The Student Voice

So I'm out with these Chileans. They have this strategy (quite effective, actually) of telling gringas that they'd reeeeally love to practice their English with a native (female) speaker, so maybe if we got together for some drinks, you bring some friends, and we all improve our speaking capacity, complemented by some Latin libations and Reggaeton atmosphere. Yeah, I know, pretty smooth. And we all fall for it.

So, like I said, I'm out with these Chileans. And yes, I brought some friends. But just imagine: you show up in a new country, the Chilenas sure as hell want nothing to do with us, our Spanish is slipping... so why not? They pay for a few Pisco Sours, they throw us some Spanish lingo, and everyones ulterior motives are fulfilled. Except the one about us going home with them. 

Right. So we're out with these Chileans, and I've got a question on my mind: what the hell is so fascinating about us gringas? Am I missing some exotic, sexy quality about our ability to butcher the native language, the loveliness of our shockingly pale skin, or is it just that we fall for the "I need to practice English" line? At first, the "preciosa"s and "mi reina"s were flattering, but when I started noticing the blatantly gorgeous Chilena across the street, allowed to walk in peace without the incessant joteando of Chilean men, I grew suspicious. If not the aesthetic quality of a woman, what else could it be?

"It's the stereotype of Americans. We know that you're not all like that, but Chileans watch American movies, or see gringas at the bars, and I guess they make their own conclusions. Also, gringas will say anything. Chilean girls are more conservative, or won't talk about certain topics with guys, even if they're close friends. But gringas will talk about anything."

I guess I couldn't really refute this after having just downed two Irish Car Bombs and finished a conversation about the smelliness of farts. 

"And I have this theory. I think flites (the Chilean equivalent of white trash... dark trash, maybe?) hit on gringas because they think gringas can't tell the difference. They just see all Chileans as sexy and foreign, but can't tell a good Chilean from a bad Chilean. So flites actually have a better chance with gringas than with chilenas"

Actually makes sense. But according to our host Rodrigo, we made the right choice in our Chilean selection. You see, Rodrigo has dinero. Just ask him. Or wait, because he'll tell you. Whereas the Chilean I met in Barrio Bellavista the week before probably is flite, says Rodrigo, without money or manners. Better to just stick with me, he says.

Well. By the end of the night, he had made passes at all of us, got us purposefully lost on the drive home only to say "well, I know where my house is...", and successfully managed to get NONE of us stuck with him. Compared to my date with the so-called "flite" last night, who took me to watch the Chile-Uruguay game, to a gay club to dance techno, and left me with a perfectly acceptable and tantalizing kiss on the cheek, Hot Rod got nothing on him. Seems like gringas will be forever guessing. 

I've never really considered the importance of consonants before coming to South America.  "Tomar" and "tocar," for instance. Almost the same word, to a foreign ear, but one should really keep in mind the difference between drinking and touching something. And let's not forget about those vowels. Only seven of them, but damn, how they really affect the significance of a word. Once I attempted to tell my Ecuadorian friend that I had just tried cui, a regional delicacy of roasted guinea pig. But I guess my cui sounded a little more like cuyo, and I wouldn't suggest telling a friend you just ate asshole when, in fact, you really did no such thing.

For this reason, I would add "a sense of humor" to the "What to Bring" list of any foreign exchange student. In addition to a Spanish dictionary, hand sanitizer ("gringo gel"), and a strong stomach, the ability to laugh at yourself is really going to come in handy. For those perfectionists who love doing everything right on the first try, prepare yourself. You too will make the mistake of adding an "o" or "a" to the end of an English word, only to find out that playing música de foca does not actually mean "folk music," but rather, the music of seals. And no, the Uruguayan I tried to pick up that night did not find my aquatic talent the least bit impressive. You will answer si to questions that require neither a yes or no, when merely your name or favorite food would've sufficed. But at least that's not as bad as answering si when you REALLY should've said no. I almost got myself a 35-year oldnovio with that one.

