave me directions on how to get there, landmarks along the way, and time estimates for each section. The next morning I woke up bright and early and took the hour long bus ride to Petrohue upon his suggestion. This led me to another lake that was more isolated than the first, and surrounded by beautiful mountains and volcanoes. I spent the day walking a few trails between two volcanoes, and then wandering around the beautiful beach (where I took my first chilean butt picture with the self-timer on my camera, now don`t know how to explain it to my chilean friends when I show them my pictures). I felt like I was mostly all alone all day, but much to my surprise when I returned to Petrohue in the afternoon I found it also to be bustling with english-speaking tourists. I stopped on the way back at the Saltos of Petrohue which were overpriced and overrun with tourists, but very beautiful. Another very successful weekend....
After plans to go hiking with a friend fell through, I decided at the last minute to hop on a bus to Puerto Varas. Puerto Varas is the Lake George that I thought I was visiting when I went to Puerto Octay (the one with the empty hostel). Its on the same lake but on the other side, and LOADED with tourists. All I wanted to do this weekend was to do a little hiking. My plan was to arrive in Puerto Varas on saturday afternoon and find a hiking activity for Sunday. As predicted, there was an extensive tourist info center (they have on in every city in Chile) that was full of books of guided adventure tours. After a frustrating 45 minutes looking through books to find that no one was answering the phone, and all the tours were foolishly expensive, I decided to find my hostel. The hostel was the answer to all my prayers. It was cute and colorful and the woman at the desk talked to me in spanish even though I know she spoke english. Little did I know that it would also be the source of all of my entertainment for the weekend. After settling down in my colorful bed, I asked the woman at the desk for advice for a day of hiking. She informed me there was a German guy named Marcos who used to be a guide, and he would know exactly what to do.
She pointed me outside where there was a punkish looking guy (think Teddy Lyttle, circa 7th grade) dressed in all black with a bandana around his neck, drinking a beer. You used to be a guide? I asked. What? It was quite common for people to not understand me and my accent sometimes, so I continued on to the next question. Do you have any ideas of what I should do tomorrow? Sure, he told me. Canyoning. Canyoning is some silly outdoor adventure thing where you pay a company a lot of money and then you put on a wet suit and slide down waterfalls. OR something like that. I was not interested in this activity, but it seemed to be all he could offer. Instead of useful information, he offered me a beer and I obviously accepted. One beer and a half hour later, we were buddies. Him and his friends seem to have just graduated from college, and had bumming around Puerto Varas for over a month. He said I spoke spanish well, and I understood him without a problem (this always makes me like someone). After we finished out beers, he invited me to spend the afternoon with his friends.
Hey, do you want to hang out with us for the afternoon?
Uhhh what are you going to do?
SKATEBOARD.
Uhhh, I totally would, but unfortunately I didn´t bring mine.
Oh well we have extras.
Yeah but I don`t know how.
But we´ll teach you!
Uhh, I think I´m going to go lay on the beach.
Hahaha. I thanked him for the beer, and went to do some more research about where to find a nice walking trail. I found a map and some information on where to hike and spent the afternoon laying on the beach and bumming around town. I ran into my friend who had picked up some more skateboarding buddies. We picked up some supplies at the supermarket (more beer) and went back to the hostel. As I was hanging out and enjoying their company, I considered why I had been told that he was a german tour guide, when he seemed to be neither german, nor have any information about the area. As I was considering this, I heard my friend say that Marcos was on his way back to the hostel. Marcos? ¿Cómo te llamas tú? I asked him. Javier. Hahha. I lost myself in my typical bought of giggles and they all looked at my like I was insane. I explained the mix up and they joined me in my laughter. You can´t complain, he argued, I offered you a beer!
Later, a tall germanic look man named Marcos showed up, and was the answer to my dreams. He immidiately took control of my handy red notebook and drew me a serious of maps with options for trails to take (wonderfull reminiscint of a map a man from Alabama drew me to help me and Jacob and Seth find a castle in the golan heights-- informative, but not to scale). He gave me directions on how to get there, landmarks along the way, and time estimates for each section. The next morning I woke up bright and early and took the hour long bus ride to Petrohue upon his suggestion. This led me to another lake that was more isolated than the first, and surrounded by beautiful mountains and volcanoes. I spent the day walking a few trails between two volcanoes, and then wandering around the beautiful beach (where I took my first chilean butt picture with the self-timer on my camera, now don`t know how to explain it to my chilean friends when I show them my pictures). I felt like I was mostly all alone all day, but much to my surprise when I returned to Petrohue in the afternoon I found it also to be bustling with english-speaking tourists. I stopped on the way back at the Saltos of Petrohue which were overpriced and overrun with tourists, but very beautiful. Another very successful weekend....
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Un comentario sobre el machismo chileno
Ok so I´m not going to lie. I was terrified of Chilean machismo. Yes, partially because I am traveling all alone as a woman, but mostly because I was afraid it would just be too much of a shock to my system. I was afraid that angry feminist me was going to come to the surface. I read travel books galore that warned me to be careful, but promised that Chile wasn´t as machista as most of the other countries in Latin America. Still, I was frightened. I was coming from Wesleyan. Chileans probably wouldn`t take to well to an angry gringa. Well, it turns out to not be so terrible. Only occasionally does the angry feminist me come out.
First off, Chilean woman are pretty tough. The president of Chile is a woman, and she seems pretty tough. Supposedly the number of women that participate in economic activity outside the home is still pretty low, but I have a feeling that that is changing with the next generation. Women in general do better in school than men (surprise, surprise), and are entering the workforce in greater numbers. As I learned from the loca I met in Valdivia, the angry jealous thing can be a definite reality. And they love their control. My office is basically controled by a group of bossy women (there is a boss of every componente, and they all happen to be women). The director is also a woman and although I love her, she can only be described as a raging bitch. She is always bossing everyone around. Last week at lunch she nearly slapped out waiter because her salad wasn`t as big as mine, and because her empanadas de queso were cold.
Although the women in my office don`t mess around, they don`t stray much outside of their place as women. They hang out together, are all adorable and feminine, and never talk about sports. Last week when we moved all of our stuff to our new office, none of them lifted a finger. I made up for their lack of effort by insisting on lifting desks and chairs up and down flights of stairs. This was clearly an unexpected move, and I had to sustain a whole strain of "look at the Cereza" jokes, along with none of the men actually beleiving that I was capable of helping. Are you sure you´re okay? SÍ, I insisted, No soy niña.
As I´ve mentioned before, chilean men never hesitate to show a woman attention on the streets. Most days it doesn´t bother me, but from time to time the angry feminist me wants to knock a few heads together. The thing is that every man I´ve ever met has treated me with immense respect, and the cat-calls have never advanced to anything more. This might have to do with the threat of the tough women. The cat-calls make sense only because chile is oozing with sex in everyawy. Heterosexual sex, obviously. Homophobia is around I´m sure, but i haven´t run into any myself. Its more that homosexuality exists merely as a joke, a possibilty on television and in books, and not as a part of everyday reality. But anyway wherever you go, there are heterosexual couples. In the supermarket, in restaurants, and definitely making out in parks. One reason it sometimes feels strange to be alone is because everyone else is always holding hands. All the couples I have met seem to be desperately in love. Plus, abortion is illegal and there are tons of babies. So if you get pregnant, you´re stuck with motherhood. Its still social unacceptable to be a single mother, so you`re also stuck with a husband. I think its pretty unusual that most of the people in my office are in their upper 20s and older and don`t have children.
I have heard time and time again the joke that the woman who is the one that needs to take control of her husband. But thats the thing-- is it real, or is it a joke? I saw an apron yesterday that said: "¡Aqui mando yo! ¿Y qué hago ahora mi amor?" (translation: I´m in charge here! What do I do next, dear?). I´m assuming this was meant for a woman, and it kind of describes the tension that I´ve seen. Its sort of a facade of control, but the men still pull all the strings. For example, the señor of my household absolutely does not eat unless his wife serves him. This is partially due to his incapability to do anything at all, but thats another story. His daughter often makes jokes about bossing around her husband, but makes his lunch for him everyday and it seems to be a no-brainer that she stays home, while he goes to work.