But these are the best mistakes I've ever made. A foreign country is the best place to make a fool of yourself, because in six months, any mistake, regret, or disappointment just fades into the collective oblivion. It's liberating, sometimes, to know that you won't be remembered. Like being home alone, when you're completely free to raid kitchen cabinets, walk around naked, talk to potted plants. I'm not condoning "experimentation" (or talking to potted plants, that's just weird) but push your limits. Try something new. Take a chance. I've embarrassed myself, offended the local culture, made people laugh for the wrong reason, but have learned from every single mistake. Everyday, the foreign becomes a little more familiar. I feel a little more understood, a little more understanding. But if a local were to ask me how to summarize my experience in South America thus far, my answer would still be si. And it wouldn't be so far from the truth.

Chilean slang of the week:

Fomingo: A play on words between fome ("boring") and domingo ("Sunday"). Because Sundays pretty much suck in Santiago.
Huevón: It's the word I hear most and understand least. I'm convinced it's the sound of a period because you'll hear it at the end of every sentence, huevon. You can call friends huevones, you can call jerks huevones, it's an adjective, it's a verb, it's a plane... it means absolutely nothing.
Hachazo: Hungover. Which makes sense, considering hacha means "axe." Gruesome.


-Christina Lacy

Did you know they make the beds upside down in Chile? Bet you didn't. The actual beds are right-side up, of course. But there they were: my Sesame Street alphabet bedsheets made upside down on my Chilean, right-side up bed. An inconsequential observation, until I noticed the faded backwards alphabet visible through the thin fabric. Kinda symbolic of my study abroad experience thus far. They see ABC; I see CBA. Which just sounds like the acronym of some metaphoric TV channel that I've never watched. One with sitcoms of upside down sheets, backwards flushing toilet water, and a language barrier incredibly difficult to overcome. I think I need to stop looking at my sheets.

But these are the crazy things you notice while abroad. Things that appear so opposite to one's own culture, and with connotations you couldn't even begin to express to a local. Okay, so upside down sheets aren't that crazy. But a swimming school in Ecuador called "Duran Duran." Grown men and women living with their parents until marriage. Coffee shops with scantily-clad waitresses for middle-aged businessmen, scattered about Santiago - cafes con piernas, they're called. Perfectly normal things, to anyone from South America. But to this little gringo? Not so much. But how can one remain objective in a foreign country? How can one ultimately appraise their own culture without first comparing it to another? Yes, being from a country that values independence above everything else, living with your family until the age of thirty does seem strange to me. But could I honestly say that moving away from your family, the people that love you most, is a better alternative? You tell me.

But not everything is so different here. Trends and music reminiscent of the United States remind me daily that we truly do live in an integrated society. And if they haven't hit the states yet, I'm absolutely positive that jodhpur pants are coming back with a vengeance - they're everywhere! But globalization has affected more than just culture. While Chile has been estimated by the Ministerio de Hacienda as the fitfh most prepared country in the world to combat the crisis (what that really means, I couldn't say), the economic situation is universal. The construction of the Costanera Center, a skyscraped projected to be the tallest building in South America at 300 meters high, has been suspended due to lack of funds at only 22 stories high. As of now, it's just a concrete skeleton ominously referred to by Chileans as la cicatriz - "the scar"- de la crisis economica. Guess we're not so far away as we thought.

Chilean Slang of the Week:

Bacán: Awesome, dude 
Cachar: to understand ("Cachas?": Do you get it?)
Terremoto: The literal translation is "earthquake," but the tastier version is a liter of pipeño (sweet, fermented wine) with pineapple ice cream. You'll understand the name after drinking it.


-Christina Lacy

Pictures (Right to Left): Empty seats in Montevide during Carnaval, reserved for 300 Uruguyan desaparcidos; Futbol game in Ecuador between Cuenca and Venezuela Cuenca won); Evita Peron's gravesite in Buenos Aires