Traveling as a woman has been continually surprising to everyone, but no one as given me any trouble. I have not been held back from anything I wanted to do, and I mostly don`t feel threatened. Chile is certainly not Wesleyan, but its not too bad. Still, there are definitely places that would make me angrier. Actually I felt perpetually more threatened traveling alone in Israel, especially in Arab neighborhoods where women are mostly confined to the home. In general the concern (if there is concern at all...) seems to be focused on gender equality, and not too much on challenging gender roles. This is clearly not too surprising. Anyway this is one month in, so these are just initial observations. After 3 months more, I should have a more complete picture.
First off, Chilean woman are pretty tough. The president of Chile is a woman, and she seems pretty tough. Supposedly the number of women that participate in economic activity outside the home is still pretty low, but I have a feeling that that is changing with the next generation. Women in general do better in school than men (surprise, surprise), and are entering the workforce in greater numbers. As I learned from the loca I met in Valdivia, the angry jealous thing can be a definite reality. And they love their control. My office is basically controled by a group of bossy women (there is a boss of every componente, and they all happen to be women). The director is also a woman and although I love her, she can only be described as a raging bitch. She is always bossing everyone around. Last week at lunch she nearly slapped out waiter because her salad wasn`t as big as mine, and because her empanadas de queso were cold.
Although the women in my office don`t mess around, they don`t stray much outside of their place as women. They hang out together, are all adorable and feminine, and never talk about sports. Last week when we moved all of our stuff to our new office, none of them lifted a finger. I made up for their lack of effort by insisting on lifting desks and chairs up and down flights of stairs. This was clearly an unexpected move, and I had to sustain a whole strain of "look at the Cereza" jokes, along with none of the men actually beleiving that I was capable of helping. Are you sure you´re okay? SÍ, I insisted, No soy niña.
As I´ve mentioned before, chilean men never hesitate to show a woman attention on the streets. Most days it doesn´t bother me, but from time to time the angry feminist me wants to knock a few heads together. The thing is that every man I´ve ever met has treated me with immense respect, and the cat-calls have never advanced to anything more. This might have to do with the threat of the tough women. The cat-calls make sense only because chile is oozing with sex in everyawy. Heterosexual sex, obviously. Homophobia is around I´m sure, but i haven´t run into any myself. Its more that homosexuality exists merely as a joke, a possibilty on television and in books, and not as a part of everyday reality. But anyway wherever you go, there are heterosexual couples. In the supermarket, in restaurants, and definitely making out in parks. One reason it sometimes feels strange to be alone is because everyone else is always holding hands. All the couples I have met seem to be desperately in love. Plus, abortion is illegal and there are tons of babies. So if you get pregnant, you´re stuck with motherhood. Its still social unacceptable to be a single mother, so you`re also stuck with a husband. I think its pretty unusual that most of the people in my office are in their upper 20s and older and don`t have children.
I have heard time and time again the joke that the woman who is the one that needs to take control of her husband. But thats the thing-- is it real, or is it a joke? I saw an apron yesterday that said: "¡Aqui mando yo! ¿Y qué hago ahora mi amor?" (translation: I´m in charge here! What do I do next, dear?). I´m assuming this was meant for a woman, and it kind of describes the tension that I´ve seen. Its sort of a facade of control, but the men still pull all the strings. For example, the señor of my household absolutely does not eat unless his wife serves him. This is partially due to his incapability to do anything at all, but thats another story. His daughter often makes jokes about bossing around her husband, but makes his lunch for him everyday and it seems to be a no-brainer that she stays home, while he goes to work.
Traveling as a woman has been continually surprising to everyone, but no one as given me any trouble. I have not been held back from anything I wanted to do, and I mostly don`t feel threatened. Chile is certainly not Wesleyan, but its not too bad. Still, there are definitely places that would make me angrier. Actually I felt perpetually more threatened traveling alone in Israel, especially in Arab neighborhoods where women are mostly confined to the home. In general the concern (if there is concern at all...) seems to be focused on gender equality, and not too much on challenging gender roles. This is clearly not too surprising. Anyway this is one month in, so these are just initial observations. After 3 months more, I should have a more complete picture.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Bien Acompañada en Valdivia
Before I was about to leave for my trip to Valdivia, a nearby city, I recieved the usual doubts from my family. You`re really going alone? Tía came to my rescue with a chilean dicho : Mejor andar sola que mal acompañada. Its better to travel alone, than with bad company. Exactly, I told your. Finally she was starting to understand. Well, it turns out I wasn`t much alone in Valvidiva. I decided to buy a ticket on the Reina Sofia, a boat that takes a six hour tour around the beautiful rivers of Valdiva, serving lunch, dinner, and stopping twice on a island and in a small town with a historic fort. I bought the cheaper tickets downstairs, and as the boat took off I was concerned that I might be in for a rather dull 6 hours. Was it really a good idea for me to come to Chile all alone?
Well I didn`t have too long to be worried because ten minutes into a voyage, a friendly young chilean came over and started talking to me. Even for friendly Chileans, he was absurdly friendly. But he wasn`t creepy and didn`t seem to be hitting on me, so I went with it. Within the first 15 mintues of conversation he took a picture of us together, invited me to sit upstairs with him and his friends, and invited me to hang out with them later that night. Hahah. I was a bit overwhelmed by his quick friendship, but I soon fell in love with him (in a friendly sort of way of course). In this initial conversation he also explained how he wanted to move to Spain where they were more open minded about things, like homosexuality. I explained that I, a Wesleyan student, was very comfortable with homosexuality. Oh, so I can show you my real self, he responded. I thought I had finally met my first openly gay chilean! How exciting! Well it turns out Andrés isn`t actually gay, just open minded. This suited me just fine. I spent all six hours on the boat with Andes and his friends. Mostly I hung around him. I had my first conversation about questioning gender with him, and it was great. He laughs too often, just like me, and we have a lot in common. He also spoke slowly and we were able to communicate with ease. His friends were also really nice. They were all from Viña del Mar (12 hrs north) on a weeklong vacation in Valdivia. They welcomed me into their table and their lives.
The boat tour itself was really nice. It was a beautiful day without a cloud in the sky. We stopped twice and two beautiful little towns and ate a huge lunch of seafood and fish. I took lots of pictures and wandered back and forth between our inside seats to the terraces on the front and back of the boat. I caused a whole ton of confusion amongst the waitresses because I moved my seat, but they didn`t seem to mind too much. By the end of the day, there was no question that I would continue on my evening with my new friends. I went back to their rented cabins and we relaxed for a while outside. We bought necessary supplies for the evening (cerveza, coke and rum) and sat down to play cards. We played the Chilean version of Uno (mostly the same as our version) and I taught everyone how to play bullshit. This was fun for me not only because its a fun drinking game, but because I got to hear them all scream "bullshit!" with their silly chilean accents. I had a really great time. I felt for the first time like a full member of the conversation, and didn`t have any trouble keeping up with stories, jokes, and conversation. Our final drinking game consisted of us picking important topics, and discussing. We had a bunch of really interesting conversations on the topics of religion, friendship, politics and sex. It was fabulous.
When we were sufficiently drunk, we heading to a nearby discoteca. I had a great time dancing and laughing with my new friends. Everything was too perfect to be true. And thats when I ran into problems... I had been dancing with Fabian, one of Andres` friends. Unfortunately, Soledad, on of the girls in the group, had a terrible crush on Fabian and didn`t take our flirtations too well. She got angry and spent a good portion of the next few hours yelling at Fabian, cursing at me (¡la gringa puta!), and complaining to Andés´ father. I left early the next morning to avoid any more confrontation. Unfortunately I didn`t get to say goodbye to my friends, but we had already traded phone numbers so I called them later in the day. I hopefully will stay with Andrés and his family (a 26 year old living at home is the status quo in chile) when I travel up north. Anyway, it looks like I had the good luck of traveling with good company in Valdivia. Chileans just loooove hanging out with a gringa.
Well I didn`t have too long to be worried because ten minutes into a voyage, a friendly young chilean came over and started talking to me. Even for friendly Chileans, he was absurdly friendly. But he wasn`t creepy and didn`t seem to be hitting on me, so I went with it. Within the first 15 mintues of conversation he took a picture of us together, invited me to sit upstairs with him and his friends, and invited me to hang out with them later that night. Hahah. I was a bit overwhelmed by his quick friendship, but I soon fell in love with him (in a friendly sort of way of course). In this initial conversation he also explained how he wanted to move to Spain where they were more open minded about things, like homosexuality. I explained that I, a Wesleyan student, was very comfortable with homosexuality. Oh, so I can show you my real self, he responded. I thought I had finally met my first openly gay chilean! How exciting! Well it turns out Andrés isn`t actually gay, just open minded. This suited me just fine. I spent all six hours on the boat with Andes and his friends. Mostly I hung around him. I had my first conversation about questioning gender with him, and it was great. He laughs too often, just like me, and we have a lot in common. He also spoke slowly and we were able to communicate with ease. His friends were also really nice. They were all from Viña del Mar (12 hrs north) on a weeklong vacation in Valdivia. They welcomed me into their table and their lives.
The boat tour itself was really nice. It was a beautiful day without a cloud in the sky. We stopped twice and two beautiful little towns and ate a huge lunch of seafood and fish. I took lots of pictures and wandered back and forth between our inside seats to the terraces on the front and back of the boat. I caused a whole ton of confusion amongst the waitresses because I moved my seat, but they didn`t seem to mind too much. By the end of the day, there was no question that I would continue on my evening with my new friends. I went back to their rented cabins and we relaxed for a while outside. We bought necessary supplies for the evening (cerveza, coke and rum) and sat down to play cards. We played the Chilean version of Uno (mostly the same as our version) and I taught everyone how to play bullshit. This was fun for me not only because its a fun drinking game, but because I got to hear them all scream "bullshit!" with their silly chilean accents. I had a really great time. I felt for the first time like a full member of the conversation, and didn`t have any trouble keeping up with stories, jokes, and conversation. Our final drinking game consisted of us picking important topics, and discussing. We had a bunch of really interesting conversations on the topics of religion, friendship, politics and sex. It was fabulous.
When we were sufficiently drunk, we heading to a nearby discoteca. I had a great time dancing and laughing with my new friends. Everything was too perfect to be true. And thats when I ran into problems... I had been dancing with Fabian, one of Andres` friends. Unfortunately, Soledad, on of the girls in the group, had a terrible crush on Fabian and didn`t take our flirtations too well. She got angry and spent a good portion of the next few hours yelling at Fabian, cursing at me (¡la gringa puta!), and complaining to Andés´ father. I left early the next morning to avoid any more confrontation. Unfortunately I didn`t get to say goodbye to my friends, but we had already traded phone numbers so I called them later in the day. I hopefully will stay with Andrés and his family (a 26 year old living at home is the status quo in chile) when I travel up north. Anyway, it looks like I had the good luck of traveling with good company in Valdivia. Chileans just loooove hanging out with a gringa.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Librerías sin Libros
For those of you that know spanish, you know that you can add an "ería" on the end of any word, and it become the place where you sell that word. Por ejemplo, Zapatería is a place where you sell zapatos, or shoes. So a librería, you would think, is a bookstore. Well I had already learned that in Chile, this is not necessarily so. Renato´s parents own a librería, but there are no books there. Mostly its office supplies, but it also carries any other odd number of things. Apparently librería, also means Staples. When he told me this, I obviously thought it was ridiculous. And a bit upsetting, since book stores are so important to me. Values are built into a language. If you don`t have have a word for something, how can it be important? This is apparent in the poor quality of bookstores in Chile, the even worse quality of libraries, and the generally low interest in reading that I`ve encountered. The government is running a big campaign trying to encourage people to read. Anyway the point is that this faulty definition came to bite me in the ass today.
So I finally started doing something at work. I ´m trying to figure out different ways to get books to the isolate communities where we work, where they don`t have any type of written texts. Today, I decided to dedicate my morning to asking bookstores for donations of childrens books for a library in a community called Camapu el Solar. Even though my boss frowned at the idea, I decided to give it a try. This was something I was familiar with. Asking for donations. I went to the Chilean yellow pages and wrote down the addresses and phone numbers of all the librerías in Osorno. Then, I ran into the problem. There was no one too tell from the listings which kind of librería this was. One with, or without libros. Well, that didn`t stop me. I called about 10 or so listings. The first woman who answered seemed surprised. Books? No, we don`t sell any books. The next woman also seemed surprised. Books? OF COURSE we sell books. Haha.
Once I had narrowed down my list, I went off to do some begging. I printed out a nice sheet with a description of our project and our logo and picture and description of the community that wanted the books. On the way over, I had a craving for an empanada de orno (yes, with meat) and realized that Chile was finally getting to me. I entered into the first bookstore frightened and speaking with much uncertainty. Thankfully, this place was my most willing participant. She asked a few questions and then told me if I came back next week, she would have a pile of books to donate. ¡Exito! I was overwhelmingly excited about my sudcess, and walked to my next destination with a shit eating grin on my face. Wait till I tell Pedro, I thought.
Now since I walk around alone a lot here, I`ve become accustomed to the unwelcome attention of every chilean man that I pass by on the street. I suppose its not much different than the whistles of a big city in the US, but here it seems to be more persistant. Anyways the norm is a kissing noise, but never really anything more so its never really an issue. On my walk back from the first book store, a man said something I had never heard before from a strange man hitting on me. "You are so beautiful! May god bless you!" Hahaha. For some reason at the time it was hysterical, and more well appreciated than a creepy whistle. I continued on to more and more librerías. Some, only full of notebooks, pens and random toys, and others with books for donation.
I came back triumphantly to inform Pedro of my success and of course he didn`t think much of my "I told you so" face. But my other colleages smiled and congratulated me in continuing despite Pedro´s pessimism. I wrote up an official document so that we could sign and officiate the book donations and next week I will make my next round. When I go visit the community next week, I will check out the new book shelf they made and bring them whatever I have collected. I also connected with a local library that has backs of books that we are going to lend out for a few weeks at a time.
Next, I´m supposed to be brainstorming ideas for how to help "organize the youth." My creative juices aren`t flowing at the moment, which is why I´m at the office writing a blog entry. Let me know if you have any ideas. I think we`re going to start with a movie screening.
So I finally started doing something at work. I ´m trying to figure out different ways to get books to the isolate communities where we work, where they don`t have any type of written texts. Today, I decided to dedicate my morning to asking bookstores for donations of childrens books for a library in a community called Camapu el Solar. Even though my boss frowned at the idea, I decided to give it a try. This was something I was familiar with. Asking for donations. I went to the Chilean yellow pages and wrote down the addresses and phone numbers of all the librerías in Osorno. Then, I ran into the problem. There was no one too tell from the listings which kind of librería this was. One with, or without libros. Well, that didn`t stop me. I called about 10 or so listings. The first woman who answered seemed surprised. Books? No, we don`t sell any books. The next woman also seemed surprised. Books? OF COURSE we sell books. Haha.
Once I had narrowed down my list, I went off to do some begging. I printed out a nice sheet with a description of our project and our logo and picture and description of the community that wanted the books. On the way over, I had a craving for an empanada de orno (yes, with meat) and realized that Chile was finally getting to me. I entered into the first bookstore frightened and speaking with much uncertainty. Thankfully, this place was my most willing participant. She asked a few questions and then told me if I came back next week, she would have a pile of books to donate. ¡Exito! I was overwhelmingly excited about my sudcess, and walked to my next destination with a shit eating grin on my face. Wait till I tell Pedro, I thought.
Now since I walk around alone a lot here, I`ve become accustomed to the unwelcome attention of every chilean man that I pass by on the street. I suppose its not much different than the whistles of a big city in the US, but here it seems to be more persistant. Anyways the norm is a kissing noise, but never really anything more so its never really an issue. On my walk back from the first book store, a man said something I had never heard before from a strange man hitting on me. "You are so beautiful! May god bless you!" Hahaha. For some reason at the time it was hysterical, and more well appreciated than a creepy whistle. I continued on to more and more librerías. Some, only full of notebooks, pens and random toys, and others with books for donation.
I came back triumphantly to inform Pedro of my success and of course he didn`t think much of my "I told you so" face. But my other colleages smiled and congratulated me in continuing despite Pedro´s pessimism. I wrote up an official document so that we could sign and officiate the book donations and next week I will make my next round. When I go visit the community next week, I will check out the new book shelf they made and bring them whatever I have collected. I also connected with a local library that has backs of books that we are going to lend out for a few weeks at a time.
Next, I´m supposed to be brainstorming ideas for how to help "organize the youth." My creative juices aren`t flowing at the moment, which is why I´m at the office writing a blog entry. Let me know if you have any ideas. I think we`re going to start with a movie screening.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
el Espectuloso Futrono
Like I mentioned earlier, a forestal (forestry engineer) who works in my office invited me to go away with him and his friends for the weekend. I was equally surprised and excited by the invitation. Renato is probably my favorite officemate, but we hadn`t really spent much time together. He had always been really helpful correcting my spanish and explaining things to me I didn´t understand. Turns out he`s probably the nicest person I`ve met in Chile. And everyone here is sooooo nice. Anyway he picked me up and we drove up to Futrono just the two of us, because his friend was already there. During this trip, I discovered that Renato speaks english nearly as well as I speak Spanish. This was surprising, since I had been struggling to understand everything in the office for two weeks and he hadn`t spoken more than two words in english. But refresheing to watch someone else struggle to speak as a nice change, and we developed a nice rhythm of speech where we flow easily back and forth between the two idiomas. Needless to say we had a nice ride.
We arrived in Futrono after about an hour and a half. I knew it was a town on a lake, and was expecting a tiny cabin where I could find a place to lay in my sleeping bag. Instead there were three BEAUTIFUL cabins right by the lake, among a bunch of beautiful mountains. We arrived just as the asado was beginning (I think I´m on number 5 or so? definitely an expert). Now please try and imagine why this situation might be overwhelming for me. I arrived with a 29 year old from my office that before this last hour and a half in the car, was mostly a stranger to me. He knew one person at the party, and the rest were just as much strangers to him. Not only am I a foreigner in a place with very few foreigners, but I have a limited mastery of spanish and to top it off am at least 7 years younger than everyone in the room. I had an idea that Renato would facilitate conversation and take care of me all night, but this was night the case. He introduced me as Cereza, the gringa from his office and set me on my own.
Somehow, I survived. The thing is that not only is it hard to communicate on a basic level, but everything in my life is surprising to everyone. You`re still in school? Uhhh I`m only 20. Are you really traveling alone? Yes, all alone. So you`re a sociologist? Uhh not really. YOU DON`T EAT MEAT?! Well, in Chile I do. So you`ve known Renato for a long time? Uhh something like that. What do you do with your project? Well, I just arrived. I´m still working on it... OBAMA!? yes! You know how to dance salsa? Definitely! ahha. After a few drinks, conversation became less frequent, as we danced the night away. Thankfully, my language skills don`t hold me back on the dance floor. And the girls were delighted that I knew how to dance salsa. I even knew a bunch of their music, which everyone found somewhere between cute and hysterical. Of course the reggeton, meat, and pisco continued till about 6am, but I conked out at 4 (I´m still building up my endurance...).
The next morning (well, afternoon) we all greeted each other like old friends, and comiserated over our hangovers. After a typical Chilean breakfast (instant coffee and bread with butter) we packed up our trucks and took a beautiful hour long drive to the other side of the lake, where there was a beautiful beach. We stopped a few times to admire waterfalls, mountain scenery, and rivers. We brought along two kayaks and hung around on the beach till we were cold and hungry. By the time dinner came around (remember, thats about 9pm) I was pretty exhausted of trying to communicate all weekend, and was glad when Renato and I decided to head home. We had another nice car ride with lots of language and cultural exchanges. Its great to have someone that I am able to talk to. He´s a terribly nice guy, and I expect we`ll be hanging out more. He moved to Osorno just for this job, so it sounds like he doesn`t have such a swinging social life either. He lives a few hours away in the country and has already invited me to go with him to meet his parents and see the office supplies store that they own. In other friend news, I get along really well with another intern at the office and she has invited me to come to her house for dinner this week.
Also, I expect to design a plan for my internship this week. I have been given permission to design whatever kind of program I want with the communities we work with, and I have a few ideas. Details to follow.....
p.s. espectaculoso is a strange combination of espectacular and fabuloso that came out of my tired mouth. renato found this hysterical. but we both decided its a pretty strong adjective, so we`re going to try and use it in everyday speech.
We arrived in Futrono after about an hour and a half. I knew it was a town on a lake, and was expecting a tiny cabin where I could find a place to lay in my sleeping bag. Instead there were three BEAUTIFUL cabins right by the lake, among a bunch of beautiful mountains. We arrived just as the asado was beginning (I think I´m on number 5 or so? definitely an expert). Now please try and imagine why this situation might be overwhelming for me. I arrived with a 29 year old from my office that before this last hour and a half in the car, was mostly a stranger to me. He knew one person at the party, and the rest were just as much strangers to him. Not only am I a foreigner in a place with very few foreigners, but I have a limited mastery of spanish and to top it off am at least 7 years younger than everyone in the room. I had an idea that Renato would facilitate conversation and take care of me all night, but this was night the case. He introduced me as Cereza, the gringa from his office and set me on my own.
Somehow, I survived. The thing is that not only is it hard to communicate on a basic level, but everything in my life is surprising to everyone. You`re still in school? Uhhh I`m only 20. Are you really traveling alone? Yes, all alone. So you`re a sociologist? Uhh not really. YOU DON`T EAT MEAT?! Well, in Chile I do. So you`ve known Renato for a long time? Uhh something like that. What do you do with your project? Well, I just arrived. I´m still working on it... OBAMA!? yes! You know how to dance salsa? Definitely! ahha. After a few drinks, conversation became less frequent, as we danced the night away. Thankfully, my language skills don`t hold me back on the dance floor. And the girls were delighted that I knew how to dance salsa. I even knew a bunch of their music, which everyone found somewhere between cute and hysterical. Of course the reggeton, meat, and pisco continued till about 6am, but I conked out at 4 (I´m still building up my endurance...).
The next morning (well, afternoon) we all greeted each other like old friends, and comiserated over our hangovers. After a typical Chilean breakfast (instant coffee and bread with butter) we packed up our trucks and took a beautiful hour long drive to the other side of the lake, where there was a beautiful beach. We stopped a few times to admire waterfalls, mountain scenery, and rivers. We brought along two kayaks and hung around on the beach till we were cold and hungry. By the time dinner came around (remember, thats about 9pm) I was pretty exhausted of trying to communicate all weekend, and was glad when Renato and I decided to head home. We had another nice car ride with lots of language and cultural exchanges. Its great to have someone that I am able to talk to. He´s a terribly nice guy, and I expect we`ll be hanging out more. He moved to Osorno just for this job, so it sounds like he doesn`t have such a swinging social life either. He lives a few hours away in the country and has already invited me to go with him to meet his parents and see the office supplies store that they own. In other friend news, I get along really well with another intern at the office and she has invited me to come to her house for dinner this week.
Also, I expect to design a plan for my internship this week. I have been given permission to design whatever kind of program I want with the communities we work with, and I have a few ideas. Details to follow.....
p.s. espectaculoso is a strange combination of espectacular and fabuloso that came out of my tired mouth. renato found this hysterical. but we both decided its a pretty strong adjective, so we`re going to try and use it in everyday speech.
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